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clothes.

I went to the barn and then up the stairway to

Uncle Simon's room. He didn't reply when I knocked

on his door. so I opened it and peered in. He was in

bed. I thought he was asleep, but as soon as I started

to back out and close the door, his eyes opened. "Honey," he said, followed with a flow of

coughs. "Something the matter?"

"No, Uncle Simon. I was just coming over to

practice my violin and see if you needed anything.'" "Oh," he said. He wiped strands of hair off his

forehead and propped himself up. He wasn't wearing

any shirt, and there was a patch of redness at the

center of his chest.

"Do you have a fever?" I asked him.

"No," he said, shaking his head vigorously. He

coughed again. "That doesn't sound good. Uncle

Simon."

"It's nothing." he insisted.

"Mommy's making you some chicken soup, but

if you don't feel better soon, you should go to a

doctor," I said firmly.

He nodded, but with no real conviction. "You're going to play the violin for me?" he

asked, finally showing some light and excitement in

his eyes.

"I wanted to start on some of the music my

friend Chandler Maxwell gave me yesterday. I'm

going to audition for a special school in New York

City," I explained.

His eyes widened with amazement. "New York

City?"