David smiled in the darkness. But a day or two before, when Doc Benedict had dropped into the manse to sit awhile in David's study under the motto “Keep an even mind under all circumstances,” David had scolded him whimsically for unfaithfulness. “I don't see you once in a blue moon any more, Benedict,” he had said. “I grow stale for someone to wrangle with. You're a false and fickle friend. Who is your latest passion? Father Moran?” “Don't you say anything against Father Moran!” Benedict threatened. “It's a pity you're not both Presbyterians, or both Catholics, Davy. You'd love each other. You'd have some beautiful fights. I can't hold my own against him; he's too much for me. He's a fine old man, Davy,” he added, and then, smiling, “and he knows good sherry and good cigars.” “What do you talk about, over your good sherry and good cigars?” asked David. “Last night,” said Benedict, “it was music. He had me there, Davy. No man has a right to know as much about as many things as Father Moran knows. Of course, if I had a niece like Mademoiselle I might know about Beethoven and Chopin and all those fellows. He scolded me about our church music. I went for him, of course, on that; bragged about our choir. 'Ah, yes I' he smiled through that thick, brown beard of his; 'and I 'ave heard of your organ!' He gave me an imitation of it through his nose. Then he called Mademoiselle and took me into the church and made her play a thing or two--an 'Elevation' and an 'Ave Maria.' He had me, all right, Davy. It was holy music, Davy!” So David, remembering, spoke to Benedict about Miss Jane's desire, and Benedict spoke to Father Moran. The old doctor knew just how to handle the good-natured priest, whose eyes were deep in crow's-feet from countless quizzical smiles. “Why, Father, you yourself were howling and complaining about our church music the other night! Scolding me, you were. And now I give you a chance to better the thing you scolded me about, and you hesitate! Oh, tut! about Mademoiselle's health! Let her give up another of her fancy, arts-and-graces pupils. I prescribe Miss Hurley for Mademoiselle's health. And don't you dare go against her physician's orders!” Father Moran chuckled in his black beard and his eyes twinkled. He loved to have anyone pretend to bulldoze him; he was a beloved autocrat among his own people. “You're afraid!” declared Benedict. “You're afraid that when we get our new organ and Miss Hurley learns to play it your Mademoiselle will be overshadowed. We'll show you!” “Afraid!” chuckled Father Moran. “You heard Mademoiselle play, and you say I am afraid! _Bon!_ Ex-cellent! Come, we will interview Mademoiselle!” So it was arranged. Mademoiselle would take no remuneration. She patted little Miss Hurley on the thin shoulder and smiled, but she would not hear of payment.