osekeysheldintheirserenitythepos-sibilityofeverybeautifulsound.Iwastoodumbstrucktoanswerhisinquirythefirsttime.

    "MayIhelpyou,youngman?"

    "ImHenryDay,andImheretolearhingyouknow."

    "Mydearyoungman,"hereplied,sighing,"Imafraidthatsimpossi-ble."

    Iwalkedtothepianoandsatatthebench.Thesightofthekeysun-lockedadistantmemoryofasternGermaninstructormetoihetempo.Istretchedmyfingersasfarapartaspossible,testingmyspan,andlaidthemupontheivorywithouteliganactaltone.Mr.Martinglidedbehindme,overlookingmyshoulder,studyingmyhands."Haveyouplayedbefore?"

    "Onceuponatime..."

    "FindmemiddleC,Mr.Day."

    Andwithoutthinking,Idid,pressingthesinglekeywiththesideofmyleftthumb.

    Mymotherandfathereheroom,announgthemselvesoliteahem.Mr.Martinwheeledaroundandstrodereetthem.Astheyshookhandsandmadeintrodus,Iplayedscalesfromthemiddleoutward.Tonesfromthepianeredpowerfulsynapses,resurregscoresthatIknewbyheart.Avoimyheaddemandedheissblütig,heissblütig—morepassion,morefeeling.

    "Yousaidhewasabeginner."

    "Heis,"mymotherreplied."Idontthinkheseverevenseenarealpiano."

    "Thisboyisanatural."

    Forfun,Ipli"TwiwitleStar,"thewayIwouldplayitformysisters.Iwascarefultouseonlyonefinger,asifthegrandwerebutatoy.

    "Hetaughthimselfthat,"Momsaid."Onatinypianothatyoumightfindinafairyorchestra.Andhesing,too,singlikeabird."