The man was open and inspired, and stupid as a child.
The next time she made the attempt to open this channel between them, something she played did find him, and for a few minutes he seemed lost in listening.
"How nice it would be," she said, "if we could play together sometimes!" "Do you mean both at once, miss ?" he asked.
"Yes--you on your violin, and I on the piano." "That could hardly be, I'm afraid, miss," he answered; "for, you see, I don't know always--not exactly--what I'm going to play; and if I don't know, and you don't know, how are we to keep together ?" "Nobody can play your own things but yourself, of course--that is, until you are able to write them down; but, if you would learn something, we could play that together." "I don't know how to learn.

I've heard tell of the notes and all that, but I don't know how to work them." "You have heard the choir in the church--all keeping with the organ," said Mary.
"Scarcely since I was a child--and not very often then--though my mother took me sometimes.

But I was always wanting to get out again, and gave no heed." "Do you never go to church now ?" "No, miss--not for long.

Time's too precious to waste." "How do you spend it, then ?" "As soon as I've had my breakfast--that's on a Sunday, I mean--I get up and lock my door, and set myself to have a day of it.

Then I read the next thing where I stopped last--whether it be a chapter or a verse--till I get the sense of it--if I can't get that, it's no manner of use to me; and I generally know when I've got it by finding the bow in one hand and the fiddle in the other.