"But that girl we passed on the street to-day!"

"Helen Davis. Ah, yes—but she's different again. She's bad."

"Bad?" echoed Samuel perplexed.

There was a brief pause. It was not easy for him to adjust himself to a world in which the good were of necessity frail and ill, and the bad were rosy-cheeked and merry. "How do you mean?" he asked at last.

And Sophie answered quite simply, "She lives with a fellow."

The blood leaped into Samuel's face. Such a blunder for him to have made.

But then the flush passed, giving place to a feeling of horrified wonder. For Sophie was not in the least embarrassed—she spoke in the most matter-of-fact tone. And this from a child of thirteen, who did not look to be ten.

"I see," said he in a faint voice.

"A good many of the girls do it," she added. "You see, they move about so much—the mills close, and so a girl has no hope of marrying. But mothers says it's wrong, just the same."

And Samuel walked home the rest of the way in silence, and thinking no more about the joys of music.

CHAPTER VII

On Monday morning Samuel found that Professor Stewart had returned, and he sat in the great man's study and waited until he had finished his breakfast.

It was a big room, completely walled with crowded bookshelves; in the center was a big work-table covered with books and papers. Samuel had never dreamed that there were so many books in the world, and he gazed about him with awe, feeling that he had come to the sources of knowledge.

That was Samuel's way.