?" he asked abruptly.

"Fifteen. Why?"

"Well, don't you call me little boy any more. I am thirteen."

"You don't look it," remarked Bee with a critical glance at him. "I
thought you were not more than ten. Your--"

"Yes; my clothes," interrupted he, frowning darkly. "I just hate them!"

"What makes you wear them then?" asked she, surprised.

"Because I am an Infant Prodigy. Grown people think that I am more of a
genius if I dress like a silly. If I wore clothes like a decent boy they
wouldn't come to hear me play. So I have to wear these things--" with a
gesture of disgust. "I've worn them for ages and ages. I suppose that
I'll die wearing them, and being an Infant Prodigy. And these curls! Do
you think a real fellow likes to go around like a girl? Well, I guess
not. Whenever old Heinrich, he's my tutor, says: 'We must have a new
Fauntleroy suit for de boy, madam,' I just wish Fauntleroy had never
been born."

"But he wasn't," spoke Bee. "He's just a character in a book, Percival."

"'Mounts to the same thing," answered Percival, "if I have to dress like
him. But just you wait. When I'm a little older, you'll see. Your hair
looks funny too," turning the subject suddenly. "What makes it so dark
at the roots, and so yellow everywhere else? Did you bleach it?"

"Yes;" said Bee humbly, her face flushing. "You see I have a cousin who
is very beautiful, and I wished to look like her, so I had my hair
bleached. I am sorry that I did it now, and I am letting it grow out.
Just as soon as it gets long enough to look well, I will have the yellow
part cut off. Now do play, or your mother will be sorry that I came."

"Oh, she knows that I will play an hour longer," said the Prodigy
easily, adjusting his violin. "I told her that I would, and I always do
what I say I will."

Beatrice made no reply, and the lad began to play some snatches of march
music which grew wilder and more barbarous, changing at last to a wild
mad waltz of wonderful rhythm. He was indeed a prodigy. His tone was
marvelously pure, his technique fluent and delicate. He touched the
secret feelings of the heart, and brought into play all the emotions.
The girl paled under the influence, and listened in rapturous silence.
Presently the boy stopped, turned toward her expectantly, and drew
himself up in a stiff, martial attitude. Beatrice gazed at him in
wonderment, her breath coming quickly through her parted lips.

"Well?" he said impatiently. "Hurry up,