"Yes, it's very small," I agreed. "Yet quite big
enough, although it holds so much."
"One would hardly have said, four years ago, that anything smaller than
the biggest musical auditorium in the city would have been big enough to
hold Azalea's voice," he mused.
"If you could have heard her sing her lullaby to those babies," I
replied, as we walked slowly on, "you would have said her voice would be
wasted on a concert audience."
"It seems a pleasant home."
"It _is_ one."
"Somehow, one distrusts the ability of musical prodigies to make
pleasant homes."
"I wonder why. Shouldn't the knowledge of any art make one appreciative
of other arts?"
"It took some time for a certain exhibition of the domestic art to
strike in, at your home, that summer," said the Philosopher. "But I
believe Azalea came to envy our Hepatica at the last, didn't she?"
"Indeed she did. And she's never got over envying her her
accomplishments. She asked me ever so many questions to-day about
Hepatica's housekeeping. I wish I had had a chance before I went to tell
her that I was sure her will to succeed would make her home as dear a
one as even Hepatica's could be.
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