the Count—and others have oboes and bassoons. Trumpets and cymbals, harps, viols, and tympani."
The words had all the glamour of ancient shawm and psaltery. Joan dwelt on them expressively.
"The music soars like wind among the stars; it thunders like white water on the Reef. It is very beautiful."
"I should like that," Garth murmured. "I suppose I've never heard any real music."
Joan reflected that, with the exception of his father's songs and the Count's fluting, he had probably never heard any music at all. She did not count the hurdy-gurdy in the City.
"Yes, you would like it," she said. "Sometimes when you come out of the concert-place, lamps are beginning to shine and the streets are wet and blue. They reflect the lights just like still water. Then there's the Park! You walk along beside glassy ponds through twisting paths. Sometimes the paths climb up and down between rocky ledges among the trees; sometimes they lead past wide meadows of smooth, close-clipped grass. Far off, at the edge of the Park, you can see rosy tops of buildings, like enchanted battlements above the trees, The
