“I don’t see where he got the money to buy it,” she said. “Perfect nonsense, anyway. Don’t try to make me read the stuff.” Ellen, however, was delighted, and ransacked her mother’s trunks, at last pouncing on a collection of bound music which was almost new, and which she decided would make a suitable gift for her good friend. Her happiest hours were those spent in the church at the organ, or in listening to Jeremy as he poured forth his soul in music. Ellen made great progress, to the intense satisfaction of her teacher. “Not a doubt but you’ll take my place one of these days,” he told her. “But I don’t want to take your place,” declared Ellen vehemently. “Not when I’m no longer able to do my duty by the old organ? I’m counting on you as my successor.” Ellen had no answer to make to this, for it was a subject she did not care to dwell upon. One day in May, when trees were in blossom and birds were singing, Jeremy wound up his playing with Mendelssohn’s “Spring Song,” saying, as he turned on his bench, “Hackneyed as it is, I had to play that to-day. Songs without words are all around us, and we must join in. Let’s see how well you can play the ‘Wedding March’ for the birds who are mating.” He produced the music and gave his place to Ellen, listening critically as she went on. He did not interrupt, but when she had sounded the last notes he said, “Let me give you one or two suggestions and then you play it over.” Ellen obeyed, carefully following out his directions. “Better, much better,” he cried as the last notes died away. “Good enough for any wedding party that is likely to hear it in this church. Now I have a proposition to make to you. For years I have wanted to go to the Bach Festival at Bethlehem. This year it seemed that all was favorable for me to go. It would be a sad disappointment to me if I were to miss it. I should have to be away two or three days, and just at the last I am informed that a wedding will take place in the church on one of those very days when I should be absent. Now, then, my dear, I want you to do me the favor of taking my place. You can do it perfectly well. I have trained you on the Lohengrin music with this in view, and now we have the Mendelssohn march quite ready. What do you say?” “Oh, Mr. Todd, do you really think I can do it well enough?” Ellen was quite overcome. “Certainly you can. In the first place there will be no musical critics present, and in the second place no one will notice anything but the wedding party. You might play execrably and it would make no difference so long as there was an approach to the familiar strains. I will see that some one is at hand to tell you when to begin and when to stop, so you won’t be flustered.” “You know I would do almost anything for you, Mr. Todd,” said Ellen earnestly, “and if you think I can do it well enough and won’t get panicky I’ll try my best.”