The white lilacs were even more beautiful than the roses and
the daffodils. There was a long row of white lilac trees at
one side of a garden I used to play in--I shall never, never
forget what that fragrance was like after a rain! And now that
my sun is shining again--after the rain--you may imagine what
those white lilacs breathe of to me.
With the best of good wishes,
ANNE LINTON.
Jordan King read this note through three times before he folded it back
into its original creases. Then he shut it away in a leather-bound
writing tablet which lay by his side. "Franz," he said, addressing the
youth who was at this hour of the day his sole attendant, "can you play
Schubert's '_Fruehlingstraum_'?"
He had to repeat this title several times, with varying accents, before
he succeeded in making it intelligible. But suddenly Franz leaped to an
understanding.
"Yess--yess--yess--yess--sair," he responded joyously, and made a dive
for his violin case.
"Softly, Franz," warned his master. As this was a word which had thus
far been often used in his education, on account of the fact that the
hospital did not belong exclusively to King--strange as that might seem
to Franz who worshipped him--it was immediately comprehended. Without
raising the tones of his instrument, Franz was able presently to make
clear to King that the music he was asked to play was of the best at his
command.
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