was on the last Saturday afternoon before Old Home Week that May rushed into the living-room where Sister Sue was awaiting a belated pupil.
"He's come!" she announced breathlessly.
"Well, I should think that it was time," answered the somewhat annoyed music-teacher. "But why, pray, all this excitement on your part? You're not usually so interested in my pupils. Where is he? Why does n't he come in? Well, what's the matter now?" she demanded with still more irritation as May began to giggle hysterically.
"It's Donald Kendall that's come—not your precious Jimmy Sargent," chattered May. "I just saw him."
"Oh! Well." Sister Sue was still frowning, though her eyes began to show a decided interest.
"I saw him get out of the motor at their door. I know it was he. He was tall and dark, just as Martin said; and he had a violin. Behind him came a little man with a big music portfolio under his arm. Then the chauffeur carried in two enormous suitcases and a hatbox. Oh, Sue, I'm crazy to see him!—near to, I mean. Are n't you?"
"I'm crazy to hear him play," emphasized Sister Sue severely; "and—oh, there's Jimmy, at last," she broke off, hurrying from the room.
The whole town knew before the day was over that Donald Kendall had arrived; and before twenty-four hours had passed, many who (like May) had longed to see him "near to," found their longing satisfied. For Donald Kendall went to church in the morning and sat in the Kendall pew. He seemed oblivious of the many curious glances cast in his direction; and his air, as he walked down the aisle upon leaving the church, did not invite approach, though he was civil enough to the few braver spirits who dared to speak to him.
In the afternoon he and his accompanist went to walk on the hill back of the house; and in the early evening May saw the big touring car come around to the door and take them all away for a ride.
Not until Monday morning did there come the sound of the violin; then, at almost the first note, Sister Sue and May ran to the corner of the vine-shaded veranda nearest the Kendall house.
"Hush! Listen! He's playing the Tschaikowsky concerto," whispered Sister Sue excitedly. Then, after a minute: "Oh, May, he can play!" Then, after another five minutes of ecstatic listening: "And—I've got to leave it! There's Susie—the little wretch! To think of having to hear her jangling with the memory of this in my ears!"
"I wonder if he remembers us," murmured May, trying to peer through the thick screen of leaves. "Sue, do you suppose we'll have to be introduced? I shan't. I'm going to go right up and speak to him when it's over. Shan't you?"
But Sister Sue had gone. And in a moment from the piano in the house came the familiar one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.
With a vexed gesture May ran to shut the door and the window; then she came back to her corner on the veranda.
She was there when the messenger boy on the bicycle dashed up the Kendall driveway, and she was still there through all the subsequent confusion; so that when Sister Sue came out on to the veranda for a breath of air between pupils, May was able to give her a full account of what had occurred.
"Something has happened, Sue!" she cried, fairly quivering with excitement. "First, Johnny Baxter came on his wheel with a telegram, and a minute later the music stopped right off short, and I could hear voices, away here—quick, excited voices as if something was wrong. Then it seems as though it was n't more than five minutes before the chauffeur had the car at the door and the little man—the accompanist, you know—came running down the steps with a suitcase and jumped into the car. Behind him Mr. Kendall was hurrying just as fast, only he did n't get into the car. He had his watch out and I heard him call: 'You'll make it! You've got ten minutes! Don't worry!' Then I knew he meant the train for New York, of course. And the car dashed off and Mr. Kendall went back into the house. In a minute I heard the violin; but it was n't at all as he played it before. It sounded, for all the world, like your piano when you are all worked up over something, only much worse."
"I can imagine it," nodded Sister Sue.