as if fascinated. At "'Way Down Upon the Suwanee River" he dropped his
head in his hands and his shoulders shook.

"Something livelier, Throppy," said Jim.

Stevens started in on "Dixie." As the first spirited notes came dancing
off the violin their guest raised his head quickly, and before the
selection was finished his cheerfulness had returned.

"Can you play 'The Campbells Are Coming'?" he inquired.

As Stevens responded with the stirring Scotch air Thorpe rose to his
feet and began whistling a clear, melodious accompaniment. The notes
trilled out, pure and bird-like. The boys broke into hearty applause
when he finished. Their approval emboldened him to ask a favor.

"I used to play a little myself," he said; "but it's been years since
I've had a bow in my hand. Would you be willing for me to see if I can
recall anything? I'll be careful of your instrument."

"Sure!" cordially returned Stevens.

He handed violin and bow to Thorpe. The latter took them almost
reverently. Tucking the violin under his chin, he drew the bow back and
forth, at first with a lingering, uncertain touch, but soon with an
increasing firmness and accuracy that bespoke an old-time skill.
Gradually he gathered confidence, and a bubbling flood of liquid music
gushed from the vibrating strings.

At first he played a medley of fragments, short snatches from old tunes,
each shading imperceptibly into the one that followed, blending into a
whole that chorded with the night and sea and wind and the driftwood
fire crackling in the little stove in the lonely island cabin. The boys
sat motionless, listening, brooding over the visions the music opened to
each. They had never heard such music before. Even Percy had to
acknowledge that, as he leaned breathlessly forward, eyes glued to the
dancing bow.

One final, long, slow sweep, and the last notes died away, mellow and
silvery as a distant bell. The musician raised his bowed head and looked
about.

"More!" begged the boys.

With a nod of assent, he began "Annie Laurie." His audience sat
spellbound. "Flow Gently, Sweet Afton" followed; and he closed with
"Auld Lang Syne." Then he laid the violin carefully on the table and
burst into tears.

For two or three minutes nobody spoke. Filippo was weeping silently;
Percy cleared his throat; and even the other three were conscious of a
slight huskiness. The evening was turning out differently from what they
had anticipated.

Brushing away his tea