fering to you. It is a genuine Cremona, made by
the famous Antonius Stradivarius himself. It is very rare, and worth its
weight in gold. What am I bid?" The people present looked at it
critically. And some doubted the accuracy of the auctioneer's statements.
They saw that it did not have the Stradivarius name cut in. And he
explained that some of the earliest ones made did not have the name. And
that some that had the name cut in were not genuine. But he could assure
them that this was genuine. Still the buyers doubted and criticised, as
buyers have always done. Five guineas in gold were bid, but no more. The
auctioneer perspired and pleaded. "It was ridiculous to think of selling
such a rare violin for such a small sum," he said. But the bidding seemed
hopelessly stuck there.

Meanwhile a man had entered the shop from the street. He was very tall and
very slender, with very black hair, middle-aged, wearing a velvet coat. He
walked up to the counter with a peculiar side-wise step, and without
noticing anybody in the shop picked up the violin, and was at once
absorbed in it. He dusted it tenderly with his handkerchief, changed the
tension of the strings, and held it up to his ear lingeringly as though
hearing something. Then putting the end of it up in position he reached
for the bow, while the murmur ran through the little audience, "Paganini."

The bow seemed hardly to have touched the strings when such a soft
exquisite note came out filling the shop, and holding the people
spellbound. And as he played the listeners laughed for very delight, and
then wept for the fullness of their emotion. The men's hats were off, and
they all stood in rapt reverence, as though in a place of worship. He
played upon their emotions as he played upon the old soil-begrimed violin.

By and by he stopped. And as they were released from the spell of the
music the people began clamoring for the violin. "Fifty guineas," "sixty,"
"seventy," "eighty," they bid in hot haste. And at last it was knocked
down to the famous player himself for one hundred guineas in gold, and
that evening he held a vast audience of thousands breathless under the
spell of the music he drew from the old, dirty, blackened, despised
violin.

It was despised till the master-player took possession. Its worth was not
known. The master's touch revealed the rare value, and brought out the
hidden harmonies. He gave the doubted little instrument its true place of
high honor be