The little girl ceased playing. There was not a sound to be heard; the magic was still holding her listeners. When at last they had freed themselves with a sigh, they pressed forward to greet her.
"There is only one person who can play like that," cried the Major, with sudden inspiration; "she is Miss Thyra Flowerdew."
The little girl smiled.
"That is my name," she said simply; and she slipped out of the room.
The next morning, at an early hour, the Bird of Passage took her flight onward, but she was not destined to go off unobserved. Oswald Everard saw the little figure swinging along the road, and he overtook her.
"You little wild bird!" he said. "And so this was your great idea: to have your fun out of us all, and then play to us and make us feel, I don't know how--and then to go."
"You said the company wanted stirring up," she answered; "and I rather fancy I have stirred them up."
"And what do you suppose you have done for me?" he asked.
"I hope I have proved to you that the bellows-blower and the organist are sometimes identical," she answered.
But he shook his head.