Peter was restless. As the music went on he tiptoed out of the
room and took to pacing up and down the little corridor. Each
time as he passed the door he tried not to glance in; each time
he paused involuntarily. Jealousy had her will of him that night,
jealousy, when he had never acknowledged even to himself how much
the girl was to him.
Jimmy was restless. Usually Harmony's music put him to sleep; but
that night he lay awake, even after Peter had closed all the
doors. Peter came in and sat with him in the dark, going over now
and then to cover him, or to give him a drink, or to pick up the
cage of mice which Jimmy insisted on having beside him and which
constantly slipped off on to the floor. After a time Peter
lighted the night-light, a bit of wick on a cork floating in a
saucer of lard oil, and set it on the bedside table. Then round
it he arranged Jimmy's treasures, the deer antlers, the cage of
mice, the box, the wooden sentry. The boy fell asleep. Peter sat
in the room, his dead pipe in his teeth, and thought of many
things.
It was very late when young McLean left. The two had played until
they stopped for very weariness. Anna had yawned herself off to
bed. From Jimmy's room Peter could hear the soft hum of their
voices.
"You have been awfully good to me," McLean said as he finally
rose to go. "I--I want you to know that I'll never forget this
evening, never."
"It has been splendid, hasn't it? Since little Scatchy left there
has been no one for the piano.
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