everything we eat. And I own to being one of the grumpiest; though the
lady in the horse-cloth dress yonder follows close upon my heels."

"She was the lady who was annoyed at me because I tuned the piano," the
little girl said. "Still, it had to be done. It was plainly my duty. I
seemed to have come for that purpose."

"It has been confoundedly annoying having it out of tune," he said.
"I've had to give up singing altogether. But what a strange profession
you have chosen! Very unusual, isn't it?"

"Why, surely not," she answered, amused. "It seems to me that every
other woman has taken to it. The wonder to me is that any one ever
scores a success. Nowadays, however, no one could amass a huge fortune
out of it."

"No one, indeed!" replied Oswald Everard, laughing. "What on earth made
you take to it?"

"It took to me," she said simply. "It wrapped me round with enthusiasm.
I could think of nothing else. I vowed that I would rise to the top of
my profession. I worked day and night. But it means incessant toil for
years if one wants to make any headway."

"Good gracious! I thought it was merely a matter of a few months," he
said, smiling at the little girl.

"A few months!" she repeated, scornfully. "You are speaking the language
of an amateur. No; one has to work faithfully year after year; to grasp
the possibilities, and pass on to greater possibilities. You imagine