y at her husband, but he was looking
intently at the toes of his boots, shading his forehead with his long
white hand. When Thea finished the hymn she did not turn around, but
immediately began "The Ninety and Nine." Mrs. Harsanyi kept trying to
catch her husband's eye; but his chin only sank lower on his collar.

"There were ninety and nine that safely lay In the shelter of the fold,
But one was out on the hills away, Far off from the gates of gold."

Harsanyi looked at her, then back at the fire.

"Rejoice, for the Shepherd has found his sheep."

Thea turned on the chair and grinned. "That's about enough, isn't it?
That song got me my job. The preacher said it was sympathetic," she
minced the word, remembering Mr. Larsen's manner.

Harsanyi drew himself up in his chair, resting his elbows on the low
arms. "Yes? That is better suited to your voice. Your upper tones are
good, above G. I must teach you some songs. Don't you know
anything--pleasant?"

Thea shook her head ruefully. "I'm afraid I don't. Let me see--Perhaps,"
she turned to the piano and put her hands on the keys. "I used to sing
this for Mr. Wunsch a long while ago. It's for contralto, but I'll try
it." She frowned at the keyboard a moment, played the few introductory
measures, and began:

"ACH, ICH HABE SIE VERLOREN,"

She had not sung it for a long time, and it came back like an old
friendship. When she finished, Harsanyi sprang from his chair and
dropped lightly upon his toes, a kind of ENTRE-CHAT that he sometimes
executed when he formed a sudden resolution, or when he was about to
follow a pure intuition, against reason. His wife said that when he gave
that spring he was shot from the bow of his ancestors, and now when he
left his chair in that manner she knew he was intensely interested. He
went quickly to the piano.

"Sing that again. There is nothing the matter with your low voice, my
girl. I will play for you. Let your voice out." Without looking at her
he began the accompaniment. Thea drew back her shoulders, relaxed them
instinctively, and sang.

When she finished the aria, Harsanyi beckoned her nearer. "Sing AH--AH
for me, as I indicate." He kept his right hand on the keyboard and put
his left to her throat, placing the tips of his delicate fingers over
her larynx. "Again,--until your breath is gone.--Trill between the two
tones, always; good! Again; excellent!--Now up,--stay there. E and F.
Not so good, is it? F is always a hard