n
the second glass. The kettle began to sing.

"That's music for you," chuckled the old man, raising the lid to see
if the water had boiled sufficiently. "Do you know I think a dinner
horn and a singing kettle beat a symphony all hollow for real
down-right melody," and he lifted the kettle from the fire-place.

Diotti smiled.

With mathematical accuracy the old man filled the two tumblers with
boiling water.

"Try that," handing a glass of the toddy to Diotti; "you will find it
all right," and the old man drew an armchair toward the fire-place,
smacking his lips in anticipation.

The violinist placed his chair closer to the fire and sipped the
drink.

"Your country is noted for its beautiful women?"

"We have exquisite types of femininity in Tuscany," said the young
man, with patriotic ardor.

"Any as fine looking as--as--as--well, say the young lady we dined
with to-night?"

"Miss Wallace?" queried the Tuscan.

"Yes, Miss Wallace," this rather impatiently.

"She is very beautiful," said Diotti, with solemn admiration.

"Have you ever seen any one prettier?" questioned the old man, after a
second prolonged sip.

"I have no desire to see any one more beautiful," said the violinist,
feeling that the other was trying to draw him out, and determined not
to yield.

"You will pardon the inquisitiveness of an old man, but are not you
musicians a most impressionable lot?"

"We are human," answered the violinist.

"I imagined you were like sailors and had a sweetheart in every port."

"That would be a delightful prospect to one having polygamous
aspirations, but for myself, one sweetheart is enough," laughingly
said the musician.

"Only one! Well, here's to her! With this nectar fit for the gods and
goddesses of Olympus, let us drink to her," said old Sanders, with
convivial dignity, his glass raised on high. "Here's wishing health
and happiness to the dreamy-eyed Tuscan beauty, whom you love and who
loves you."

"Stop!" said Diotti; "we will drink to the first part of that toast,"
and holding his glass against that of his bibulous host, continued:
"To the dreamy-eyed women of my country, exacting of their lovers;
obedient to their parents and loyal to their husbands," and his voice
rose in sonorous rhythm with the words.

"Now for the rest of the toast, to the one you love and who loves
you," came from Sanders.

"To the one I love and who loves me, God bless her!" fervently cried
the guest.

"Is