polly, who demanded little of fate and who least of all the scollard family asserted herself, received some things unsought. for instance, her tenth birthday came to her early in january, bringing a mild little celebration of polly's passing into double numbers.

in its honor all the girls came down to the tea room in the afternoon, that polly need not be separated from any of them, and they hoped it might prove a day cloudy enough to allow for playtime.

instead it was a bright, crisp, ozoneful day and people dropped in in greater numbers than they had come since christmas, so the girls were as busy as bees. they had not seen much of their attractive landlady. her chaperonage was rather in moral effect, knowing that she was above stairs ready in case of need, than in actual service. the tea maidens caught glimpses of her, and exchanged a few words with her occasionally, enough to make them, margery especially, wish they might know her better. she was busy with her classes and there was scant opportunity.

to-day, however, mrs. stewart came in at one o'clock, and smiled her readiness to wait till margery should be at leisure to speak to her. mrs. jones-dexter had turned u[86]p again after an absence of ten days, and margery was patiently trying to fit her out; physically, with tea that should be neither too strong nor too weak, too hot nor too cold, and mentally with a novel equally perfect.

margery had not yet acquired happie's faculty of bearing up with equanimity under this singular person's trying ways.

the moment mrs. jones-dexter caught sight of mrs. stewart she deserted margery and the book shelves, and crossed over to the little dancing teacher.

"what have you been doing to my little serena jones-dexter?" she demanded.

"teaching her to dance?" said mrs. stewart with an interrogation point in her voice, not knowing what the little serena's grandmother might mean.

"teaching her to do nothing but dance!" retorted mrs. jones-dexter. "the mite puts chairs in a row, carefully spaced, and dances through and around them all day long, if no one interferes. what are you trying to make her do?"

mrs. stewart laughed. "trying to make her do nothing of that sort," she said. "but i have suggested that practice for the older children, to help them learn the reverse. i suppose your little serena is as imitative as are most tots. she has not reached the age when difficulties are demanded of little women."

[87]

"i hope not!" said mrs. jones-dexter, and margery saw that her question had not been put to mrs. stewart in a fault-finding way, but proudly, and she remembered that mrs. charleford had said she was wrapped up in her little grandchild. "have you seen my little serena?" mrs. jones-dexter asked turning to margery.

"i'm afraid not. i have never been up-stairs during the classes," margery replied.

"she's worth seeing," said mrs. jones-dexter crisply. "it's not a grandmother's doting that finds her a rare blossom of a child, is it?" she demanded of serena's teacher.

mrs. stewart shook her head. "i have never seen a child as lovely," she said, and margery saw that the praise was sincere.

"she is precisely like her name, sweet, exquisite, like a bit of old-time porcelain. you would appreciate her. mrs. stewart, please arrange for miss scollard and her sister to see my little girl," said mrs. jones-dexter. margery was amazed to discover in this speech proof that the difficult lady considered her and happie fitted to appreciate the fineness of this rare child.

"i came to ask miss margery scollard to come up-stairs this afternoon. i suppose both the elder girls cannot come together?" mrs. stewart paused for the negative that margery murmured. "well, then will one of you come and bring with you your two youngest sisters? and i will show you mrs. jones-dexter's grandchild; you will find her all we say," mrs. stewart contin[88]ued. "i wanted to ask a favor of you, if i may."

"i'll take myself out of earshot," said mrs. jones-dexter promptly. "i see your sister has my tea. i'll come in to-morrow to hear your candid opinion of serena. she is a shy child, not inclined to friendships, but i think you will win her regard. i wish you would try to. she is not strong, a sensitive creature, and i should like to have her play with your pretty little penelope, who is as vigorous and normal as serena is unearthly."

she walked across the room to the table at which polly patiently waited her coming. margery turned to mrs. stewart. "i can hardly believe my ears!" she cried. "i was thinking that i would never again try to please her, that i must leave her to happie forevermore, and suddenly she turns brusquely cordial!"

"she's peculiar to herself," laughed mrs. stewart. "people say that mrs. jones-dexter has been a martinet in her family, that she and her son, this little serena's father, got on no better than she has got on with her nieces, nephews, brothers and sisters. but towards serena she is pathetically tender and adoring. and it is all true about the little girl. she is six years old, and the most flower-like, angelic little being one could imagine. now my favor: dear miss margery, i want to take your polly and penny into my class, just for the pleasure of having them,— that, and because i want to do something that would give miss brad[89]bury pleasure. as there is nothing i can do for her directly, please let me teach the children. i know—better than you do, possibly—how much she cares for you all, and i know that i can gratify her in this way. she has done so much for me! say yes, please, my dear!"

"i shouldn't know how to say no," said margery. "it would be a great advantage to the children, not to speak of the delight of it—penny's feet are set to dancing as naturally as other children are made to walk. you are more than good, mrs. stewart, but it doesn't seem quite fair."

"don't you see that the class must be taught, and that two more little persons in it do not affect my work? then it is settled. i heard you say the other day that your polly would be ten years old to-day; will you send her up this afternoon? i should like her first lesson to be a birthday present—penny too, of course." mrs. stewart looked as eagerly glad as if she had been ten years old that day herself, and margery kissed her in spite of dignified tea drinkers who might wonder. "i'll telephone up to gretta to bring down their white frocks and slippers," she said. "i shall have to send mother down to thank you; i can't. what time must the children come up?"

"at half past two, please. it's i who thank you for giving me such a pleasure," said the little dancing teacher.

[90]

"gretta and laura will be down long before that," said margery. and she watched mrs. stewart away, thinking, "i never saw any one with quite her combination of sadness and brightness of expression. she is a dear little woman, as aunt keren said."

mrs. stewart had hardly disappeared before a shadow fell over the door-sill, a shadow that invariably struck the tea maidens as darker and more sinister than ordinary shadows. it was cast by the man in the cloak and sombrero, who instantly dispelled it by crossing the threshold in his own person, and dropping into the corner which the proprietors of the tea room reluctantly saw he was beginning to consider his own.

so regularly he came to occupy the chair and tiny table, just big enough for one, which stood here, that he had grown familiar to them all, but not more attractive than he was at first.

happie came to bring him his tea. it was understood that she was to cope with the more difficult human problems, for she had a way with her that melted crankiness and might, perhaps, disarm unkindness, or convert wickedness—at least margery believed so, though happie, in turn, believed all things possible to margery's loveliness.

"where is your musician?" asked the mysterious man.

"she has not come yet; she will be here later," happie replied. then something in the man's face that she had not noticed in it before, nor stopped now to analyze, wis[91]tfulness that was not merely sadness, but emptiness, if one may so describe it, made her add the first voluntary remark she had ever addressed to this customer. "you are fond of music, aren't you?" she said.

"fond of it? are you fond of air, food, the earth, your life, child? music is my life," he exclaimed with a gaunt look of passionate earnestness.

"yet you are ready to listen to a little girl's playing! of course we think my sister plays wonderfully, for a girl of thirteen, but we are partial," said happie.

"you may be partial, but you are quite right," said the man as if his dictum sufficed. "she has extraordinary talent. her whole life ought to be consecrated to music."

"oh, i'm very glad she didn't hear you say that!" cried happie. "please don't say it to her. she can't consecrate her life to music, and it's bad enough as it is to have her so wrapped up in it." happie stopped, wondering to find herself half confiding in the person she feared.

the man shook his head impatiently, and made that unspellable sound of protest, tongue against teeth: "t-t-t-t!" he looked at happie, drawing together his brows, but she did not mistake it for a scowl directed at herself, but at annoying circumstances. "ach!" he exclaimed with a german accent that gave happie the first clue to his nationality that she had caught. "talent should be first of all considerations. that lit[92]tle sister of yours should be educated in music at any sacrifice."

"oh, no, not that," said happie, surprised at her own boldness in differing from such a heavy frown. "there are other things more important than talent—even if laura were more than thirteen. but she isn't, so there may be a chance for talents too. we think it is more important that she should do her duty and be a splendid woman—like her mother—and make people happy who love her, than that she should be the greatest musician in the world."

"yes, you're right," said the mysterious man heartily and unexpectedly. "it's a black thing to feel that one's art broke a heart." he sighed, and looked so gloomy that happie characteristically felt instant longing to comfort him. before she had made up her mind how to meet this revelation, the guest stirred his tea and asked: "only thirteen, you say? she looks more. she is really a wonderful child."

"here she comes," said happie as gretta appeared in the doorway with laura, and with penny in dancing school array. "please, please, if ever you talk to her don't let her know you think she is wonderful. mother tries so hard to keep her from thinking so herself."

"well, happie!" exclaimed gretta as happie came towards her.

[93]

"so say we all of us: 'well, happie!' how did you dare? and you looked positively friendly; gretta and i were watching you," said margery.

"he's very unhappy, i believe," said happie, thus fully explaining her conversation with the mystery. "i will get polly ready if you will go over there and smile at those two fluffy girls with hair and fox boas just alike."

usually laura went to the piano when the mystery was taking his tea. a girl less sensitive to admiration than she was, would have discovered that the man in the cloak was interested in her music, and laura was perfectly aware of the fact. but to-day her skies were leaden because polly and penny had an opportunity to go to dancing school which was denied her, and it was scant comfort that they got it because they were so much younger than she. laura's genius could not buoy her over childish trials, though, for that matter, every one knows that genius is childish.

the man in the cloak watched laura as she gloomily served tea to two women, one evidently giving economical entertainment to the other, her country guest. when she had finished her task, as she passed his little table in the corner, the mysterious man stopped her. "won't you play for me, little clara schumann?" he said.

laura brightened visibly. "if you like," she answered, and played.

[94]

her mood was not favorable to music that afternoon, and the man in the cloak was quick to perceive it. he arose from the table and went over to the piano.

"it goes badly to-day, little musician, does it not?" he said gently. "this little instrument is out of tune. something has made discords for you, is it not so? well, it will pass—and come again, till at last you will reach the time of a horrible lasting discord, or a beautiful, permanent harmony, according to what you make of your life. shall i play to you to-day? you have so often given me pleasure."

laura stared at the mysterious man dumb-founded, but without waiting for an answer he twirled the piano stool down to a suitable height and began to play.

at the first touch of his hands on the keys happie instantly became reconciled to the fact that margery and not she had taken the children up to the dancing class, and the few people who were then in the tea room forgot everything else to listen. for there was no mistaking the fact that here was a wizard of music.

the mysterious man played for a long time. people went and came, but still he played on, passing from beethoven's sublime conceptions to hungarian dances that were half earthy, half witch music, into chopin's heart-breaking nocturnes, into schumann's noble thoughts, mendelssohn's courageous hope, grieg's innocent imaginings.

[95]

laura listened enraptured, swept beyond remembrance of laura scollard, her vanities, her little disappointments and desires.

she drew a long breath as the mysterious man ceased playing at last, and turned on the stool to face her. "oh!" she said with a long-drawn sigh, forgetting to thank him.

"good-bye," said this singular person abruptly, and hastened towards the door.

happie intercepted him. "you have been very kind to us," she said. "we would like to thank you, but it seems rather silly to thank any one for such music as that. i wish we might know what to call you."

the man looked down on her, stroking his drooping moustache with the end of his thumb and the side of his forefinger, holding his hollowed hand over his mouth.

"you can call me lieder, hans lieder," he said, and was gone.

"lieder! songs!" murmured happie gazing after him. "i'm perfectly sure that isn't his name."

while this feast of music had been spread for the three lucky girls down-stairs, polly and penny were rapturously being introduced to another art up-stairs, and margery was enjoying watching the children with all her might.

little serena jones-dexter had arrived under the care of her nurse, and when she came out of the dressing-room with every ribbon falling into its proper fold of finest mull, mrs. stewart took her hand and led her over to margery.

[96]

"this is margery scollard, serena," she said. "here is our little girl, margery. no, don't make margery a dancing-school curtsey, dear; you are to be good friends, so you need not begin with a stiff curtsey."

margery leaned forward, smiling, but did not speak. the soft color in her cheeks, the warm light in her eyes, her youth and loveliness begged little serena not to be shy, but to trust her. the child looked up at margery with great gray eyes, and her pale face flushed. she was so ethereal, so dainty, so altogether fine and frail that margery felt as though she were hardly a child of common clay.

"grandma said we were to be friends; will you, serena? will you like me a little bit?" said margery softly.

serena hesitated, and then smiled. "i'll be friends," she said, and clambered up on the chair beside margery to prove her sincerity.

when the time came for the child to dance she danced more beautifully than any other child there. penny lost her heart to her at once, and went around after her like a happy, healthy little mortal following a stray visitor from fairyland. serena shrank from penny at first, but she had quite lost her heart to pretty margery, and when she found the two were sisters she vouchsafed to tolerate penny, to that merry little soul's humble delight.

[97]

a voice in margery's ear said: "well, isn't she all that i told you?"

she looked up to see mrs. jones-dexter unexpectedly at her elbow.

"she is much more than any one could describe," said margery, so fervently that the doting grandmother was satisfied.

"shall we give the butterfly dance for miss margery to see, mrs. jones-dexter?" asked mrs. stewart.

"not to-night; it takes too long. let serena dance alone, her bird dance, if you like, and then i must take her home," said mrs. jones-dexter, to whom no other child but her darling was worth exhibiting.

so serena danced a pretty little allegory of the bird new-come in the spring, greeting the flowers, singing to its mate, sunning itself in the warmth, flying from the shower, at last preening its soft feathers, and cuddling down to sleep safely, wind-rocked in the tree.

margery came away not less delighted with her afternoon than were polly and penny, though these young ladies were more vociferous, and polly could not recover from the wonder that all this had happened on her birthday, and that dancing lessons for the winter were her birthday gift.

ralph came to escort the girls up town, explaining that bob had telephoned a request to him to do so, as he was detained by mr. felton beyond his usual hour. polly took possession of ralph's left hand by the right of favoritism which was hers with this big boy. she poured out the tale of her birthday gift, of the steps she had a[98]lready learned, and imparted to ralph certain fundamental principles of carriage and motion, proud to show her knowledge.

"and serena!" she added. "you ought to see serena!"

"now what is serena?" demanded ralph. "who is there with such an old-time name? it was my great-grandmother's name, mother's grandmother, but i never knew any one living that bore it."

"this little owner of it is living," said margery taking up the theme, and joining ralph and polly. "she is very much alive, but more with the life of a fairy than a mortal. she is a little creature six years old, the loveliest child imaginable. and the strange part of it is that she is the grandchild of an elderly lady who uses the tea room, and whom we have thought until to-day, was a dragon: mrs. jones-dexter."

"jones-dexter!" cried ralph, stopping so short that happie and gretta, immediately behind, almost tumbled over him. "why, she's mother's aunt! the child is my cousin then. she must be named after that very great-grandmother! indeed mrs. jones-dexter is a dragon!"