THE MAKING OF A PLAYER 165

parted, she would have Nick try his steps over and over
again in the great room, while she stood upon the stool
to make her tall, and cried, “Sa—sa!” as the master did,
scolding and praising him by turns, or jumping down in
pretty impatience to tuck up her little silken skirts and
show him the step herself; while the cook’s knave and the
scullery-maids peeped at the door and cried: “La, now,
look ’e, Moll!” at every coupee.

It made a picture quaint and pretty to see them dancing
there. The smoky light, stealing in through the narrow
casements over the woodwork dark with age, dropped in
little yellow chequers upon old chests of oak, of walnut,
and of strange, purple-black wood from foreign lands,
giving a weird life to the griffins and twisted traceries
carved upon their sides. High-backed, narrow chairs
stood along the wall, with cushioned stools inlaid with
shell. Twinklings of light glinted from the brass candle-
sticks. On the wall above the wainscot the faded hangings
wavered in the draught, crusted thickly with strange em-
broidered flowers. And dancing there together in the
semi-gloom, the children seemed quaint little figures
stepped down from the tapestry at the touch of a magic
wand.

And so the time went slipping by, very pleasantly upon
the whole, and Nick’s young heart grew stout again within
his breast; for he was strong and well, and in those days
the very air was full of hope, and no man knew what might
betide with the rising of to-morrow’s sun.

Every day, from two till three o’clock, he was at Master