with textbook and rod. Being
myself thus perturbed, it was astonishing that James should show no
sign of fear, but should keep his horses in their collars, pulling
straight for the mountains where the dreaded creature lived. He smoked
his pipe nonchalantly, as though a hundred professors could not daunt
him. I was sure that there was something of bravado in his conduct
until he began to sing, and his voice rang out without a tremor, so
full and strong that it fanned a spark of courage into my cowering
heart. James had a wonderfully inspiring way of singing. He tuned his
voice to the day and to the time of the day. This morning the sky was
clear blue above us, and about us the orchards blossomed pink and
white, and the fresh green fields were all awave under the breeze, not
the grim wind of winter, but the soft yet buoyant wind of spring. So
his song was cheery. The words of it were doleful, like the words of
all his songs, but under the touch of his magic baton, his swinging
whip, a requiem could become a hymn of rejoicing. Now the birds in the
meadows seemed to accompany him, and our heavy-footed four to step with
a livelier gait in time to his rattling air, all unconscious that he
sang of "the old gray horse that died in the wilderness." It was a
boast of his that he could sing "any tune there was," and I believed
him, for I had a profound admiration of his musical ability. Indeed, I
hold it to this day, and often as I sit in the dark corner of an
opera-box and listen to the swelling harmonies of a great orchestra, I
close my eyes and fancy myself squatting on the grassy barn-bridge at
James's side when the shadows are creeping over the valley and he weeps
for Nellie Grey and Annie Laurie in a voice so mighty that the very
hills echo his sorrow.

This May morning, as James sang, my spirits rose with his soaring
melody from the depths into which they had been cast in the passage of
the village, and when the last note had died away and he was debating
whether to light his pipe or sing another song, I asked him with quite
a show of courage:

"Is it very dangerous in the mountains?"

James looked down at me. A smile flickered around the corners of his
mouth, but he suppressed it quickly.

"Yes--and no," he drawled.

Inured as I was to his cautious ways, I was not taken aback by this
non-committal reply, but pursued my inquiry, hoping that in spite of
his vigilance I might elicit some encouraging opinion