hange in Mr. Stannard's attitude toward the
farm, of course," he concluded. "A son's supposed to thrive on adversity.
It wouldn't be good morals not to make things difficult for him by way of
developing his character. But where a mere daughter is involved he can
chuckle and write checks. Under his tradition, he's entitled to regard
her as a luxury. Anyhow, your father has nothing more to worry about as
far as Rush and Hickory Hill are concerned."

"Life's a kaleidoscope," Mary said. "I'm tired. Let's sit down."--They
were half-way up the park by that time.--"Oh, here on the grass. What
does it matter?" When they were thus disposed she went back to her
figure. "There's just a little turn, by some big wrist that we don't know
anything about, and a little click, and the whole pattern changes."

"There are some patterns that don't change," he said soberly, but he
didn't try to argue the point with her. He knew too exactly how she felt.
"Tell me," he said, "what it was that you wanted to talk to me about."

She acknowledged that she'd been hoping he'd forgotten that, of the
momentousness of his two items of news had left her, as her talk about
kaleidoscopes indicated, rather disoriented. So he threw in, to give her
time to get round to it, the information that both Sylvia and the little
Williamson girl had decided they wanted to study music with him. "I
agreed," he added, "to take them on, when I got around to it."

"Tony," she said, "I won't let you do that. Not music lessons to little
girls. I won't."

"Afternoons?" he asked gently. "When I'm through the real day's work? It
would be pretty good fun, trying to show a few people--young unspoiled
people--what music really is. Dynamite some of their sentimental ideas
about it; shake them loose from some of the schoolmasters' niggling rules
about it; make them write it themselves; show 'em the big shapes of it;
make a piano keyboard something they knew their way about in. That
wouldn't be a contemptible job for anybody.--Oh, well, we can talk that
out later. But you needn't be afraid for me, my dear."

"That's what I said to Wallace Hood," she told him; "just before lunch.
When I was trying to decide to tell you what he'd been saying.--About
your room that they're turning you out of."

With that, she repeated the whole of the talk with Wallace and the
serio-fantastic idea that it had led up to.

He grinned over it a while in silence, then asked, "Are you willing to
leav