After they'd finished eating, the young people folded the furniture, and, while one of the boys played upon a curious instrument that was string and percussion and brass all at once, the others danced. Clarey made no attempt to participate. In his early youth, he'd flopped at the Earth hops--and the Damorlanti had a distinctly more Dionysian culture than his home world. He stood and watched them leaping and twirling. When they'd dropped, temporarily exhausted, he made his way over to the musician, whom he recognized as one of Piq's numerous grandsons; this one was Rini, he thought. "Is that difficult to learn?" he asked, touching the instrument. "The ulerin is extremely difficult," the boy said importantly. "It takes years and years of practice. And you've got to have the touch to begin with. Not many do. All our family have the touch, my brother Irik most of all. He's in Barshwat, studying to be a famous musician." Clarey looked at the ulerin with unmistakable wistfulness. "Care to try it?" the boy asked. "But, mind, you have to pay for any bladders you burst." "I shall be very careful," Clarey said, taking the instrument reverently in his hands. He had never touched a musical instrument before--an Earth instrument would have been no less unfamiliar, no more wonderful. Gently he began to pluck and bang and blow, in imitation of the way the boy had done, and, though the sounds that came out didn't have the same smoothness, still they didn't fall harshly on his ears. The others stopped talking and listened; it would have been difficult for them to do otherwise, as he was unable to find the muting device. "Sounds like the death wail of a hix," Piq sibilated, but he added grudgingly, "Foreigner or not, I have to say this for him--he's got the touch." "Yes, he's got the touch," others agreed. "You always can tell." Rini smiled at Clarey. "I believe you do. I'll teach you to play, if you like." "I would, very much." Clarey was about to offer to pay for the lessons; then he remembered that, though this would have been the right thing on Earth, it would be wrong on Damorlan. "If it is not too much trouble," he finished. "It's the kind of trouble I like." The boy twisted his nose at Clarey. "Sometime you can hide the reserved books for me." * * * * * After the guests had gone, Clarey insisted on helping the women with the putting away. "Well, as long as Embelsira has a pair of brawny arms to help her," the widow yawned, "I might as well be getting along to my pallet. I seem to get more and more tired these days--old age, I expect. One day I'll be so tired I'll never wake up and Embelsira'll be alone and what'll she do, poor thing? Who can live on a librarian's salary? Now, on two librarians' salaries--" "Mother," Embelsira interrupted furiously, "you go to bed!" She did, hurriedly.