But Paul at that moment was oblivious of anything so material and mundane as dinner. As a matter of fact, he and the old white-haired organist, Victor DeLaunay, were discussing and discoursing music. As the old organist was concluding his morning postlude he turned about and saw a young chap with face aglow standing at his back. “Wonderful!” exclaimed the youth. “Wonderful!” “Do you play?” “No. The piano a little.” “But you know the keyboard?” “A very little,” replied the young man, humble in the presence of a great master. Charmed by his manner and by his face, the old organist said—and it was a great concession—“Would you like to try?” For answer Paul vaulted over the rail and was at the old man’s side on the bench. “Would you really not mind? I should like just to try it.” “Come on then. Proceed.” As Paul settled himself at the keyboard there was a great roar from the pedal notes. “Ah! Keep your feet off the pedals.” “What?” “Your feet. Keep your feet off the pedals. See!” And the old organist slid his feet up and down in scales and chords. “Oh! You play with your feet! Wonderful!” “Yes. Now try without the pedals.” Then Paul placed his hands upon the keyboard. A simple Mozart melody flowed from under his fingers, a bit of the glorious Twelfth Mass. An expression of surprise lit up the old man’s face. He began manipulating the stops. Paul stopped playing. “What are you doing with those things?” he inquired, amazed at the variation in the tone produced by the stops. The old man eagerly proceeded to explain the mechanism of the organ, demonstrating the value and purpose of each stop as he went along. “Now,” he said, “you play. I will show you how the stops go. Do that Mozart thing again.” With growing confidence and courage Paul began to play and soon in the rapture of the music forgot himself. From one master to another he went, doing his piano music, exhilarated, overwhelmed, the old man following or anticipating his moods with the stops. Finally he wandered into his own Spring Symphony, the “Out of Doors” Symphony of Pine Croft. He stopped abruptly. “Tell me, is there any stop for running water?” “What are you playing?” inquired the old organist. “Oh, a foolish little thing that I call the Spring Symphony, an out-of-doors thing. What is the stop for running water?” In harmony with his mood the old man pulled out a stop. “That’s it!” shouted Paul. “Now sunshine, bright yellow sunshine!” And again the organist responded. From one mood to another of the spring day they wandered together. “Now then, a storm!” And the diapasons began to roll forth their sonorous tones. “Evening!” shouted Paul. “The sunset!” and at last, “The stars!”