"That is beautiful music," said she. "Mr. Holm is a genius. He'll make
his mark if he keeps on."

"Yes, I understand that he is going East to study. That will bring him
out if there is anything in him."

There was a pause in the conversation; then Rupert remarked carefully,
as if feeling his way:

"Yes, there's talent in Volmer, but he makes music his god, which I
think is wrong."

"Do you think so?" she asked.

What that expression meant, it was hard to say.

"Yes, I think that no man should so drown himself in one thing that he
is absolutely dead to everything else. Mr. Holm does that. Volmer
worships nothing but music."

Rupert filled the basket and they sauntered back.

"A more beautiful god I cannot imagine," she said, half aloud.

Rupert turned with an inquiring look on his face, but he got nothing
more from her, as she was busy with a peach. Her straw hat was tilted
back on her head, and the wavy brown hair was somewhat in confusion.
School teaching had not, as yet, driven the roses from her cheeks, nor
the smiles from her lips. There was just enough of daylight left so