Her musing was interrupted by the Blair family coming in the door. They were in the habit of retiring with the chickens; and their cousin’s playing was no reason for a violation of the rule. After they were gone Sandy seemed to play with even more perfect expression. She marveled at the ease and certainty with which he played his homely pieces. “He is quick and with a few lessons would soon learn to play better than I can—perhaps with training he might make one of the world’s great musicians. I will teach him the notes, and how to hold the bow. His habits are good; he neither chews nor drinks, as most of our boys. I believe he would make a good hus—; but he is uneducated.” Just here Sandy looked up: “Listen! I worked this out yesterday and call it ‘Voices Jeannette Hears.’” He played something not much louder than a whisper, a chorus of all the still small voices she had heard about her home—the wind, the birds, the brooks, the crickets, the spirits of the hills and dells; little prayers of praise, little prattlings of joy and happiness—yes, and of love. She felt so happy; and yet so very, very lonely, for someone or something to love. A tear found its way down each cheek and two others nestled on her lashes, loath to leave the fountains of their birth. When he finished neither spoke. He did not look towards her, but out into the darkness of the peaceful, starry night. While thus they sat it seemed to Jeannette that something with a touch light as a feather and lips soft as the petals of a rose brushed her ear and a joyous little spirit with a dulcet young voice, such as she had never heard before, whispered: “Is he not handsome? Do you not see how quick he is to learn? Teacher, teach him! you can in a few months. How delightful to educate him; mould his fresh, open, plastic mind; make of him not alone a husband but a soul companion; which you could not do were his soul awake to its full strength and vision. Jeannette, it is springtime for you; be not a virgin of steel; let your soul bud and flower, the blossom of life is love, let it bear fruit. Would you die a spinster with a drying heart, knowing only a spirit love, little better than a dream? Cast off this sombre veil that you have wound about your heart; open your eyes; do you not love him? I have brought Sandy to you.” She rose from her seat and in a voice not much louder than the one she had been listening to, managed to say: “Good night, Sandy,” and left the room. He did not move, though he answered: “Good night,” and as her door closed added: “O Life! O Life! I have found the place of thy dwelling.” He laid his violin upon the table and went out into the night. The night was not dark, though there was no moon. The stars were bright, they seemed to be holding a carnival. The night was not cold; a midsummer breeze stirred the trees; the leaves whispered of love and threw kisses to the stars.