They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. “Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. And you’d better have her fetch in some food for the missie, an’ all. I'm about to leave this country for ever. I have squeezed three kids into it afore now.
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