“Down in Mexico they tell me the gals play on them; banging them on their elbows and knees; that is the big ones and the little ones they click in their fingers.” “Well, Sandy, this is another kind. Now this is a symbol in music, telling—” and so she went on for some time, Sandy listening attentively, with his head very near hers and their chairs as close together as he thought the occasion would justify. When she finished he said: “Miss Jeannette, please play that fine piece of yourn?” She played it through, then arranging his fingers on his bow, showed him just how he should stand; and playing a few notes at a time, instructed him to replay them. That part of the music which was difficult and she felt satisfied she had not played correctly, it struck her Sandy played with greater ease and expression than she could do; but he made horribly ludicrous mistakes in the easy portions. Intentionally, she had misplayed a portion and when he reached this part he played it correctly. Then she knew that for some reason he was fooling them. “Now Sandy, play it alone. Do your best, I shall go out on the porch and listen.” He started off in a halting amateurish way, making many blunders; as he played his mistakes became fewer, his touch fuller; gradually he forgot his purpose to deceive, the music was a favorite; towards the end he played as she had never dreamed the piece could be played. He came out on the porch and sat down beside her. Neither spoke. He knew she was no longer fooled. “Jeannette, I can read and write.” “Write something so I can see; you may be fooling me.” He felt in his pockets for a scrap of paper but found nothing. Then he opened a card case and taking out his card, wrote on the back a few words. She went into the light and read: “_Chi si marita alla svelta si pente adagio_. William L. Blair.” She turned the card over and read “William Lees Blair.” She called out the door, “Good night, Captain William Lees Blair;” and went to her room. He did not see her again until the next afternoon. He heard her singing on Big Rock, and walking down to the creek, followed up the bank until he came to the foot of the rock. It was very steep on that side, almost unscalable. She heard him climbing up. His hat fell off; a moment later his bare red head peeped above the surface, then his smiling, ruddy face rose slowly over the edge, much as she had seen the full red moon rise over the edge of the cliff that capped her mountain. “Jeannette, really, I can read.” “Let me see.” And he wrote on another card: “_Ah vie! Ah vie! Jai trouve la place ou tu demeures._” She took it saying: “Now since you have had your second lesson in penmanship, you may go home. I am busy embroidering a Christmas present for a friend and as this is the twenty-third of July, am too busy upon it to be disturbed.”