the end of his silent contemplation he brusquely demanded, "Well, Paul,
how long is it going to take you to fill that bucket with water?"

The younger lad started violently and stammered. Chagrined tears welled
into his deep eyes, and a flush spread over his thin cheeks.

"I just--just got to thinkin'," he exculpated lamely, "an' I fogot to
hurry. Listen at that water singin', Ham!" His voice took on a rapt
eagerness. "An' them leaves rustlin'. It's all like some kind of music
that nobody's ever played an' nobody ever can play."

Ham's face, looking down from the commanding height of his sixteen
years, hardened.

"Do you figure that Pap sends you to school to set out here and listen
at the leaves rattlin'?" was the dry inquiry. "To hear you talk a
feller'd think there ain't anything in the world but funny noises. What
do they get you?"

"Noises!" the slight lad's voice filled and thrilled with remonstrance,
"Can't you ever understand music, Ham? There's all the world of
difference between music an' noise. Music's what the Bible says the
angels love more'n anything."

Ham's lips set themselves sternly. He was not one to be turned aside
with quibbles.

"Look here, Paul," he accused, "you didn't come out here to get water
and you didn't come to listen to the fishes singin' songs either. You
sneaked out to run away because you're scared of Jimmy Marquess an'