soft hands, who had watched the performance with gentle care.

"Putty girls," said Uncle William, cordially.

The man looked at him, smiling. "One of them is my granddaughter, sir,"
he responded affably.

She came from the door by the platform and sat down near her
grandfather, the lilies and the long white ribbons trailing from
nervous fingers. Uncle William leaned forward and smiled at her, nodding
encouragement.

She replied with a quick, shy smile and fixed her eyes on the platform.

More pupils followed--young girls and old ones, and a youth with a
violin that fluttered and wailed and grew harmonious at last as the
youth forgot himself. Uncle William's big, round face beamed upon him.
Sergia, watching him from behind the scenes, could see that he regarded
them all as nice children. He would have looked the same had they played
on jews'-harps and tin horns. But he was enjoying it. She was glad of
that.

She came out during the intermission to speak with him. "They're all
through now," she said encouragingly.

He looked down at his program bewildered, and a little disappointed, she
thought. "They got 'em all done?--I didn't hear that 'Wanderin' Iceberg'
one," he said regretfully. "I cal'ated to listen to that. But I was so
interested in the children that I clean forgot.--They're nice children."
He looked about the room where they were laughing and talking in groups.