a
massacre and coming to America for refuge.

But now the music had taken a gayer, brighter turn. Everywhere there was
the hum of industry, a contented sound like the buzzing of bees intent
upon gathering honey. Songs of happiness rose on every side, mingled
with the sound of joyful feet passing in a gay dance. The music took on
an irresistible lilt; the feet of the listeners itched to join in the
measure and tapped out the time involuntarily.

Suddenly the dance turned into marching, the earth resounded with the
tramp, tramp of advancing feet, the music became a martial strain; it
stirred the blood to fever heat and set the pulses leaping madly. Louder
and more triumphant swelled the strain, louder came the tramp of the
victorious armies following in the wake of trumpets, until the whole
earth seemed to mingle its voice in one great shout of victory.

Without knowing it the listeners were on their feet, clutching each
other with tense fingers, their eyes blurred with tears, their throats
aching with emotion, their hearts burning to perform deeds of valor for
their country, to fight to the last ditch, to die as heroes for their
native land.

They hardly realized when Veronica had stopped playing and slipped
quietly out of the room.

"God, what playing!" breathed Mr. Wing to the artist. "Music like that
would turn cowards into heroes and heroes into demi-gods; would inspire
a wooden dummy to fight to the last ditch for freedom and native land.
Daggers and Dirks! What a red-hot little American she is! Why, if a
_dead_ man heard her play the 'Star Spangled Banner' the way she just
played it, he'd rise up to protect his country. Yes, and his very
_monument_ would shoulder a gun and get into the ranks against the foe!"

Refreshments were brought in and the babel of tongues broke loose again.
Everyone asked for Veronica, wanted to sit beside her and tell her what
a wonderful genius she was, but she was nowhere to be found.
Grandmother Wing came in presently and said that Veronica had slipped
out and gone home because she had a sick headache and wanted to be
alone.

"She has those headaches so often," said Migwan in a tone of concern. "I
wonder if I hadn't better go home after her."

"She said she wanted to be alone," said Nyoda thoughtfully. "She always
does, you know, when she has a headache. I don't believe I'd go after
her. She'll go right to bed and be all right in the morning."

With many expressions of regret