" replied
Ruth, suiting her actions to her words.

In a very few minutes the girls were ready and slowly descended the
stairs again to wait for Jim in the parlor.

"Well, here I am. Room engaged and all," said a cheery voice from the
hall which they knew as Jim's.

"Where is it?" questioned Ruth.

"Yes, where?" echoed Dorothy.

"Where do you suppose?" mocked Jim. "Well, I will tell you. Ruth it is
your room."

"My room!" exclaimed the girl.

"Yes, your room," laughed Jim. "I am to have it next Wednesday. Mrs.
Quarren said you were to leave it Tuesday."

"Tuesday!" interrupted Dorothy, in a very much surprised tone of
voice.

"Yes, dear, Tuesday. Didn't Mr. Ludlow tell you?" added Ruth. "Tuesday
we go to Washington on the noon train."

"Ah, is it so soon? I didn't know it. It makes me feel so sad. I hate
to leave New York now, just as I am becoming used to it," wailed
Dorothy. "Oh, I just must go back to the hotel. I have to practice and
it is getting late."

"Come on, Dorothy," said Jim, rising and walking to the door.

"Good-bye till to-night," said Dorothy.

"Good-bye, dear, till to-night," answered Ruth.

With that Dorothy and Jim made their departure for home. The way back
was rather quiet, for the news that the girls were to start so soon
had made Jim sad. And Dorothy couldn't help but feel the same way.
When at last they had silently reached the hotel and had gone up to
the rooms, Dorothy spoke.

"Jim, do you want to stay here and be my audience while I practice and
tell me what you think of my playing?"

"Yes, indeed I do," answered Jim, gladly grasping the opportunity to
be near the girl, and when he had seated himself in a great chair
added, "I'll be more than audience, I'll be newspaper reporter and a
very exacting and critical one at that. And then, when you finish I
will tell you what I would put in the paper about you and your
playing."

"That's a bargain," answered Dorothy, taking her violin in hand. "I
will start right now."

So saying she commenced playing slowly at first, anon faster and
faster, then again more slowly that beautiful composition, "A Medley
of Southern Airs," putting all her love and yearning for her own
southern home into the effort. Jim from his chair by the window could
picture each phase of the piece, and when she had finished with the
beautiful sad strains of "Home, Sweet Home," he could hardly control
himself, and man that he was, he could not keep the tear