e mean time I prefer the
violin--that is, with one like your brother to play it."

She turned to the door, and Joseph Jasper, who had not spoken a word,
rose and followed her. As soon as they were outside, Mary turned to
him, and begged he would play the same piece with which he had ended on
the former occasion.

"I thought you did not care for it! I am so glad!" he said.

"I care for it very much," replied Mary, "and have often thought of it
since. But you left in such haste! before I could find words to thank
you!"

"You mean the ten lepers, don't you?" he said. "But of course you do. I
always end off with them."

"Is that how you call it?" returned Mary. "Then you have given me the
key to it, and I shall understand it much better this time, I hope."

"That is what I call it," said Joseph, "--to myself, I mean, not to
Ann. She would count it blasphemy. God has made so many things that she
thinks must not be mentioned in his hearing!"

When they entered the room, Joseph, casting a quick look round it, made
at once for the darkest corner. Three swift strides took him there;
and, without more preamble than if he had come upon a public platform
to play, he closed his eyes and began.

And now at last Mary understood at least this specimen of his strange
music, and was able to fill up the blanks in the impression it formerly
made upon her. Alas, that my helpless ignorance should continue to make
it impossible for me to describe it!

A movement even and rather slow, full of unexpected chords, wonderful
to Mary, who did not know that such things could be made on the violin,
brought before her mind's eye the man who knew all about everything,
and loved a child more than a sage, walking in the hot day upon the
border be-tween Galilee and Samaria. Sounds arose which she interpreted
as the stir of village life, the crying and calling of domestic
animals, and of busy housewives at their duties, carried on half out of
doors, in the homeliness of country custom. Presently the instrument
began to tell the gathering of a crowd, with bee-like hum, and the
crossing of voice with voice--but, at a distance, the sounds confused
and obscure. Swiftly then they seemed to rush together, to blend and
lose themselves in the unity of an imploring melody, in which she heard
the words, uttered afar, with uplifted hands and voices, drawing nearer
and nearer as often repeated, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us." Then
came a brief pause, and