"That's all for the first lesson," Billy announced at the end of the
hour. "You've got those first notes well enough to practice them.
To-morrow we'll go a little bit farther." But she did not know the long,
patient hours between now and then that the old man would "practice,"
crooked painfully over the keys. She did not reckon on the miracle that
might be wrought out of intense desire.

The next morning Old '61 at the gate proclaimed proudly:

"I've got it! I've got it! I can play an' sing fur as we've b'en!
It's ringin' in my head all the time."

"Did the birds wake you up singing it?" Billy asked, smilingly. She,
herself, was all eagerness to learn of her pupil's progress. The lesson
began at once. Already, she found, the miracle had begun to work. The
old man sat down to the organ with a flourish that, if it had not been
full of pathos, would have been a little comedy act. After a brief
preliminary search the old fingers found their place and pounded out
triumphantly the few notes they had been taught.

"Good! good!" applauded the teacher heartily. "Why, you do it
splendidly! Now we'll go on a little farther--this finger on this note,
this one here, your thumb _here_." She stationed them carefully and
the second lesson began. It was nearer two hours than one when it ended.

* * * * *

"Where have _you_ been, Billy?" Loraine asked at lunch. They had
all been describing their individual pursuits and experiences of the