A sudden wild thought occurred to Helen, and she whirled about. Sure enough, she found the two windows of the room wide open; and that was too much for her gravity; she flung herself upon the sofa and gave vent to peal after peal of laughter. “Oh, Daddy!” she gasped. “Oh, Daddy!” Mr. Davis did not understand the joke, but he waited patiently, taking off his gloves in the meantime. “What it is, Helen?” he enquired. “Oh, Daddy!” exclaimed the girl again, and lifted herself up and turned her laughing eyes upon him. “And now I understand why inspired people have to live in the country!” “What was it, Helen?” “It--it wasn't anything, Daddy, except that I was playing and singing for Arthur, and I forgot to close the windows.” “You must remember, my love, that you live in a clergyman's house,” said Mr. Davis. “I have no objection to merriment, but it must be within bounds. Mr. Nelson said that he did not know what to think was the matter.” Helen made a wry face at the name; the Nelsons were a family of Methodists who lived across the way. Methodists are people who take life seriously as a rule, and Helen thought the Nelsons were very queer indeed. “I'll bet he did know what to think,” she chuckled, “even if he didn't say it; he thought that was just what to expect from a clergyman who had a decanter of wine on his dinner table.” Mr. Davis could not help smiling. And as for Helen, she was herself all over again; for when her father had come in, she had about reached a point where she could no longer bear to be serious and unhappy. As he went on to ask her to be a little less reckless, Helen put her arms around him and said, with the solemnity that she always wore when she was gayest: “But, Daddy, I don't know what I'm to do; you sent me to Germany to study music, and if I'm never to play it--” “Yes, but Helen; such frantic, dreadful noise!” “But, Daddy, the Germans are emotional people, you know; no one would have been in the least surprised at that in Germany; it was a hymn, Daddy!” “A hymn!” gasped Mr. Davis. “Yes, honestly,” said Helen. “It is a wonderful hymn. Every German knows it nearly by heart.” Mr. Davis had as much knowledge of German music as might be expected of one who had lived twenty years in the country and heard three hymns and an anthem sung every Sunday by a volunteer choir. Helen's musical education, as all her other education, had been superintended by Aunt Polly, and the only idea that came to Mr. Davis' mind was of Wagner, whose name he had heard people talk about in connection with noise and incoherency. “Helen,” he said, “I trust that is not the kind of hymn you are going to sing to-morrow.”