time since they met Herbert saw his placid countenance wrinkled and
seamed with the contortions of uproarious mirth. The sluggishness of his
temperament for once was thoroughly agitated and the manhood which never
before had come to the surface found in hilarity a visible and adequate
expression. The Trapper had spun to his side and the two had joined
their hands and, looking into each other's faces, were laughing with a
boisterousness that fairly shook their frames and exploded in resounding
peals.

Gradually the uproar subsided and the company settled by easy transition
to a quieter mood. The hours of the night were passing and the moment
drawing nigh when those who had mingled their merriment must part. The
old Trapper had regained his gravity and his countenance had settled to
its customary repose. It seemed the general wish that the Lad would
favor them with a farewell piece, and in compliance with the request of
many, the old man turned to him and said:

"The hours be drawing on, Lad, and it's reasonable that we should break
up; but afore we go the folks wish to hear ye play a quiet sort of a
piece that may be cheerful and pleasant like for them to remember ye by
when we be gone. So, Lad, if ye have got anything in yer head that's
soft and teching, somethin' that will sort o' stay in the heart as the
seasons come and go, I sartinly hope ye will play it for them. And as ye
say ye was born by the sea, and as ye say the instrument ye hold in yer
hand was gin ye by yer mother, it may be ye can play us something out of
yer memory that shall tell us of her goodness to ye. Something I mean,
that shall tell us of the shore where ye was born and the love that ye
had afore ye laid her to rest and came to the woods seekin' me. Can ye
play us somethin' like that, Lad?"

"I can play you anything that has mother in it," said he, and a wistful,
yearning, hungry look came into his eyes and the edges of his lips
quivered.

The company seated themselves and the boy drew his bow across the
instrument. The brush of a painter could not have made the picture more
perfect than the vision the Lad brought forth as the bow played on the
strings. The picture of a sea, sunlighted and level, stretching far out;
the picture of a curved shore: the shore of a quiet bay, rimmed with its
beach of shining sand and noisy with the gurgle and splash of lapsing
waves; the picture of a home quiet and orderly and filled with the
tenderness of a gent