freakish beauty of your perfect unmatched eyes."

* * * * *

Down the road, two miles from the Burton home, was the wayside church
with its small and unpretentious organ, and this afternoon Paul had been
pumping its wheezy bellows while the young woman who contributed the
Sabbath music practised. As he came out of the small building and took
his way across the hills, Paul was exalted as he always was by music.

Once he had passed through the gates of dream, which swung wide to a key
of sound, he wandered on, fancy led, until some actuality broke the
spell, bringing him back with a shock and an inward sigh for the
awakening.

But when he drew near the house, a footstep crackled in the underbrush,
and Ham emerged from the woods. As the elder boy came up, Paul, roused
out of his dreams, gave a start and then fell into step.

"Been out there listenin' to the leaves fallin' again?" inquired Ham
shortly.

"I've been pumping the organ." Paul's reply was half-apologetic.

"You don't think about much except music, do you, Paul?"

"Isn't music all right?" For once the lad spoke almost aggressively in
defense of his single enthusiasm.

"I wasn't exactly finding fault, Paul. Only, I don't see much hope for a