“I remember the first time I was ever offered a piece of a whole thing. I was a very little girl. I had a china plate that I always used at my place at table, and one day a boy broke it in halves and mended it. It had tiny green dots shaped like a fence row around it, and I noticed one place where the dots didn’t fit, and then I saw where they had pasted it together. A little chip of it was gone. It nearly broke my heart. They all said it was as good as new, but they couldn’t make me see it in that way. What do you suppose I did?” “There is no telling.” “It had been the pride of my life, but I took that plate out, and broke it in pieces and strewed them down the road to cut his feet when he came by from school.” “Suppose the feet of others had got the punishment?” “I wasn’t old enough to reason that out then.” “Some people would have been sore enough and revengeful enough not to care if they had. I have known such instances, but I can understand that your plate would never be the same to you with a part of it gone. I don’t like anything incomplete myself.” “Give me the whole day--I want you all the time.” “If you will promise me to learn every piece of music that I ask you to, I will.” “You haven’t told the Curtises yet that you were coming?” “No.” “Well,” her voice was merry, “that’s a bargain.” Glenn Andrews looked at his watch. “Great Scott! ten minutes to two. I must go.” They stood for a moment hand in hand. Not a sound could be heard save the water lisping in the spring. He touched her hair. “Beautiful hair!” he half whispered. “If it had been cut off, when you came so near having the fever, I should have asked you to give me a curl.” His veins throbbed with tenderness--between these two there was a tie nearer than blood--the tie of comradeship. One couldn’t think of relations more subtle or pure. “Give me your knife,” she said. Glenn raised her face, touching her chin gently with the tips of his fingers. “No, no,” he said. “It is much prettier where it is. I wouldn’t let you cut one off.” She turned and closed her violin case with a snap. CHAPTER XI. WHEN he had gone, Esther went back to the woods. The thought of his coming with the Christmas time kept her nature alive and glowing. Her interest in music became more absorbing than ever. She practiced for hours at a stretch. This exceptional interest was a triumph that had given the old grandfather a steadier balance of mind, when during these years he had tried to fill her mother’s place, nurturing, encouraging the possibilities that lay in this young soul, ennobling, inspiring a deeper meaning to life. Glenn Andrews had helped him. He appreciated that. They saw him occasionally when they went in to her lessons. Esther seemed to realize that Mr. Campbell was making a sacrifice for her sake and every week the professor could see the forward step she had made.