uctor idly.

"Aw, I don't know. He's kind o' funny, anyhow. Said he wanted to teach
young folks how to enjoy 'emselves without spending money. That kind of
talk hits their _folks_ in the right spot, you bet. He owns a slice of
this farm, you know, and he's given some of the younger kids pieces of
ground for gardens, and he's got up a night class in carpentering for
young fellows that work in town all day. He's a crack-a-jack of a
carpenter himself."

"He'll run into the unions if he don't look out," prophesied the
conductor.

"I guess likely," assented the motorman. "They got after Dielman the
other day, did you hear, because he--" The talk drifted to gossip of the
world of work-people.

It stopped short as the 'cello again sent out its rich, vibrant
introduction to the peal of full-throated joy. There seemed to be no
other sound in all the enchanted, starlit world than this fervid
harmony.

This time it did not stop, but went on and on, swelling and dying away
and bursting out again into new ecstasies. In one of the pauses, when
nothing but the 'cello's chant came to her ears, Lydia suddenly heard
mingling with it the sweet, faint voice of a little stream whispering
vaguely, near her. It sounded almost like rain on autumn leaves. The
lights in the car flared up, blinding white, but the two men on the step
did not stir. The conductor sat with his arms folded on his knees, his
head on his arms. The motorman leaned against the end of the car. When
the music finally died, after one long, ringing, exultant shout, no one
moved for a time.

Then the motorman stood up, drawing on his glove.

"Quite a concert!" said the conductor, starting for the back platform.

"They do _fine_!" repeated the motorman.

The accountant came forward from the shadow and helped Lydia up the
steps. There were traces of tears on his tired face.

* * * * *

In September, when her mother leaned over her to say in a joyful,
trembling voice, "Oh, Lydia, it's a girl, a darling little girl!" Lydia
opened her white lips to say, "She is Ariadne."

"What did you say?" asked her mother.

"We must see that she has the clue," said Lydia faintly.

Mrs. Emery tiptoed to the doctor. "Keep her very quiet," she whispered;
"she is a little out of her head."

CHAPTER XXIII

FOR ARIADNE'S SAKE

Little Ariadne was six months old before Lydia could begin to make the
slightest effort to resume the soc