Ferdinand's racing paws, gave the tune just the sweet pathos of a little girl climbing reluctantly to bed. But Mr. Mistletoe did not guess this. He took all the credit to himself, and merely believed that he was playing better than he had ever done before. Really, he thought, the old piano is in better condition than I supposed. It's getting back its tone. I do believe I should have been a composer. This is really wonderful! He finished the tune with a rolling volley of harmony and sat back waiting for applause.
To his amazement, although his hands were now off the keyboard, a thin little music went on, streaking runs of notes, twinkling up and down. He stared, and then he pulled open the music rack. Out flashed Ferdinand, and was on the floor with one spring. Luckily the kitchen door was open, and in the twinkling of four feet he gained the safety of the pot-closet.
Mr. Mistletoe was looking the other way at that instant, so he did not see Ferdinand dart out and speed across the room. He often wondered why he could never again play the tune Helen Going To Bed with such skill and such a richness of wistful melody. Certainly he never guessed that in a way it all went back to the Bad Fairy
