Within the next two or three days Ellen made at least two or three friends. It was from over the fence on one side that Jeremy Todd first spoke to her, and over the fence on the other side that she made the acquaintance of Billy Dove-Hale.

She was gathering the last of the tomatoes which grew near the side toward the Todds; Miss Rindy had said they must be in before the frost nipped them. Ellen was singing softly a little song of Schumann’s, which had been a favorite of her mother’s, when suddenly a head appeared over the fence.

“Who is that singing ‘Moonlight’?” said a man’s voice.

Ellen looked up from where she was kneeling by a big basket into which she was emptying her last gleanings.

“What do you know about Schumann?” asked the man.

“My mother loved Schumann’s songs, so did my father, and so do I.”

“Who are your mother and father, and who are you, my child?”

“My father was Gerald North, the artist. He, and my mother, too, have left me alone on this earth. I am Ellen North, and I am making my home with Miss Rindy Crump. She is my cousin.”

“Yes, yes, I forgot; Bessie did tell me. It is a sort of revelation to find any one from Miss Crump’s singing Schumann. How do you like it here?”

“I—I—can’t tell exactly, not yet. It is a pretty little town and I love the mountains.” She waved her hand toward a distant line of purple. “Cousin Rindy was very, very good to let me come when I had nowhere to go, but—but it’s hard to get used to things that are so different from where I have lived, always in a studio, you know.”

“Somewhat different, one might judge,” returned the man, smiling quizzically. “I can understand that, having lived in a studio myself, away back in the days of my youth.”

Ellen sprang to her feet. “Oh, did you ever live in a studio?”

“Yes, years ago in Leipzig, where I was a student of music, I lived with an artist friend. Aye! aye! what good times we had! Germany then wasn’t what it is to-day.”

“Then you are a musician.”

“A would-be one. I am the organist at the little church here, give lessons to the few pupils I can get, play the ’cello and violin when I get a chance, and—there you are.”

“My father played the violin.”

“So?”

“Yes, he and my mother often played together, she at the piano and he with his violin. I used to love to hear them as I lay in bed. It was so pleasant to go to sleep with that lovely music in my ears.”

“I can believe it, yes, I can well believe it.”

“My mother had a beautiful voice. She sang in a big church and sometimes in private houses,” Ellen went on, wondering a little why she was so expansive.

“And you, did you make some music, too?”

“I began to learn the piano and the violin, but—now——”

“You have it with you, the father’s violin?” asked Mr. Todd eagerly.

Ellen shook her head. “No, it went with the piano and everything else.”

“Too bad, too bad,” Mr. Todd shook his shaggy gray head. “Perhaps—we’ll see. At any rate there is Schumann to talk about. You have the songs, maybe.”

“Those I still have; they are in my mother’s trunk which is to be sent to me here.”

“Good! Some day——”

But here a shrill voice interrupted: “Jeremy, Jeremy, where are you? Hanging over the fence dawdling away your time. I thought you were going to dig those turnips.”

“Yes, dear, I’ll do it right away,” answered the man’s gentle voice. He turned to Ellen, shaking his head. “Turnips and Schumann! Never mind, we will have another talk soon. Good-by—Ellen, did you say? I am glad you have come, child. We shall be good friends.” He went off, and Ellen noticed that he limped slightly.

Lugging the tomatoes, she went back to the house. “There is quite a lot,” she said, setting the basket down. “What do you think, Cousin Rindy, I have been talking to Mr. Todd. Isn’t he a dear?”

“Humph! Yes, there are more than I thought. I can fry some of the ripest ones for supper, and the rest will ripen along and last quite a while. So you have been talking to Jeremy, poor old Jeremy.”

“Is he so poor?”

“He’s not what you would call rich except in a beautiful optimism and a rare philosophy. Most persons would call him a disappointed man.”

“What disappointed him?”

“Well, he hadn’t much but talent to start with, talent for music. He was always an up-in-the-clouds sort of somebody, and when his father died he took the small amount that was left him and went abroad. He was getting along first rate, they said, when he met with an accident, had a terrible fall while he and a friend were taking a walking tour through Switzerland. It was a long time before he was able to be moved. His brother went over for him and brought him back, and he was in a hospital for a long time. It was there he met Bessie Stayman, who was one of the nurses. She owned the house next door, and finally brought him there; her mother was living then and needed her care. Well, the upshot of it was that she married Jeremy. Mind you she married him, made a dead set at him. She was getting on, and it was him or nobody. She made him believe—— Oh, well, we won’t go into that. At all events it gave him a home when he most needed it, and he didn’t find out right away what a spitfire she is. If she only sputtered it wouldn’t matter so much; I can stand sputtering better than whining. But he hasn’t an easy time of it, I’ll warrant. She orders him around like a slave driver, wants things done on the minute, no matter what. It doesn’t make any difference how he may be occupied, if she wants a thing done, drop his affairs he must to do her bidding, although it may be by no means important that he should. He must tend to fires, wash dishes, do any old thing. She won’t let him practice on his ’cello because she doesn’t like to hear it. So his only refuge is the church; he can always make the excuse that his duty is there, and can slip off when he can’t stand it any longer. But—well, I call him a disappointed man.”

“But he seemed so dear and cheerful.”

“He’s always that. He rises above conditions better than most.”

“He said we were sure to be friends.”

“You could have a worse one, but don’t let him lead you off into dreaming dreams that can’t come true. It is fortunate that I’ll be on hand to keep you down to solid earth if he happens to carry you too far up into the clouds.” Then, as if to punctuate her remarks, Miss Rindy bade her young cousin sit down to the task of darning stockings.

Having rolled up the last pair of stockings Ellen obeyed a call from her cousin. “Ellen, I wish you’d go out to the parsley bed and get me a few sprigs of parsley; I always like it in cream gravy.”

Glad of an escape into the fresh air Ellen skipped off. She wished the parsley bed were on the other side of the garden, that she might, perhaps, see Mr. Todd again, but it was in the part which bordered upon the Hale property. From the Hale house came the sound of a phonograph which was clashing out jazz music. Ellen smiled as she thought of the contrast between the two neighbors. She had not met any of the Hale family, had merely seen that Mrs. Hale was a pretty young woman who wore startling costumes and seemed always to be on the go.

In competition with the phonograph she heard the high, shrill voice of Lucilena, the maid of all work. Unmindful of the rival phonograph, Lucilena with great gusto announced that she was “climbing up Zion’s hill.”

The conflicting noises were not to Ellen’s taste, and she decided to make short work of gathering the parsley. But, just as she was turning to go, a small voice said, “Have you got a kitty?”

Ellen looked around to see where the voice came from, and discovered a pair of bright eyes peering through an opening in the hedge. “Why, no,” she replied, “I haven’t one, but my cousin, Miss Rindy Crump, has one.”

“Oh, I know that one; it’s a big old cat named Wipers. I want a wittle kitty.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t one to give you,” returned Ellen.

“Do you wike kitties?”

“Very much.”

“If you had a wittle one would you give it to me?”

“Why, I think so.”

“I wike dogs, too. I’m a dog sometimes, a wittle white dog and my name’s Goo-Goo.”

“That’s a funny name.”

“I fink it’s a nice name. My name is Billy Dove-Hale; Jeremy calls me Dovey.”

“You mean Mr. Jeremy Todd?”

Billy, having now withdrawn his head, was standing on tiptoe, looking over the hedge at Ellen. He ignored her question, instead asking one himself. “What’s your name?”

“Ellen North.”

“Ewen Norf,” repeated Billy. “Is you ever an angel?”

“Why, no.”

“I is sometimes, and my name is Sara Phim. I has wings and I can fly. Some day I is going up to heaven and get a wittle sister. I’d wather have one zan a dog. Daddy’s going to get me a dog some day. If you can find a wittle kitty will you bwing it to me?”

“I certainly will.”

“I wike you. I wish you wived here.”

“But I do live here, with Miss Rindy Crump.”

Just here came a summons from the house. Lucilena was calling: “You Billy, you Billy! Whar is yuh? I ’clar yuh is de mos’ git-out-o’-de-wayes chile uver I did see. Come in an’ git yo’ suppah fo’ I bus’es yo’ haid open.”

Without a word of farewell Billy galloped off, or rather took flight as he flapped his arms, wing fashion, in his own estimation. “I’se comin’. I’se flyin’ fas’ like an angel.”

Ellen could not determine whether it was the prospect of supper or Lucilena’s terrible threat which urged to promptness on Billy’s part, but she went smiling into the kitchen with her bunch of parsley. “Isn’t it funny,” she said, “that I’ve made two acquaintances to-day, one each side the garden?” And she told of her interview with Billy.

“He’s a funny little tyke,” declared Miss Rindy. “What with the notions he gets from Lucilena and the ones his own imagination supplies he is as full of fancies as an egg is of meat. He is left to Lucilena a great deal, for his mother is forever on the gad. A flyaway sort of somebody she is, sweet as honey and kind as can be, but no housekeeper. Everything goes by sixes and sevens in that house, meals at any time, feast one day, famine the next. I don’t see how Barry stands it, or Lucilena either, but they all get along as comfortably as a basket of puppies. It’s none of my business, though my fingers do itch sometimes to get at those rooms and put them in order. You’ll like Marietta Hale, you can’t help it, and I don’t know but I’d rather than not that she played the part of a fearful example to you.”

Ellen laughed. “Do you think I require that she should?”

Miss Rindy smiled in her queer one-sided way. “I can’t tell yet; you’re a new broom. Now, suppose you come here and see how I make this gravy, then look at the biscuits in the oven. There’s nothing I like better for supper than fried tomatoes and hot biscuits.”

Not long after supper the bell rang. Miss Rindy went to the door. “Why, Jeremy!” Ellen heard her exclaim. “What brought you here? Come right in. Glad to see you.”

Mr. Todd, with a violin under his arm, limped in.

Ellen looked up brightly. “Oh, Mr. Todd, isn’t this nice!” she cried. “You’ve brought your violin. Are you going to play for us?”

“Why, no, that isn’t exactly what I came for,” he explained. “I thought maybe you would like me to lend you this and permit me to help you with it once in a while.”

“But——” Ellen looked apprehensively at her cousin. “It’s very kind of you,” she went on hesitatingly.

“I don’t know that I approve of Ellen wasting her time with a fiddle,” objected Miss Rindy. “What good would it do her?”

“It would be perhaps a pleasure,” answered Mr. Todd gently.

“Fiddle-dee-dee! Pleasure, indeed! Ellen and I can’t afford useless pleasures. She will have her living to make, and it’s dollars to doughnuts she will never make it twanging a fiddle. Besides, I don’t know that I could stand hearing the thing squeaking out scales.”

Mr. Todd’s clear blue eyes met Ellen’s hazel ones. “Music might not be such a bad profession for her,” he said reflectively. “She may have a very good voice and—— Do you know anything at all about the piano, child? Have you ever had any lessons?” He turned to Ellen.

“Oh, yes, I studied with Mother.”

“Good! Then what about the organ, Rindy? She could practice in the church, I am sure, and who knows but some day she could take my place, unless, indeed, she could do better, which would not be a difficult matter.”

“Now that sounds sensible,” returned Miss Rindy with satisfaction. “I don’t want to stand in the child’s light when it comes to practical matters, but I don’t want her to waste her time, fritter away her youth in a perfectly useless way as so many young people do.”

“You don’t mean that she must be deprived of all enjoyment. ‘All work and no play’—you know the rest.”

“No doubt she will get play enough, but I don’t want her to be a mere toy, as the other part of the old saw suggests. You and she talk the organ matter over, and if it doesn’t interfere with her school or her duties at home I have no objection. What do you say, Ellen? Would you like to learn to play the organ?”

“I’d just love it!” cried the girl excitedly. “I love the violin, too, but if I can’t have both, which of course I can’t, I’d adore to play the organ, to learn all those lovely things from the old masters, Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, and all the rest.”

“Then consider yourself my pupil.” Mr. Todd’s face was wreathed with smiles. “We’ll have the first lesson—— Let me see—when can you spare her, Rindy?”

“Why——” Miss Rindy considered the question. “I suppose she could always have a half hour late in the afternoon when she has done her lessons for the next day, or on Saturdays.”

“But——” Ellen suddenly looked distressed. “I—I’ve no money, Mr. Todd.”

His usually gentle face took on a frowning expression. “The daughter of one of our soldiers, who gave his life for a noble cause, needs no money in exchange for the little I can give her. Permit me, my dear child, to offer this much in honor of your brave father. You understand, Rindy, that I shall consider it a high privilege, aside from the pleasure it will give me, to have such a pupil, for it is a red-letter day when I meet a kindred soul such as she is.”

A whimsical smile flickered around Miss Rindy’s mouth. “Very well, Jeremy, all I ask is that you don’t haul her too high up into the clouds with your sentimentality. The practical part is all right, and I appreciate it and your goodness. I hope Ellen will do her part and come up to your expectations.”

“There isn’t the least doubt in my mind but she will,” responded Mr. Todd as he rose to go.

“You may as well take your fiddle,” charged Miss Rindy.

Mr. Todd picked up the violin. “We needn’t discuss this with any one,—with—ah—Bessie, for instance.”

A mischievous gleam came into Miss Rindy’s gray eyes. “Certainly not. I wouldn’t think of discussing it with—Bessie, for instance.”