Naturally Elnora hushed, but she thought of nothing else after she had finished her lessons.  At last there came a day when for some reason the leader of the orchestra left his violin on the grand piano.  That morning Elnora made her first mistake in algebra.  At noon, as soon as the building was empty, she slipped into the auditorium, found the side door which led to the stage, and going through the musicians’ entrance she took the violin.  She carried it back into the little side room where the orchestra assembled, closed all the doors, opened the case and lifted out the instrument.

She laid it on her breast, dropped her chin on it and drew the bow softly across the strings.  One after another she tested the open notes.  Gradually her stroke ceased to tremble and she drew the bow firmly.  Then her fingers began to fall and softly, slowly she searched up and down those strings for sounds she knew.  Standing in the middle of the floor, she tried over and over.  It seemed scarcely a minute before the hall was filled with the sound of hurrying feet, and she was forced to put away the violin and go to her classes.  The next day she prayed that the violin would be left again, but her petition was not answered.  That night when she returned from the school she made an excuse to go down to see Billy.  He was engaged in hulling walnuts by driving them through holes in a board.  His hands were protected by a pair of Margaret’s old gloves, but he had speckled his face generously.  He appeared well, and greeted Elnora hilariously.

“Me an’ the squirrels are laying up our winter stores,” he shouted.  “Cos the cold is coming, an’ the snow an’ if we have any nuts we have to fix ’em now.  But I’m ahead, cos Uncle Wesley made me this board, and I can hull a big pile while the old squirrel does only ist one with his teeth.”

Elnora picked him up and kissed him.  “Billy, are you happy?” she asked.

“Yes, and so’s Snap,” answered Billy.  “You ought to see him make the dirt fly when he gets after a chipmunk.  I bet you he could dig up pa, if anybody wanted him to.”

“Billy!” gasped Margaret as she came out to them.

“Well, me and Snap don’t want him up, and I bet you Jimmy and Belle don’t, either.  I ain’t been twisty inside once since I been here, and I don’t want to go away, and Snap don’t, either.  He told me so.”

“Billy!  That is not true.  Dogs can’t talk,” cautioned Margaret.

“Then what makes you open the door when he asks you to?” demanded Billy.

“Scratching and whining isn’t talking.”

“Anyway, it’s the best Snap can talk, and you get up and do things he wants done.  Chipmunks can talk too.  You ought to hear them damn things holler when Snap gets them!”

“Billy!  When you want a cooky for supper and I don’t give it to you it is because you said a wrong word.”

“Well, for——­” Billy clapped his hand over his mouth and stained his face in swipes.  “Well, for—­anything!  Did I go an’ forget again!  The cookies will get all hard, won’t they?  I bet you ten dollars I don’t say that any more.”