"Hullo!" said Nigel--then suddenly he laughed; they all looked so forlorn, holding out their pinafores and pointing their feet. "Wait a bit," he said, "my string's broken, but I'll have another on in no time." So he did--but not to play a duet with the wind. He played the Intermezzo from _Cavalleria_, and the dance went on as raggedly as before. After the Intermezzo he played the Overture to _Zampa_, which was immensely popular, then threaded a patchwork of _La Somnambula_, the _Bohemian Girl_, _La Tosca_, and _Aida_, till mothers began to appear on the doorsteps with cries of "Supper's waiting." Supper was waiting for Nigel when he appeared at Sparrow Hall. Len and Janey asked no questions--it was pathetic how few questions they asked him nowadays--but they both noticed he was happier. He did not speak much--he sat in a kind of dream, with a wistful tremulousness in the corners of his mouth. His mouth had always been the oldest part of him--hard in repose and fierce in movement--but to-night it had taken some of the extreme childishness of his eyes. Nigel felt very much the same as a child that cries for the moon and is given a ball to play with--the ball almost makes him forget that he wants the moon so badly. Those dancing children had, for some strange reason, partly filled the place of stalwart Tony in his heart. That night they came and danced in his dreams--in a pale light, to a tinkling tune. He found himself forming plans for making them dance again. He would never be on the old footing with Tony, but those children should dance for him and help him to forget. So the next evening he went out again with his fiddle, and played at Blindley Heath. Again the children danced--with clumping boots and high petticoats they danced outside the Sweepers Inn. But this time he did not stay long--he went on to Dormans Land, to see if they would dance there. It was nearly dark now, and one or two misty stars shone above the village roofs--the wind was heavy with approaching rain as it soughed up the street towards him. He did not stand at the inn, but where the road to Lingfield joins the road to Cowden, close to the schools. One or two children came and looked at him curiously. "He wants a halfpenny," said one, "I'll ask my mumma for it." "No," said Nigel, "I want you to dance." The children giggled, but at last the little girl who had suggested the halfpenny picked up her skirts, and then it was not long before they were all dancing to the waltz from _Traviata_.