The bells had ceased. He heard the roll of a deep throated organ
skillfully played.
And now, his attention was suddenly attracted to the open window of the
church where framed in English ivy a lovely girl sat at the organ. She
was dressed in white with hair of gold, and a golden window somewhere
back of her across the church, made a background of beaten gold against
which her delicate profile was set like some young saint. Her white
fingers moving among the keys, and gradually he came to realize that it
was she who had been playing the bells.
He stared and stared, filled with admiration, thrilled with this new
experience in his blase existence. Who would have expected to find a
beauty like that in a little out of the way place like this? His theory
of a great estate and a rich man's daughter with a fad for music
instantly came to the front. What a lucky happening that he should have
broken down close to this church. He would find out who the girl was
and work it to get invited up to her house. Perhaps he was a fortunate
loser of his bet after all.
As he watched the girl playing gradually the music entered his
consciousness. He was fond of music, and had heard the best of the
world of course. This was meltingly lovely. The girl had fine
appreciation and much expression, even when the medium of her melody
was clumsy things like bells. She had seemed to make them glad as they
pealed out their melodies. He had not known bells could sound like
happy children, or like birds.
His meditations were interrupted by a tap on the door, followed by the
entrance of his host bearing a tray: "Good-morning," he said pleasantly, "I see you're up. How is the
sprain? Better? Would you like me to dress it again?"
He came over to the desk and set down the tray on which was beautifully
brown buttered toast, eggs and coffee: "I've brought you just a bite. It's so late you won't want much, for we
have dinner immediately after church. I suppose you wouldn't feel like
going over to the service?"
"Service?" the young man drawled almost insolently.
"Yes, service is at eleven. Would you care to go over? I could assist
you."
"Naw, I shouldn't care to go," he answered rudely, "I'm pulling out of
here as soon as I can get that machine of mine running. By the way,
I've been doing some telephoning"--he slung a ten dollar note on the
desk. "I didn't ask how much it was, guess that'll cover it. Now, help
me to the big chair and I'll sample your breakfast."