my violin. I find dis place; I build dis house; I lif here
unt make happiness. My only neighbors are de remittance men, who iss
more mischiefing as wicked. Dey vill nod bother me much. So after a
time I die here. Vy nod? I am forgot in Stuttgart."

There was pathos in the tale and his way of telling it. The old man
spoke cheerfully, but they could see before them the tragedy depicted
by his simple words. His hearers were all silent when he had
concluded, feeling they could say nothing to console him or lighten
his burden. Only Wampus, sitting in the background, looked scornfully
upon the man who had once been the idol of his townspeople.

Dan'l took a violin from a shelf and began to play, softly but with
masterly execution. He caught their mood instantly. The harmony was
restful and contented. Patsy turned down the lamps, to let the flicker
of the firelight dominate the room, and Dan'l understood and blended
the flickering light into his melody.

For a long time he continued to improvise, in a way that fairly
captivated his hearers, despite their varied temperaments, and made
them wonder at his skill. Then without warning he changed to a
stirring, martial air that filled the room with its rich, resonant
tones. There was a fugue, a wonderful finale, and while the concluding
notes rang in their ears the old man laid his violin in his lap,
leaned back against his cushions and heaved a deep sigh.

They forebore disturbing him for a while. How strange it seemed that
this really talented musician should be banished to a wilderness while
still possessing power to stir the souls of men with his marvelous
execution. Truly he was a "maestro," as he had said; a genius whose
star had risen, flashed across the sky and suddenly faded, leaving his
future a blank.

Wampus moved uneasily in his chair.

"I like to know something," he remarked.

Dan'l roused himself and turned to look at the speaker.

"You have one bad eye," continued Wampus, reflectively. "What make him
so? You stick violin bow in eye some day?"

"No," grunted Dan'l.

"Bad eye he no make himself," persisted the little chauffeur. "What
make him, then?"

For a moment there was an awkward silence. The girls considered this
personal inquiry offensive and regretted admitting Wampus to the room.
But after a time the old German answered the question, quietly and in
a half amused tone.

"Can you nod guess?" he said. "Herr Gabert hurt mine eye."

"Oh!" exclaimed