master and he could be very
kind.

"I'm going back and finish the onions now," said Warren. "I came down
to let the cows out."

"Rich was late this morning," asserted Rich's employer, "because he
wasted time at the creamery. We're going to fix the line fence."

Rosemary looked at Richard Gilbert who carried a box of tools. He did
not seem to mind the accusation brought against him--though, as a
matter of fact, he had waited to get a piece of ice for Winnie and this
had delayed him at the creamery--but then Richard was not easily
offended. He was inclined to be easy going and was much less apt to
"fire up" than Warren.

"I'm going with Warren," announced Sarah, who liked her new friend very
much and saw no reason for leaving him in doubt of her feelings.

Mr. Hildreth stalked toward the brook, followed by Richard and Warren,
and Sarah started up the lane. Rosemary, picking a buttercup for
Shirley, was surprised to hear a sudden shout.

"Mr. Hildreth!" yelled Sarah--there is no other word for it--"Mr.
Hildreth! Can you make violin strings from a cat's insides?"

The farmer, knee-deep in the brook, looked up, startled. Rosemary
stared and Shirley looked interested. As for Richard and Warren, they
laughed immoderately.

"A girl in school said you could," went on Sarah, still shouting.
"Violin strings, she said--can you?"

"Sure--haven't you heard cats sing at night?" called back Mr. Hildreth,
having recovered his breath. "Any cat that's a good singer, will make
good violin strings. Miss--er--what's her name?" he questioned Richard
who was holding up one end of the sagging wire.

"That's Sarah," said Richard.

"You ask Warren, Sarah," called the farmer. "He'll tell you."

And as Warren walked on, Sarah, tagging after him, began an exhaustive
and relentless study of cats and violin strings.

Richard held the wire carefully, but his dancing brown eyes suggested
that he was not too busy to talk.

"There was an old man playing the violin last night," said Rosemary.
"Did you hear him?"

Richard nodded.

"Old Fiddlestrings," he answered. "You'll probably hear him every
moonlight night. Winter and summer he goes up and down the road
playing his one tune."

"It was the 'Serenade,'" said Rosemary. "Does he always play that?
Where does he live? Is he poor?"

"Not so poor as he is crazy," declared Richard sententiously. "He has
enough money so he never has to work. He lives in a crazy little cab