THE SOUL OF THE VIOLIN
Part 1
He was “knight of the road.” Time and space meant nothing to
him, The starry heaven was his covering by night, the shade of waving trees
his shelter by day. The vagrant breeze that cooled his cheeks whispered of
bubbling brooks and fragrant orchards. He was not a tramp in the hobo sense
of the word. For his name was on the honor roll at Harvard University. But
he choose the open trail, and the fields afar, searching for the peace and
happiness his soul craved.
The sun was nearing the distant sky line when he awakened from his slumber.
He sat up with his back against a mighty oak, and taking a violin from its
case, drew the bow softly against its strings. A world of melody sprang forth
at the touch. The birds at evening vespers paused to listen to the plaintive
notes; the leaves of the tree fluttered tremulously; but the man played, lost
to the sights and the sounds around him. At last he raised his head with a
deep sigh of content, and looked straight into the eyes of a tall gangling,
curly headed and barefooted boy who stood with a rapt expression on his face.
The man smiled with him in a friendly way as he questioned, “Like music?”
The boy was too absorbed in watching the instrument in the man’s hand
to answer, but he asked a question himself: Say, Mister, do all fiddles play
like that?”
The knight of the road was plainly amused. “Well I cannot say that they
do. There is a soul in every violin, but it takes a master’s hand to
bring forth its music. Do you play this instrument?”
The look of eagerness on the boys face faded, “Wishn’t I could,
but —you see, we’re poor, an’-- ther’s the mortgage.
Ma says ef it wasn’t for that, mebbe—someday—I’d learn
to play the fiddle, but it don’t sound no way like yours, mister.”
The man laid his violin in a case and motioned the boy to sit on a nearby
log. “Tell me all about yourself,” he said, in a kindly voice,
and the boy poured out his soul to the stranger. Never before, in his lonely
life had anyone been willing to listen to the dreams that burned within his
being.
Squinting his eyes at the sun, the boy said slowly, “Guess it won’t
hurt bridle and Stumpie none to eat a while longer; so I guess I can visit
for a spell. We don’t see strangers often here. He dropped down on the
log and dug his toe into the soft moss. You see it this-a-way , Ma’s
brother ran away from home to be a sailor. An’ I guess he sailed most
all over the world. Last time he left for the sea, he left his iron chest
with Ma, an’ told her to be mighty careful o’ it. Fer he had treasure
in it.
He never did come back, an’ we heard that his ship was wrecked off
the coast of Newfoundland in a storm. Ma felt terrible about it fer he was
her favorite brother. She wouldn’t let dad open the iron chest for the
longest time! But one day he said if it held a treasure he was going to see
it. An’ he went up into the attic an’ opened the chest—an
what do you think he found?”
To be continued