ed like a nest of hornets when ye poke 'em with a
stick. If that's a fiddle, I wonder what the other things be that I have
heerd the half-breeds and the Frenchers play in the clearin's."

Well might the old Trapper be astonished. The violin of unknown age and
make was one among ten thousand. It was a concert to hear the Lad tune
it; which he did with a bold and skilful touch, and the exactness of an
ear which nature had made exquisitely true to time and chord. His
bashfulness was gone. His timidity had departed. His awkwardness, even,
went out of body and arm and fingers, with the initial note. His soul
had found its life with his mother's gift; and he who was so weak and
hesitating in ordinary moments, found courage and strength, and the
dignity of a master, when he touched the strings. At last the instrument
was ready. And with a flourish bold and free he struck into the measures
of a waltz that filled the parlor with circling noise, and made the air
throb and beat--swing and swell, as if it were liquid, and unseen
hands were moving it with measured undulations.

[Illustration: "_The God of Music was actually in the room._"]

There was no resisting an influence so sweet, subtle, and pervasive, as
flowed from that easy-going bow, as it came and went over the resounding
strings. Couple after couple swung off into the open space, until the
entire company were swinging and floating through the dreamy and
bewitching measures. The god of music was actually in the room, and his
strong, passionate touch was on the souls of those who were floated
hither and thither as if blown by his invisible breath. The music took
possession of the dancers. It banished the mortal heaviness from their
frames, and made them buoyant, so that their feet scarce touched the
floor. Up and down and across from side to side and end to end they
whirled and floated. They moved as if a power which took the place of
wings was in them. They did not seem to know that they were dancing.
They did not dance; they floated, flowing like a current moved by easy
undulations. Their hands were clasped. Their faces nearly touched. Their
eyes were closed or glowing. And still the long bow came and went, and
still the music rose and sank, swelled and ebbed, as easy waves
advance, retreat and flood again, breaking in white and lazy murmurs at
twilight on the dusky beach.

Herbert stood still; his eyes were lifted, the gaze in them far away,
and one foot beat the mea