at the end of the world, as it
were, and in companionship of gems and fabrics rich and rare; and in a
chest whose mouth breathed odors. This was all the Lad knew.

"Henry," said the old Trapper, "the Lad says the fiddle is so old that
no one knows how old it is; and I conceit the boy speaks the truth. It
sartinly looks as old as a squaw whose teeth has dropped out and whose
face is the color of tanned buckskin. I tell ye, Henry, I believe it
will bust if the Lad draws the bow with any 'arnestness across it, for
there never was a glue made that would hold wood together for a thousand
year. And if that fiddle isn't a thousand year old, then John Norton is
no jedge of appearances, and can't count the prongs on the horns of a
buck."

[Illustration: "_The Lad began to play._"]

At this instant the Lad dropped the bow upon the strings. Strong and
round, mellow and sweet, the note swelled forth. Starting with the least
filament of sound, it wove itself into a compact chord of sonorous
resonance; filled the great parlors; passed through the doorway into the
receptive stillness outside; charged it with throbbings--thus held the
air a moment; reigned in it--then, calling its powers back to itself,
drew in its vibrating tones; checked its undulating force; and leaving
the air by easy retirement, came back like a bird to its nest and died
away within the recesses of the dark, melodious shell from whence it
started.

When the bow first began its course across the strings the old Trapper's
eyes were on it; and as the note grew and swelled he seemed to grow with
it. His great fingers shut into their palms as if an unseen power was
pulling at the chords. His breast heaved. His mouth actually opened. It
was as if the rising, swelling, pulsating sounds actually lifted him
from off the floor on which he stood, and when the magnificent note
ebbed and finally died away within the violin, not only he, but all the
company stood breathless: charmed, surprised, astonished into silence at
the wondrous note they had heard.

The old Trapper was the first to move. He brought his brawny hand down
heavily upon Herbert's shoulder, and, with a face actually on fire with
the fervor stirred within him, exclaimed:

"Lord-a-massy! Henry, did ye ever hear a noise like that? I say, boy,
did ye ever hear a noise like that? Where on arth did it all come from?
Why, boy, 'twas as long and as solemn as a funeral, as arnest as the cry
of a panther, and roar