wasn't slicked up. But I tell him clo's don't make much difference with a
humly dog, anyway. Come along, Lute, and put them blushes in your
pocket to keep yer hands warm in cold weather. Teacher, this is our
champion fiddler, inventor, whale-fisher, cranberry-picker, and
potato-bugger,--Luther Larkin Cradlebow!"

The youth of the tuneful and birdlike name dealt his tormentor a hearty
though affectionate cuff on the ears, and being thus suddenly thrust
forward, he doffed his broad souwester, took the hand I held out to him,
and, stooping down, kissed me, quite in a simple and audible manner, on
the cheek.

It was done with such gentle, serious embarrassment, and Luther Larkin
Cradlebow was so boyish and quaint looking, withal, that I felt not the
slightest inclination to blush, but I heard Harvey's saucy giggle.

"Gad!" said he; "hear the old women talk about Lute's being bashful and
not knowin' how to act with the girls! Now I call them party easy
manners, eh, Lovell? What do you think, Lovell?"

"Ahem, certainly,--" responded Lovell, smiling in vague sympathy with the
laughing group. "_I_ call them so,--certainly,--_I_ do."

Only George Olver turned a sober, reassuring face to the blushing
Cradlebow.

"Give us a tune, Lutie," said he. "Lord, _I'd_ laugh if I could get the
music out o' them strings that you can."

The Cradlebow sat down, drew his bow across the strings with a full,
quivering, premonitory touch, and, straightway, the fiddle began to talk
to him as though they two were friends alone together in the room. How
it played for him,--the fiddle--as though it were morning. How it
shouted, laughed, ran with him in a world of sunshine and tossing
blossoms!

How it hoped for him, swelling out in grander strains, wild with
exultation, tremulous with passion!

How it mourned for him, with dying, sweet despair, until one almost saw
the night fall on the water, and the lone sea-birds flying, and heard the
desolate shrieking of the wind along the shore.

I heard a real sob near me, and looking up saw the tears rolling down
Harvey's rosy cheeks.

It was in the midst of a simple melody,--I think it was the "Sweet
By-and-By"--the player stopped and turned suddenly pale.

"That was a new string, too!" he said; "and only half tight." Then he
blushed violently, seeking to hide the irritation of his tone under a
careless laugh.

"Oh, I don't mind the string," he went on; "that's easy mended, but I
happened to