s Bill Duke. Thee canst do a drop, 'Saiah, _I_ know."

"Why, yes," returned the second-fiddle. "Theer's a warmish bit afore us,
and it's well to have summat to work on."

The girl moved away slowly, her fingers still knitted and her palms
turned to the ground. An inward-looking smile, called up by the music,
lingered in her eyes, which were of a warm, soft brown.

"Reuben," said the second-fiddle, "thee hast thy uncle's method all
over. I could shut my eyes an' think as I was five-and-twenty 'ear
younger, and as he was a-playin'. Dost note the tone, Sennacherib?"

"Note it?" said the third senior. "It's theer to be noted. Our 'Saiah's
got it drove into him somehow, as he's the one in Heydon Hay as God
A'mighty's gi'en a pair of ears to."

"An' our Sennacherib," retorted Isaiah, "is the one as carries Natur's
license t' offer the rough side of his tongue to everybody."

"I know it's a compliment," said the younger man, "to say I have my
uncle's hand, though I never heard my uncle play."

"No, lad," said the old man who stood behind his chair. "Thee'rt a finer
player than ever I was. If I'd played as well as thee I might have held
on at it, though even then it ud ha' gone a bit agen the grain."

"Agen the grain?" asked the 'cello-player, in his cheery voice. "With a
tone like that? Why, I mek bold to tell you, Mr. Gold, as theer is not a
hammer-chewer on the fiddle, not for thirty or may be forty mile around,
as has a tone to name in the same day with Rewben."

"There's a deal in what you say, Mr. Fuller," said the old man, who
had a bearing of sad and gentle dignity, and gave, in a curious and
not easily explainable way, the idea that he spoke but seldom and was
something of a recluse. "There's a deal in what you say, Mr. Fuller, but
the fiddle is not a thing as can be played like any ordinary instryment.
A fiddle's like a wife, in a way of speaking. You must offer her all
you've got. If she catches you going about after other women--"

"It's woe betide you!" Sennacherib interrupted.

"You drive her heart away," the old man pursued. "The fiddle's jealouser
than a woman. It wants the whole of a man. If Reuben was to settle down
to it twelve hours a day, I make no doubt he'd be a player in a few
years' time."

"Twelve hours a day!" cried Sennacherib. "D'ye think as life was gi'en
to us to pass it all away a scrapin' catgut?"

"Why, no, Mr. Eld," the old man answered, smilingly. "But to my mind
there's only tw