"Oh, nothing. It isn't a piece. I made it up as I went along. It is
too dark to see the music, and I love wandering along just as I like.
I'll play you some pieces later on when the lamps are lit."
"I say, you know, you are most awfully clever! If you play like that
now, you could do as well as any of those professional fellows if you
had a chance. And to be able to compose as well! You are a genius--it
isn't talent--it's real, true, genuine genius!"
"Oh, do you think so? Do you really, truly think so?" cried Norah
pitifully. "Oh, I wish you would say so to father! He won't let us go
away to school, and I do so long and pine to have more lessons. I
learnt in London ever since I was a tiny little girl, and from a very
good master, but the last three years I have had to struggle on by
myself. Father is not musical himself, and so he doesn't notice my
playing, but if you would tell him what you think--"
"I'll tell him with pleasure; but if he won't allow you to leave home, I
don't see what is to be done--unless--look here! I've got an idea. My
sister may want to take lessons, and if there were two pupils it might
be worth while getting a man down from Preston or Lancaster. Ella
couldn't come here, because she can only go out on fine days, but you
could come to us, you know. It would make it so much more difficult if
the fellow had to drive six miles over the mountains, and we are nearer
a station than you are here. I should think it could be managed easily
enough. I'll write to the mater about it if you like."
"Will you, really? How lovely of you! Oh, it would be quite too
delightful if it could be managed. I'd bless you for ever. Oh, isn't
it a good thing you sprained your ankle?" cried Norah in a glow of
enthusiasm, and the burst of laughter which followed startled the
occupants of the next room by its ring of good fellowship.
"Really," said Hilary, "the strange boy must be nicer than we thought.
Norah and he seem to be getting quite good friends. Let us hurry up,
and go and join them."
CHAPTER FOUR.
ROUND THE FIRE.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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