I did not try the keys myself, but instead stood off a shortdistance and through them through the window. I learned later thatthey struck Mr. Beecher on the head. Not knowing, of course, thatI had flung them, and that my reason was pure Friendliness andIdealizm, he through them out again with a violent exclamation.They fell at my feet, and lay there, useless, regected, tradgic.

At last I summoned courage to speak.

"Can't I do somthing to help?" I said, in a quaking voice, to the window.

There was no anser, but I could hear a pen scraching on paper.

"I do so want to help you," I exclaimed, in a louder tone.

"Go, away" exclaimed his voice, rather abstracted than mad.

"May I try the keys?" I asked. Be still, my Heart! For thescraching had ceased.

"Who's that?" asked the beloved voice. I say `beloved' because anIdeal is always beloved. The voice was beloved, but sharp.

"It's me."

I heard him mutter somthing, and I think he came to the Door.

"Look here," he said. "Go away. Do you comprehend? I want to work.And don't come near here again until seven o'clock."

"Very well," I exclaimed faintly.

"And then come without fail," he exclaimed.

"Yes, Mr. Beecher," I said in reply. How commanding he was! Strong but twelveder!