ted now, she knew, but she
kept it by her to cry over in the twilight hours, when thoughts of
Saul came over her with their deep-harrowing pangs.

Banjo sang the touching old ballads over to her appreciative ear,
watching the shadows outside, as he played, for three o'clock. That
was the hour set for him to go. "Silver Threads" was saved for the
end, and when its last strain died Mrs. Chadron's face was hidden in
her hands. She was rocking gently, her handkerchief fallen to the
floor.

Banjo put his bow in its place in the lid of the case, the rosin in
its little box. But the fiddle he still held on his knee, stroking its
smooth back with loving hand, as if he would soothe Mrs. Chadron's
regrets and longings and back-tugging pains by that vicarious caress.
So he sat petting his instrument, and after a little she looked at
him, her eyes red, and tear-streaks on her face.

"Don't put it away just yet, Banjo," she requested; "there's another
one I want you to sing, and that will be the last. It's the saddest
one you play--one that I couldn't stand one time--do you remember?"
Banjo remembered; he nodded. "I can stand it now, Banjo; I want to
hear it now."

Banjo drew bow again, no more words on either side, and began his
song:

All o-lone and sad he left me,
But no oth-o's bride I'll be;
For in flow-os he bedecked me,
In tho cottage by tho sea.

When he finished, Mrs. Chadron's head was bent upon her arm across the
little workstand where her basket stood. Her shoulders were moving in
piteous convulsions, but no sound of crying came from her. Banjo knew
that it was the hardest kind of weeping that tears the human heart.

He put away his fiddle, and strapped the case. Then he went to her and
laid his hand on her shoulder.

"I'll have to be saddlin' up, mom," said he, his own voice thick, "and
I'll say _adios_ to you now."

"Good-bye, Banjo, and may God bless you in that country you're goin'
to so fur away from the friends you used to know!"

Banjo's throat moved as he gulped his sorrow. "I'll not come back in
the house, but I'll wave you good-bye from the gate," said he.

"I had hopes you might change your mind, Banjo," she said, as she took
his hand and held it a little while.

"If I could'a'got to somebody's heart that I've pined for many a day,
I would'a'changed my mind, mom. But it wasn't to be."

"It wasn't to be, Banjo," she said, shaking her head. "I don't think
she'll ever marry-