Isometimeswonderwhethersheisnotglad。Freshassheisatitall，I’veoccasionallyfanciedthat，ifsheknewhow，shewouldliketo——diminish。"HemovedhislefthandoutintotheairasifheweresuggestingaDIMINUENDOtoanorchestra。
　　V
　　BYthefirstofFebruaryTheahadbeeninChicagoal—
　　mostfourmonths，andshedidnotknowmuchmoreaboutthecitythanifshehadneverquittedMoonstone。
　　Shewas，asHarsanyisaid，incurious。Herworktookmostofhertime，andshefoundthatshehadtosleepagooddeal。Ithadneverbeforebeensohardtogetupinthemorning。Shehadthebotherofcaringforherroom，andshehadtobuildherfireandbringuphercoal。HerroutinewasfrequentlyinterruptedbyamessagefromMr。Larsensummoninghertosingatafuneral。Everyfuneraltookhalfaday，andthetimehadtobemadeup。WhenMrs。
　　Harsanyiaskedherifitdidnotdepresshertosingatfu—
　　nerals，sherepliedthatshe"hadbeenbroughtuptogotofuneralsanddidn’tmind。"
　　Theaneverwentintoshopsunlessshehadto，andshefeltnointerestinthem。Indeed，sheshunnedthem，asplaceswhereonewassuretobepartedfromone’smoneyinsomeway。Shewasnervousaboutcountingherchange，andshecouldnotaccustomherselftohavingherpurchasessenttoheraddress。Shefeltmuchsaferwithherbundlesunderherarm。
　　DuringthisfirstwinterTheagotnocityconsciousness。
　　Chicagowassimplyawildernessthroughwhichonehadtofindone’sway。Shefeltnointerestinthegeneralbrisknessandzestofthecrowds。Thecrashandscrambleofthatbig，rich，appetentWesterncityshedidnottakeinatall，excepttonoticethatthenoiseofthedraysandstreet—carstiredher。Thebrilliantwindowdisplays，thesplendidfursandstuffs，thegorgeousflower—shops，thegaycandy—shops，shescarcelynoticed。AtChristmas—timeshedidfeelsomecuriosityaboutthetoy—stores，andshewishedsheheld
　　Thor’slittlemittenedfistinherhandasshestoodbeforethewindows。Thejewelers’windows，too，hadastrongattractionforher——shehadalwayslikedbrightstones。
　　Whenshewentintothecitysheusedtobravethebitinglakewindsandstandgazinginatthedisplaysofdiamondsandpearlsandemeralds；thetiarasandnecklacesandear—
　　rings，onwhitevelvet。Theseseemedverywellworthwhiletoher，thingsworthcoveting。
　　Mrs。LorchandMrs。AndersenoftentoldeachotheritwasstrangethatMissKronborghadsolittleinitiativeabout"visitingpointsofinterest。"WhenTheacametolivewiththemshehadexpressedawishtoseetwoplaces：MontgomeryWardandCompany’sbigmail—orderstore，andthepacking—houses，towhichallthehogsandcattlethatwentthroughMoonstonewerebound。OneofMrs。Lorch’slodgersworkedinapacking—house，andMrs。AndersenbroughtTheawordthatshehadspokentoMr。EckmanandhewouldgladlytakehertoPacking—
　　town。EckmanwasatoughishyoungSwede，andhethoughtitwouldbesomethingofalarktotakeaprettygirlthroughtheslaughter—houses。Buthewasdisap—
　　pointed。Theaneithergrewfaintnorclungtothearmhekeptofferingher。Sheaskedinnumerablequestionsandwasimpatientbecauseheknewsolittleofwhatwasgoingonoutsideofhisowndepartment。Whentheygotoffthestreet—carandwalkedbacktoMrs。Lorch’shouseinthedusk，Eckmanputherhandinhisovercoatpocket——shehadnomuff——andkeptsqueezingitardentlyuntilshesaid，"Don’tdothat；myringcutsme。"Thatnighthetoldhisroommatethathe"couldhavekissedheraseasyasrollingoffalog，butshewasn’tworththetrouble。"AsforThea，shehadenjoyedtheafternoonverymuch，andwroteherfatherabriefbutclearaccountofwhatshehadseen。
　　OnenightatsupperMrs。Andersenwastalkingabouttheexhibitofstudents’workshehadseenattheArtIn—
　　stitutethatafternoon。Severalofherfriendshadsketchesintheexhibit。Thea，whoalwaysfeltthatshewasbe—
　　hindhandincourtesytoMrs。Andersen，thoughtthatherewasanopportunitytoshowinterestwithoutcommittingherselftoanything。"Whereisthat，theInstitute？"sheaskedabsently。
　　Mrs。Andersenclaspedhernapkininbothhands。"TheArtInstitute？OurbeautifulArtInstituteonMichiganAvenue？Doyoumeantosayyouhavenevervisitedit？"
　　"Oh，isittheplacewiththebiglionsoutinfront？I
　　remember；IsawitwhenIwenttoMontgomeryWard’s。
　　Yes，Ithoughtthelionswerebeautiful。"
　　"Butthepictures！Didn’tyouvisitthegalleries？"
　　"No。Thesignoutsidesaiditwasapay—day。I’veal—
　　waysmeanttogoback，butIhaven’thappenedtobedownthatwaysince。"
　　Mrs。LorchandMrs。Andersenlookedateachother。
　　Theoldmotherspoke，fixinghershininglittleeyesuponTheaacrossthetable。"Ah，butMissKronborg，thereareoldmasters！Oh，manyofthem，suchasyoucouldnotseeanywhereoutofEurope。"
　　"AndCorots，"breathedMrs。Andersen，tiltingherheadfeelingly。"SuchexamplesoftheBarbizonschool！"
　　ThiswasmeaninglesstoThea，whodidnotreadtheartcolumnsoftheSundayINTER—OCEANasMrs。Andersendid。
　　"Oh，I’mgoingtheresomeday，"shereassuredthem。
　　"Iliketolookatoilpaintings。"
　　OnebleakdayinFebruary，whenthewindwasblow—
　　ingcloudsofdirtlikeaMoonstonesandstorm，dirtthatfilledyoureyesandearsandmouth，TheafoughtherwayacrosstheunprotectedspaceinfrontoftheArtInstituteandintothedoorsofthebuilding。Shedidnotcomeoutagainuntiltheclosinghour。Inthestreet—car，onthelongcoldridehome，whileshesatstaringatthewaistcoatbut—
　　tonsofafatstrap—hanger，shehadaseriousreckoningwithherself。Sheseldomthoughtaboutherwayoflife，about
　　whatsheoughtoroughtnottodo；usuallytherewasbutoneobviousandimportantthingtobedone。Butthatafternoonsheremonstratedwithherselfseverely。Shetoldherselfthatshewasmissingagreatdeal；thatsheoughttobemorewillingtotakeadviceandtogotoseethings。ShewassorrythatshehadletmonthspasswithoutgoingtotheArtInstitute。Afterthisshewouldgoonceaweek。
　　TheInstituteproved，indeed，aplaceofretreat，asthesandhillsortheKohlers’gardenusedtobe；aplacewhereshecouldforgetMrs。Andersen’stiresomeoverturesoffriendship，thestoutcontraltointhechoirwhomshesounreasonablyhated，andeven，foralittlewhile，thetormentofherwork。Thatbuildingwasaplaceinwhichshecouldrelaxandplay，andshecouldhardlyeverplaynow。Onthewhole，shespentmoretimewiththecaststhanwiththepictures。Theywereatoncemoresimpleandmoreperplexing；andsomewaytheyseemedmoreimportant，hardertooverlook。Itneveroccurredtohertobuyacatalogue，soshecalledmostofthecastsbynamesshemadeupforthem。Someofthemsheknew；theDyingGladiatorshehadreadaboutin"ChildeHarold"almostaslongagoasshecouldremember；hewasstronglyas—
　　sociatedwithDr。Archieandchildishillnesses。TheVenusdiMilopuzzledher；shecouldnotseewhypeoplethoughthersobeautiful。ShetoldherselfoverandoverthatshedidnotthinktheApolloBelvedere"atallhandsome。"
　　Betterthananythingelseshelikedagreatequestrianstatueofanevil，cruel—lookinggeneralwithanunpro—
　　nounceablename。Sheusedtowalkroundandroundthisterriblemanandhisterriblehorse，frowningathim，brood—
　　inguponhim，asifshehadtomakesomemomentousde—
　　cisionabouthim。
　　Thecasts，whenshelingeredlongamongthem，alwaysmadehergloomy。Itwaswithalighteningoftheheart，afeelingofthrowingofftheoldmiseriesandoldsorrowsoftheworld，thatsheranupthewidestaircasetothepic—
　　tures。Thereshelikedbesttheonesthattoldstories。
　　TherewasapaintingbyGeromecalled"ThePasha’sGrief"whichalwaysmadeherwishforGunnerandAxel。
　　ThePashawasseatedonarug，besideagreencandleal—
　　mostasbigasatelegraphpole，andbeforehimwasstretchedhisdeadtiger，asplendidbeast，andtherewerepinkrosesscatteredabouthim。Sheloved，too，apictureofsomeboysbringinginanewborncalfonalitter，thecowwalkingbesideitandlickingit。TheCorotwhichhungnexttothispaintingshedidnotlikeordislike；sheneversawit。
　　Butinthatsameroomtherewasapicture——oh，thatwasthethingsheranupstairssofasttosee！Thatwasherpicture。Sheimaginedthatnobodycaredforitbutherself，andthatitwaitedforher。Thatwasapicturein—
　　deed。Shelikedeventhenameofit，"TheSongoftheLark。"Theflatcountry，theearlymorninglight，thewetfields，thelookinthegirl’sheavyface——well，theywereallhers，anyhow，whateverwasthere。Shetoldherselfthatthatpicturewas"right。"Justwhatshemeantbythis，itwouldtakeacleverpersontoexplain。Buttoherthewordcoveredthealmostboundlesssatisfactionshefeltwhenshelookedatthepicture。
　　BeforeTheahadanyideahowfasttheweekswerefly—
　　ing，beforeMr。Larsen’s"permanent"sopranohadre—
　　turnedtoherduties，springcame；windy，dusty，strident，shrill；aseasonalmostmoreviolentinChicagothanthewinterfromwhichitreleasesone，ortheheattowhichiteventuallydeliversone。OnesunnymorningtheappletreesinMrs。Lorch’sbackyardburstintobloom，andforthefirsttimeinmonthsTheadressedwithoutbuildingafire。Themorningshonelikeaholiday，andforheritwastobeaholiday。Therewasintheairthatsudden，treacher—
　　oussoftnesswhichmakesthePoleswhoworkinthepack—
　　ing—housesgetdrunk。Atsuchtimesbeautyisnecessary，andinPackingtownthereisnoplacetogetitexceptatthe
　　saloons，whereonecanbuyforafewhourstheillusionofcomfort，hope，love，——whateveronemostlongsfor。
　　HarsanyihadgivenTheaaticketforthesymphonyconcertthatafternoon，andwhenshelookedoutatthewhiteappletreesherdoubtsastowhethersheoughttogovanishedatonce。Shewouldmakeherworklightthatmorning，shetoldherself。Shewouldgototheconcertfullofenergy。Whenshesetoff，afterdinner，Mrs。Lorch，whoknewChicagoweather，prevaileduponhertotakehercape。Theoldladysaidthatsuchsuddenmildness，soearlyinApril，presagedasharpreturnofwinter，andshewasanxiousaboutherappletrees。
　　Theconcertbeganattwo—thirty，andTheawasinherseatintheAuditoriumattenminutesaftertwo——afineseatinthefirstrowofthebalcony，ontheside，whereshecouldseethehouseaswellastheorchestra。Shehadbeentosofewconcertsthatthegreathouse，thecrowdofpeople，andthelights，allhadastimulatingeffect。Shewassurprisedtoseesomanymenintheaudience，andwonderedhowtheycouldleavetheirbusinessintheafter—
　　noon。DuringthefirstnumberTheawassomuchinter—
　　estedintheorchestraitself，inthemen，theinstruments，thevolumeofsound，thatshepaidlittleattentiontowhattheywereplaying。Herexcitementimpairedherpoweroflistening。Shekeptsayingtoherself，"NowImuststopthisfoolishnessandlisten；Imayneverhearthisagain"；buthermindwaslikeaglassthatishardtofocus。Shewasnotreadytolistenuntilthesecondnum—
　　ber，Dvorak’sSymphonyinEminor，calledonthepro—
　　gramme，"FromtheNewWorld。"Thefirstthemehadscarcelybeengivenoutwhenhermindbecameclear；in—
　　stantcomposurefelluponher，andwithitcamethepowerofconcentration。Thiswasmusicshecouldunderstand，musicfromtheNewWorldindeed！Strangehow，asthefirstmovementwenton，itbroughtbacktoherthathightablelandaboveLaramie；thegrass—grownwagon
　　trails，thefar—awaypeaksofthesnowyrange，thewindandtheeagles，thatoldmanandthefirsttelegraphmessage。
　　Whenthefirstmovementended，Thea’shandsandfeetwerecoldasice。Shewastoomuchexcitedtoknowany—
　　thingexceptthatshewantedsomethingdesperately，andwhentheEnglishhornsgaveoutthethemeoftheLargo，sheknewthatwhatshewantedwasexactlythat。Herewerethesandhills，thegrasshoppersandlocusts，allthethingsthatwakenedandchirpedintheearlymorning；
　　thereachingandreachingofhighplains，theimmeas—
　　urableyearningofallflatlands。Therewashomeinit，too；firstmemories，firstmorningslongago；theamaze—
　　mentofanewsoulinanewworld；asoulnewandyetold，thathaddreamedsomethingdespairing，somethingglori—
　　ous，inthedarkbeforeitwasborn；asoulobsessedbywhatitdidnotknow，underthecloudofapastitcouldnotre—
　　call。
　　IfTheahadhadmuchexperienceinconcert—going，andhadknownherowncapacity，shewouldhaveleftthehallwhenthesymphonywasover。Butshesatstill，scarcelyknowingwhereshewas，becausehermindhadbeenfarawayandhadnotyetcomebacktoher。Shewasstartledwhentheorchestrabegantoplayagain——theentryofthegodsintoWalhalla。Shehearditaspeoplehearthingsintheirsleep。SheknewscarcelyanythingabouttheWagneroperas。Shehadavagueideathat"Rhinegold"wasaboutthestrifebetweengodsandmen；
　　shehadreadsomethingaboutitinMr。Haweis’sbooklongago。Tootiredtofollowtheorchestrawithmuchunder—
　　standing，shecroucheddowninherseatandclosedhereyes。Thecold，statelymeasuresoftheWalhallamusicrangout，faraway；therainbowbridgethrobbedoutintotheair，underitthewailingoftheRhinedaughtersandthesingingoftheRhine。ButTheawassunkintwilight；
　　itwasallgoingoninanotherworld。Soithappenedthatwithadull，almostlistlessearsheheardforthefirsttime
　　thattroubledmusic，ever—darkening，ever—brightening，whichwastoflowthroughsomanyyearsofherlife。
　　WhenTheaemergedfromtheconcerthall，Mrs。Lorch’spredictionshadbeenfulfilled。AfuriousgalewasbeatingoverthecityfromLakeMichigan。Thestreetswerefullofcold，hurrying，angrypeople，runningforstreet—carsandbarkingateachother。Thesunwassettinginaclear，windysky，thatflamedwithredasiftherewereagreatfiresomewhereontheedgeofthecity。ForalmostthefirsttimeTheawasconsciousofthecityitself，ofthecon—
　　gestionoflifeallabouther，ofthebrutalityandpowerofthosestreamsthatflowedinthestreets，threateningtodriveoneunder。Peoplejostledher，ranintoher，pokedherasidewiththeirelbows，utteringangryexclamations。
　　Shegotonthewrongcarandwasroughlyejectedbytheconductoratawindycorner，infrontofasaloon。Shestoodtheredazedandshivering。Thecarspassed，screamingastheyroundedcurves，buteithertheywerefulltothedoors，orwereboundforplaceswhereshedidnotwanttogo。
　　Herhandsweresocoldthatshetookoffhertightkidgloves。Thestreetlightsbegantogleaminthedusk。A
　　youngmancameoutofthesaloonandstoodeyeingherquestioninglywhilehelitacigarette。"Lookingforafriendto—night？"heasked。Theadrewupthecollarofhercapeandwalkedonafewpaces。Theyoungmanshruggedhisshouldersanddriftedaway。
　　Theacamebacktothecornerandstoodthereirreso—
　　lutely。Anoldmanapproachedher。He，too，seemedtobewaitingforacar。Heworeanovercoatwithablackfurcollar，hisgraymustachewaswaxedintolittlepoints，andhiseyeswerewatery。Hekeptthrustinghisfaceupnearhers。Herhatblewoffandheranafterit——astiff，pitifulskiphehad——andbroughtitbacktoher。Then，whileshewaspinningherhaton，hercapeblewup，andhehelditdownforher，lookingatherintently。Hisfaceworkedasifheweregoingtocryorwerefrightened。Heleaned
　　overandwhisperedsomethingtoher。Itstruckherascuriousthathewasreallyquitetimid，likeanoldbeggar。
　　"Oh，letmeALONE！"shecriedmiserablybetweenherteeth。
　　Hevanished，disappearedliketheDevilinaplay。Butinthemeantimesomethinghadgotawayfromher；shecouldnotrememberhowtheviolinscameinafterthehorns，justthere。Whenhercapeblewup，perhaps——Whydidthesementormenther？Acloudofdustblewinherfaceandblindedher。Therewassomepowerabroadintheworldbentupontakingawayfromherthatfeelingwithwhichshehadcomeoutoftheconcerthall。Everythingseemedtosweepdownonhertotearitoutfromunderhercape。Ifonehadthat，theworldbecameone’senemy；
　　people，buildings，wagons，cars，rushedatonetocrushitunder，tomakeoneletgoofit。Theaglaredroundheratthecrowds，theugly，sprawlingstreets，thelonglinesoflights，andshewasnotcryingnow。HereyeswerebrighterthanevenHarsanyihadeverseenthem。Allthesethingsandpeoplewerenolongerremoteandnegli—
　　gible；theyhadtobemet，theywerelinedupagainsther，theyweretheretotakesomethingfromher。Verywell；
　　theyshouldneverhaveit。Theymighttramplehertodeath，buttheyshouldneverhaveit。Aslongasshelivedthatecstasywasgoingtobehers。Shewouldliveforit，workforit，dieforit；butshewasgoingtohaveit，timeaftertime，heightafterheight。Shecouldhearthecrashoftheorchestraagain，andsheroseonthebrasses。Shewouldhaveit，whatthetrumpetsweresinging！Shewouldhaveit，haveit，——it！Undertheoldcapeshepressedherhandsuponherheavingbosom，thatwasalittlegirl’snolonger。
　　VI
　　ONEafternooninApril，TheodoreThomas，thecon—
　　ductoroftheChicagoSymphonyOrchestra，hadturnedouthisdesklightandwasabouttoleavehisofficeintheAuditoriumBuilding，whenHarsanyiappearedinthedoorway。Theconductorwelcomedhimwithaheartyhand—gripandthrewofftheovercoathehadjustputon。
　　HepushedHarsanyiintoachairandsatdownathisbur—
　　deneddesk，pointingtothepilesofpapersandrailwayfoldersuponit。
　　"Anothertour，cleartothecoast。Thistravelingisthepartofmyworkthatgrindsme，Andor。Youknowwhatitmeans：badfood，dirt，noise，exhaustionforthemenandforme。I’mnotsoyoungasIoncewas。It’stimeIquitthehighway。Thisisthelasttour，Iswear！"
　　"ThenI’msorryforthe`highway。’IrememberwhenI
　　firstheardyouinPittsburg，longago。Itwasalife—lineyouthrewme。It’saboutoneofthepeoplealongyourhigh—
　　waythatI’vecometoseeyou。WhomdoyouconsiderthebestteacherforvoiceinChicago？"
　　Mr。Thomasfrownedandpulledhisheavymustache。
　　"Letmesee；IsupposeonthewholeMadisonBowersisthebest。He’sintelligent，andhehadgoodtraining。I
　　don’tlikehim。"
　　Harsanyinodded。"Ithoughttherewasnooneelse。
　　Idon’tlikehim，either，soIhesitated。ButIsupposehemustdo，forthepresent。"
　　"Haveyoufoundanythingpromising？Oneofyourownstudents？"
　　"Yes，sir。AyoungSwedishgirlfromsomewhereinColorado。Sheisverytalented，andsheseemstometohavearemarkablevoice。"
　　"Highvoice？"
　　"Ithinkitwillbe；thoughherlowvoicehasabeauti—
　　fulquality，veryindividual。Shehashadnoinstructioninvoiceatall，andIshrinkfromhandingherovertoany—
　　body；herowninstinctaboutithasbeensogood。Itisoneofthosevoicesthatmanagesitselfeasily，withoutthinningasitgoesup；goodbreathingandperfectrelaxa—
　　tion。Butshemusthaveateacher，ofcourse。Thereisabreakinthemiddlevoice，sothatthevoicedoesnotallworktogether；anunevenness。"
　　Thomaslookedup。"So？Curious；thatcleftoftenhappenswiththeSwedes。Someoftheirbestsingershavehadit。Italwaysremindsmeofthespaceyousooftenseebetweentheirfrontteeth。Isshestrongphysically？"
　　Harsanyi’seyeflashed。Heliftedhishandbeforehimandclenchedit。"Likeahorse，likeatree！EverytimeIgiveheralesson，Iloseapound。Shegoesafterwhatshewants。"
　　"Intelligent，yousay？Musicallyintelligent？"
　　"Yes；butnocultivationwhatever。Shecametomelikeafineyoungsavage，abookwithnothingwritteninit。
　　ThatiswhyIfeeltheresponsibilityofdirectingher。"
　　Harsanyipausedandcrushedhissoftgrayhatoverhisknee。"Shewouldinterestyou，Mr。Thomas，"headdedslowly。"Shehasaquality——veryindividual。"
　　"Yes；theScandinaviansareapttohavethat，too。Shecan’tgotoGermany，Isuppose？"
　　"Notnow，atanyrate。Sheispoor。"
　　Thomasfrownedagain"Idon’tthinkBowersareallyfirst—rateman。He’stoopettytobereallyfirst—rate；inhisnature，Imean。ButIdaresayhe’sthebestyoucando，ifyoucan’tgivehertimeenoughyourself。"
　　Harsanyiwavedhishand。"Oh，thetimeisnothing——shemayhaveallshewants。ButIcannotteachhertosing。"
　　"Mightnotcomeamissifyoumadeamusicianofher，however，"saidMr。Thomasdryly。
　　"Ihavedonemybest。ButIcanonlyplaywithavoice，andthisisnotavoicetobeplayedwith。Ithinkshewillbeamusician，whateverhappens。Sheisnotquick，butsheissolid，real；notliketheseothers。Mywifesaysthatwiththatgirloneswallowdoesnotmakeasummer。"
　　Mr。Thomaslaughed。"TellMrs。Harsanyithatherremarkconveyssomethingtome。Don’tletyourselfgettoomuchinterested。Voicesaresooftendisappointing；
　　especiallywomen’svoices。Somuchchanceaboutit，somanyfactors。"
　　"Perhapsthatiswhytheyinterestone。Alltheintelli—
　　genceandtalentintheworldcan’tmakeasinger。Thevoiceisawildthing。Itcan’tbebredincaptivity。Itisasport，likethesilverfox。Ithappens。"
　　Mr。ThomassmiledintoHarsanyi’sgleamingeye。
　　"Whyhaven’tyoubroughthertosingforme？"
　　"I’vebeentemptedto，butIknewyouweredriventodeath，withthistourconfrontingyou。"
　　"Oh，Icanalwaysfindtimetolistentoagirlwhohasavoice，ifshemeansbusiness。I’msorryI’mleavingsosoon。IcouldadviseyoubetterifIhadheardher。Icansometimesgiveasingersuggestions。I’veworkedsomuchwiththem。"
　　"You’retheonlyconductorIknowwhoisnotsnobbishaboutsingers。"Harsanyispokewarmly。
　　"Dearme，whyshouldIbe？They’velearnedfromme，andI’velearnedfromthem。"Astheyrose，Thomastooktheyoungermanaffectionatelybythearm。"Tellmeaboutthatwifeofyours。Isshewell，andaslovelyasever？
　　Andsuchfinechildren！Cometoseemeoftener，whenIgetback。Imissitwhenyoudon’t。"
　　ThetwomenlefttheAuditoriumBuildingtogether。
　　Harsanyiwalkedhome。EvenashorttalkwithThomasalwaysstimulatedhim。AshewalkedhewasrecallinganeveningtheyoncespenttogetherinCincinnati。
　　HarsanyiwasthesoloistatoneofThomas’sconcerts
　　there，andaftertheperformancetheconductorhadtakenhimofftoaRATHSKELLERwheretherewasexcellentGermancooking，andwheretheproprietorsawtoitthatThomashadthebestwinesprocurable。ThomashadbeenworkingwiththegreatchorusoftheFestivalAssociationandwasspeakingofitwithenthusiasmwhenHarsanyiaskedhimhowitwasthathewasabletofeelsuchaninterestinchoraldirectingandinvoicesgenerally。Thomasseldomspokeofhisyouthorhisearlystruggles，butthatnightheturnedbackthepagesandtoldHarsanyialongstory。
　　HesaidhehadspentthesummerofhisfifteenthyearwanderingaboutaloneintheSouth，givingviolincon—
　　certsinlittletowns。Hetraveledonhorseback。Whenhecameintoatown，hewentaboutalldaytackinguppostersannouncinghisconcertintheevening。Beforetheconcert，hestoodatthedoortakingintheadmissionmoneyuntilhisaudiencehadarrived，andthenhewentontheplatformandplayed。Itwasalazy，hand—to—mouthex—
　　istence，andThomassaidhemusthavegottolikethateasywayoflivingandtherelaxingSouthernatmosphere。
　　Atanyrate，whenhegotbacktoNewYorkinthefall，hewasrathertorpid；perhapshehadbeengrowingtoofast。
　　Fromthisadolescentdrowsinesstheladwasawakenedbytwovoices，bytwowomenwhosanginNewYorkin1851，——JennyLindandHenriettaSontag。Theywerethefirstgreatartistshehadeverheard，andheneverforgothisdebttothem。
　　Ashesaid，"Itwasnotvoiceandexecutionalone。Therewasagreatnessaboutthem。Theyweregreatwomen，greatartists。Theyopenedanewworldtome。"Nightafternighthewenttohearthem，strivingtoreproducethequalityoftheirtoneuponhisviolin。Fromthattimehisideaaboutstringswascompletelychanged，andonhisviolinhetriedalwaysforthesinging，vibratingtone，in—
　　steadoftheloudandsomewhatharshtonethenprevalentamongeventhebestGermanviolinists。Inlateryearshe
　　oftenadvisedvioliniststostudysinging，andsingerstostudyviolin。HetoldHarsanyithathegothisfirstcon—
　　ceptionoftonequalityfromJennyLind。
　　"But，ofcourse，"headded，"thegreatthingIgotfromLindandSontagwastheindefinite，notthedefinite，thing。
　　Foranimpressionableboy，theirinspirationwasincalcu—
　　lable。TheygavememyfirstfeelingfortheItalianstyle——butIcouldneversayhowmuchtheygaveme。Atthatage，suchinfluencesareactuallycreative。Ialwaysthinkofmyartisticconsciousnessasbeginningthen。"
　　AllhislifeThomasdidhisbesttorepaywhathefeltheowedtothesinger’sart。Nomancouldgetsuchsingingfromchoruses，andnomanworkedhardertoraisethestandardofsinginginschoolsandchurchesandchoralsocieties。
　　VII
　　AllthroughthelessonTheahadfeltthatHarsanyiwasrestlessandabstracted。Beforethehourwasover，hepushedbackhischairandsaidresolutely，"Iamnotinthemood，MissKronborg。Ihavesomethingonmymind，andImusttalktoyou。Whendoyouintendtogohome？"
　　Theaturnedtohiminsurprise。"ThefirstofJune，about。Mr。Larsenwillnotneedmeafterthat，andIhavenotmuchmoneyahead。Ishallworkhardthissummer，though。"