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 was Leschetizky, had himself shown her how it ought to be done, and that Paul had reproduced it in a manner which would have made the composer pat him on the back. He decided to test his new teacher. Without announcing the name of the piece he began to play it. Except for occasional hours at Mrs. Kestrell's feeble instrument he had neglected his exercises, and he was not in his best form. For all that he gave, as he secretly felt, a creditable performance, without faltering once on the runs. When he had finished he waited. The teacher was visibly taken aback. Paul was sure she had no idea what he had been playing.

"Very good indeed," she finally said. "You have a mature grasp. Unfortunately your method is quite wrong. We shall have to put you on exercise for a long while yet. You'll have to begin at the beginning."

She motioned him from his seat and gave a demonstration of what he must learn to do with his hands.

"Do you see?" she kept asking, as she explained each new step in a bookish rigmarole.

He nodded his head repeatedly by way of answer, but his whole being was stiff with disgust.

"Come to-morrow at three for the first lesson," she said, ushering him from the studio.

He went straight to the head master's study. "I've decided not to take music lessons," he announced timidly.

The master looked him over. "It's not exactly for you to decide my lad," he said. "You're here to study what your guardian has arranged for you to study."

"But she doesn't know," cried Paul. He groped for words. "I can almost play the Liszt sonata," he hurried on, "and she says I'll have to begin at the beginning—her funny old beginning. I've been organist in a church and everything, and she asked me if I could play 'The Merry Peasant!' I won't be her pupil," he continued, with