Oh, how I enjoyed that expression! It reminded me of Lenhart Davy and his sayings. I was just going to intrude another question when my intention was snapped by the ringing of the bell, which made a most imposing noise. The sound caused a sudden rush and rustle through the library; gowned and ungowned figures forsook the nooks and benches, and they each and all put by their books as deftly, dexterously as Millicent used to lay her thimble into her work-box when she was a wee maiden. They did not stare at me at all, which was very satisfactory; and I found occasion to admire all their faces. I told my companion so, and he laughed, rubbing his eyes and stretching; then he put his arm about my neck in strict fraternal fashion, which gratified me exceedingly, and not the less because he was evidently by several years my elder. We left the library together, and right rejoiced was I to hear myself speak again; the first thing that occurred to me to say, I said: "Oh! I wanted so much to know what is your instrument." "I don't think I shall tell you," he replied, in a guileless voice, interesting as his behavior and language. "Why not? I must know it at last, must I not?" "Perhaps you will not think so well of me, when you know what I exist for." "That would make no difference, for every instrument is as great with reference to others as some are in themselves." "Seraphael could not have put it better. I play the trombone. It is a great sacrifice at present." "But," I returned, "I have not heard the instrument,--is it not a splendid sort of trumpet? You mean it is not good for solos?" "It is quite to itself,--a mere abstraction considered by itself; but to the orchestra what red is to the rainbow." "I know who said that. He puts brass last, I see." "Oh, you are a thief! You know everything already. Yes, he does put the violet first." "The violin? Yes, so he called it to me; but I did not know he was fond of calling it so." "It is one of his theories. It was, however, one day after he had been expounding it to a few of us who were fortunate enough to be present, when he was glancing through the class-rooms, that he put up his hands, and in his bright way, you know, scattering your reasoning faculties like a burst of sunshine, said, 'Oh, you must not entertain a word I have said to you,--it is only to be dreamed.'" "What did he say? What had he said? Do, pray, out with it, or I cannot eat, I am sure." We were just outside the hall doorway now; within were light and a hundred voices mingled. Into the dusk he gave his own, and I took it safely home in silence.