the house.

They talked of many things for a time and then Elnora said suddenly:
"Aunt Margaret, I like music."

"I've noticed that in you all your life," answered Margaret.

"If dogs can't talk, I can make a violin talk," announced Elnora, and
then in amazement watched the face of Margaret Sinton grow pale.

"A violin!" she wavered. "Where did you get a violin?"

"They fairly seemed to speak to me in the orchestra. One day the
conductor left his in the auditorium, and I took it, and Aunt Margaret,
I can make it do the wind in the swamp, the birds, and the animals. I
can make any sound I ever heard on it. If I had a chance to practise a
little, I could make it do the orchestra music, too. I don't know how I
know, but I do."

"Did--did you ever mention it to your mother?" faltered Margaret.

"Yes, and she seems prejudiced against them. But oh, Aunt Margaret, I
never felt so about anything, not even going to school. I just feel as
if I'd die if I didn't have one. I could keep it at school, and practise
at noon a whole hour. Soon they'd ask me to play in the orchestra. I
could keep it in the case and practise in the woods in summer. You'd let
me play over here Sunday. Oh, Aunt Margaret, what does one cost? Would
it be wicked for me to take of my money, and buy a very cheap one? I
could play on the least expensive one made."

"Oh, no you couldn't! A cheap machine makes cheap music. You got to have
a fine fiddle to make it sing. But there's no sense in your buying one.
There isn't a decent reason on earth why you shouldn't have your fa----"

"My father's!" cried Elnora. She caught Margaret Sinton by the arm. "My
father had a violin! He played it. That's why I can! Where is it! Is it
in our house? Is it in mother's room?"

"Elnora!" panted Margaret. "Your mother will kill me! She always hated
it."

"Mother dearly loves music," said Elnora.

"Not when it took the man she loved away from her to make it!"

"Where is my father's violin?"

"Elnora!"

"I've never seen a picture of my father. I've never heard his name
mentioned. I've never had a scrap that belonged to him. Was he my
father, or am I a charity child like Billy, and so she hates me?"

"She has good pictures of him. Seems she just can't bear to hear him
talked about. Of course, he was your father. They lived right there when
you were born. She doesn't dislike you; she merely tries to make herself
think she does. There's no sense in the world in you no