upid-looking man, his fiddle
in a black box under his arm, followed him to the platform that had been
cleared of its pulpit The stranger stood staring vacantly at the
crowd until the elder motioned him to a chair, when he obeyed with
the hesitating, blind obedience of a dog. Then the elder made a
brief prayer, and after a few remarks flavoured with puns, sacred
and immemorial as the pulpit itself, started a brief programme of
entertainment. A broad smile marked the beginning of his lighter mood.
His manner seemed to say: 'Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will give
good heed, you shall see I can be witty on occasion.'

Then a young man came to the platform and recited, after which Hope went
forward and sang 'The Land o' the Leal' with such spirit that I can feel
my blood go faster even now as I thank of it, and of that girlish figure
crowned with a glory of fair curls that fell low upon her waist and
mingled with the wild pink roses at her bosom. The fiddler sat quietly
as if he heard nothing until she began to sing, when he turned to look
at her. The elder announced, after the ballad, that he had brought with
him a wonderful musician who would favour them with some sacred music.
He used the word 'sacred' because he had observed, I suppose, that
certain of the 'hardshells' were looking askance at the fiddle. There
was an awkward moment in which the fiddler made no move or sign of
intelligence. The elder stepped near him and whispered. Getting no
response, he returned to the front of the platform and said: 'We shall
first resign ourselves to social intercourse and the good things the
ladies have provided.'

Mountains of frosted cake reared their snowy summits on a long table,
and the strawberries, heaped in saucers around them, were like red
foothills. I remember that while they were serving us Hope and I were
introduced to one Robert Livingstone--a young New Yorker, stopping at
the inn near by, on his way to the big woods. He was a handsome fellow,
with such a fine air of gallantry and so trig in fashionable clothes
that he made me feel awkward and uncomfortable.

'I have never heard anything more delightful than that ballad,' he said
to Hope. 'You must have your voice trained--you really must. It will
make a great name for you.'

I wondered then why his words hurt me to the soul. The castle of my
dreams had fallen as he spoke. A new light came into her face--I did not
know then what it meant.

'Will you let me ca