thronged the street from side to side, he lifted the dying dog into his
lap and laid his poor crushed head against his breast and mourned over
him as a mother, deserted by husband and friends, might mourn for an
only babe when, alone in a foreign land, it lay on her bosom dying; and
the multitude, who, by this, had knowledge of the dreadful deed, stood
in silence while he mourned.
"Trusty, Trusty," he said, "do you know me, Trusty?" and his tears fell
fast into the dog's bristly coat. The poor creature, now far gone in
that unconsciousness which deafens the ear to the voice of love itself,
still faintly heard the familiar tones, for he lifted his eyes to his
master's face and nestled closer into his bosom. It was a touching
sight, in truth, and those who stood close enough to see the moving
spectacle, wiped their own eyes, divinely moist with the mist of
sympathy.
It was evident to all, and to the old man himself, that above and around
and closing in upon them was the mystery which men call death--a mystery
as inscrutable as it hovers over the kennel and stable as when it enters
the habitations of men--and that in a few moments the life still within
the body of the poor animal, with all its powers of doing, of thinking,
and of loving, would depart the structure in which it had found so
pleasant an abode and so facile a medium of expression.
For a few moments nothing more was said; the old man continued to sob
and the life of his companion continued to ebb away. The brutal blow
that caused his death had mercifully numbed the power of feeling, so
that whatever the gloomy journey he was about to take might mean to him,
whether the same life he was leaving, or a larger, or none at all, he
would move on through the darkness toward the one or the other at least
without pain.
"You and I have fared in company for many a year," said the old man at
last, "and bread, whether scant or plenty, and bed, whether hard or
soft, we have shared together. Thou hast made the days brighter, and the
nights shorter, by thy presence as I suffered through them, and dark
will the one be, and long the other, when I see thee no more; would to
God I could die with thee, my dog, my dog!"
Did the dog indeed understand what he said or did he merely sense the
sorrow in the tones and seek once more, as he had done so many times
before, to comfort his disconsolate master? I know not; I only know that
the poor animal, with dying strength, lifted his muzzle to his master's
face, and twice he lapped it with his tongue. Aye, lapped the salt tears
tenderly from his master's wrinkled and pallid cheeks with his tongue;
only this, for no more could he do. "My dog," cried the old man once
more, amid his tears. "My dog, the God who made thee so loving and
worthy to be loved, and filled thee with such sweet feeling and the wish
to comfort human woe, will not surely let thee perish. In his great
universe there is, there must be, room for thee. I will not mourn thee
as wholly lost. I cannot do it. For amid the false thou hast been true,
and surely falsehood shall hot live on and sweet truth die. Tell me, my
dog, give me some sign that we shall meet in the great hereafter?"
But in response to this appeal the dog gave no motion, for, indeed, his
strength, like a tide ebbing in the night, was gliding silently and
swiftly outward in the gloom, gliding outward and beyond all questioning
and answering, but he opened wide his glorious eyes and fixed them
steadily on his master's face with such a great love in their depths
that mortal might not doubt that in that love was hope and its
sustaining evidence; and then the fatal dimness crept along their edges,
the pure, sweet light faded away in their clear depths, and the
impenetrable shadow settled forever over the lustrous orbs. The lids at
last gradually closed as in sleep, and the beggar's dog, with his head
on his master's neck and his body resting on his bosom, lay dead.
[Illustration: Tail piece]
The Ball
[Illustration: Vignette Initial IT]
It was evening--dark, cool and starry. The earth and water lay hidden in
the dusky gloom. Above, the stars were at their brightest. They gleamed
and glowed, flashed and scintillated, like jewels fresh from the case.
Their fires were many-colored--orange, yellow, and red; and here and
there a great diamond, fastened into the zone of night, sent out its
intense, colorless brilliancy. Through all the air silence reigned. The
winds had died away, and the waters had settled to repose. No gurgle
along the shore: no splash against the great logs that made the wharf;
no bird of night calling to its mate. Outside all was still. Nature had
drawn the curtains around her couch, and, screened from sight, lay in
profound repose.
Within, all was light, and bustle, and gayety. From every window lights
streamed and flashed. The large parlors were alive with moving forms.
The piano, whose white keys were swept by whiter hands, tinkled and rang
in liveliest measure. The dance was at its height; and the very floor
seemed vibrant with the pressure of lively feet. The dancers advanced,
retired, wheeled and swayed in easy circles, swept up and down, and
across the floor in graceful lines.
Amid the happy scene the Old Trapper stood, his stalwart frame erect as
in his prime; while his great, strong face fairly beamed in benediction
upon the dancers. For his nature had within its depths that fine
capacity which enabled it to receive the brightness of surrounding
happiness and reflect it again.
It was a study to watch his face and mark the passage of changeful
moods; surprise, delight, and broad, warm-hearted humor, as they came to
and played across the responsive features. The man of the woods, of the
lonely shore, and of silence, seemed perfectly at home amid the noise
and commotion of human merry-making.
At last the music died away. The dancers checked their feet. The lady
who had been playing the piano rose wearily from the instrument and
joined a group of friends. The music was not adequate. The notes were
too sharp; too isolate; they did not flow together. There was no sweep
and swing, nor suavity of connected progress in the strains. The
instrument could not lift the dancers up and swing them onward through
the mazy motions.
"I tell ye, Henry," said the Old Trapper, as he turned to Herbert who
was standing by his side, "the pianner isn't the thing to dance by, for
sartin. It tinkles and chippers too much; it rattles and clicks. It
don't git hold of the feelin's, Henry;--it don't start the blood in yer
veins, nor set yer skin tinglin', nor make the feet dance agin yer will.
It's good enough in its way, no doubt; but it sartinly isn't the thing
to lift the young folks up and swing 'em round. The fiddle is the
thing;--yis, the fiddle is sartinly the thing. I would give a good deal
if we had a fiddle here to-night, for I see the boys and girls miss it.
Lord-a-massy! how it would set 'em a-goin' if we only had a fiddle
here."
"John Norton," said the Lad, who was sitting on a chair hidden away
behind the Trapper, "John Norton," and the Lad took hold of the sleeve
of his jacket and pulled the Trapper's head down towards him, "would you
like to hear a violin to-night?"
"Like to hear a fiddle? Lord bless ye, Lad, I guess I would like to hear
a fiddle. I never seed a time I wouldn't give the best beaver hide in
the lodge to hear the squeak of the bow on the strings. What's the
matter with ye, Lad?" and he drew the old man's head still closer to
him, until his ear was within a few inches of his mouth. "I love to play
the violin better than I love any thing in the world, and I've got one
of the best ones you ever heard, out there in the bow of the boat."
"Heavens and 'arth, Lad!" ejaculated the Trapper, "Did ye say ye could
play the fiddle, and that ye had a good one out there in the boat?
Lord-a-massy! how the young folks will hop. Scoot out there and git it,
boy, and Henry and me will let the folks know what ye've got and what ye
can do."
The Lad fairly flashed out of the room. He was gone in an instant; and
in a few minutes he had returned, bearing in his hands a bundle which he
carried as carefully as a mother would carry her babe; but brief as had
been his absence it had allowed sufficient time for Herbert to
communicate with the master of ceremonies and for him to announce to the
company present that the great lack of the occasion had fortunately and
unexpectedly been supplied; for the young man who was with Mr. Herbert
and John Norton not only knew how to play the violin, but actually had
one in his boat, and had gone to get it, and would be back in a moment.
The announcement was received with applause. White hands clapped, and a
hundred ejaculations of wonderment sounded forth the surprise and
pleasure of the eager throng. And when the Lad came stealing in, bearing
his precious burden, he was received with a positive ovation.
It was amusing to see the change which had come over the looks and
actions of the company at the mention and appearance of the violin. The
faces that had shown indifference and the look of languid weariness
freshened and became tense in all their lines; and on their heads again
animation sat crowned. Those who were seated jumped to their feet. The
conversationalists broke their circle and swung suddenly into line. Eyes
sparkled. Little happy screams and miniature war-whoops from the
boisterous youngsters rang through the parlor. In eye, and look, and
voice, the popular tribute spoke in honor of the popular instrument,--an
instrument whose strings can sound almost every passion forth: The quip
and quirk of merriment, the mourner's wail, the measured praise of
solemn psalms, the lively beat of joy, the subtle charm of indolent
moods, and the sweet ecstacy of youthful pleasure, when with flying feet
and in the abandon of delight she swings, circles, and floats through
the measures of the voluptuous waltz.
In one corner of the parlor there was a platform, from which charades
and private theatricals had been acted on some previous evening, and to
this the Lad was escorted; and strange to say his awkwardness had
departed from him. His form was straight. His head was lifted. His
shambling gait steadied itself with firmest confidence. His long arms
sought no longer feebly to hide themselves, but held the package that he
carried in fond authority of gesture, as a proud mother, whose pride had
banished bashfulness, might carry a beautiful child. So the Lad went
toward the dais, and, seating himself in the chair, proceeded with
deliberate tenderness to uncover the instrument.
An old, dark-looking one it was. The gloom of centuries darkened it.
Their dusk had penetrated the very fibre of the wood. Its look suggested
ancient times; far climes; and hands long mouldering in dust. It was an
instrument to quicken curiosity and elicit mental interrogation. What
was its story? Where was it made? By whom, and when? The Lad did not
know. It was his mother's gift, he said. And an old sea-captain had
given it to his mother. The old sea-captain had found it on a wreck in
the far-off Indian Ocean. He found it in a trunk--a great sea chest made
of scented wood and banded with brazen ribs. And in the chest, with it,
it was rumored the old mariner had found silks, and costly fabrics, and
gold, and eastern gems,--gems that never had been cut, but lay in all
their barbaric beauty, dull and swarth as Cleopatra's face. Thus the
violin had been found on the far seas--at the end of the world, as it
were, and in companionship of gems and fabrics rich and rare; and in a
chest whose mouth breathed odors. This was all the Lad knew.
"Henry," said the old Trapper, "the Lad says the fiddle is so old that
no one knows how old it is; and I conceit the boy speaks the truth. It
sartinly looks as old as a squaw whose teeth has dropped out and whose
face is the color of tanned buckskin. I tell ye, Henry, I believe it
will bust if the Lad draws the bow with any 'arnestness across it, for
there never was a glue made that would hold wood together for a thousand
year. And if that fiddle isn't a thousand year old, then John Norton is
no jedge of appearances, and can't count the prongs on the horns of a
buck."
[Illustration: "_The Lad began to play._"]
At this instant the Lad dropped the bow upon the strings. Strong and
round, mellow and sweet, the note swelled forth. Starting with the least
filament of sound, it wove itself into a compact chord of sonorous
resonance; filled the great parlors; passed through the doorway into the
receptive stillness outside; charged it with throbbings--thus held the
air a moment; reigned in it--then, calling its powers back to itself,
drew in its vibrating tones; checked its undulating force; and leaving
the air by easy retirement, came back like a bird to its nest and died
away within the recesses of the dark, melodious shell from whence it
started.
When the bow first began its course across the strings the old Trapper's
eyes were on it; and as the note grew and swelled he seemed to grow with
it. His great fingers shut into their palms as if an unseen power was
pulling at the chords. His breast heaved. His mouth actually opened. It
was as if the rising, swelling, pulsating sounds actually lifted him
from off the floor on which he stood, and when the magnificent note
ebbed and finally died away within the violin, not only he, but all the
company stood breathless: charmed, surprised, astonished into silence at
the wondrous note they had heard.
The old Trapper was the first to move. He brought his brawny hand down
heavily upon Herbert's shoulder, and, with a face actually on fire with
the fervor stirred within him, exclaimed:
"Lord-a-massy! Henry, did ye ever hear a noise like that? I say, boy,
did ye ever hear a noise like that? Where on arth did it all come from?
Why, boy, 'twas as long and as solemn as a funeral, as arnest as the cry
of a panther, and roared like a nest of hornets when ye poke 'em with a
stick. If that's a fiddle, I wonder what the other things be that I have
heerd the half-breeds and the Frenchers play in the clearin's."
Well might the old Trapper be astonished. The violin of unknown age and
make was one among ten thousand. It was a concert to hear the Lad tune
it; which he did with a bold and skilful touch, and the exactness of an
ear which nature had made exquisitely true to time and chord. His
bashfulness was gone. His timidity had departed. His awkwardness, even,
went out of body and arm and fingers, with the initial note. His soul
had found its life with his mother's gift; and he who was so weak and
hesitating in ordinary moments, found courage and strength, and the
dignity of a master, when he touched the strings. At last the instrument
was ready. And with a flourish bold and free he struck into the measures
of a waltz that filled the parlor with circling noise, and made the air
throb and beat--swing and swell, as if it were liquid, and unseen
hands were moving it with measured undulations.
[Illustration: "_The God of Music was actually in the room._"]
There was no resisting an influence so sweet, subtle, and pervasive, as
flowed from that easy-going bow, as it came and went over the resounding
strings. Couple after couple swung off into the open space, until the
entire company were swinging and floating through the dreamy and
bewitching measures. The god of music was actually in the room, and his
strong, passionate touch was on the souls of those who were floated
hither and thither as if blown by his invisible breath. The music took
possession of the dancers. It banished the mortal heaviness from their
frames, and made them buoyant, so that their feet scarce touched the
floor. Up and down and across from side to side and end to end they
whirled and floated. They moved as if a power which took the place of
wings was in them. They did not seem to know that they were dancing.
They did not dance; they floated, flowing like a current moved by easy
undulations. Their hands were clasped. Their faces nearly touched. Their
eyes were closed or glowing. And still the long bow came and went, and
still the music rose and sank, swelled and ebbed, as easy waves
advance, retreat and flood again, breaking in white and lazy murmurs at
twilight on the dusky beach.
Herbert stood still; his eyes were lifted, the gaze in them far away,
and one foot beat the measure. Beside him stood the Trapper. His arms
were crossed; his eyes were on the bow that the Lad was drawing, and his
body swayed, lifted and sank in perfect harmony with the motions and the
accompanying sound, with a grace which nature only reaches when the will
is utterly surrendered to a power that has charmed the stiffness and
tension out of the frame and made it yielding and responsive.
At last the music stopped; and with it stopped each form. Each foot was
arrested at the point to which the sound had carried it when it paused.
Each couple stood in perfect pose. The motive power which moved them was
withdrawn, and the limbs stood motionless as if the soul that gave them
animation had retired. They had been lifted to another world--a world of
impulse and movement more airy and spirit-like than the gross
earth,--and it took a moment for them to struggle back to ordinary life.
But in a moment thought recalled them to themselves, and they realized
the mastery of the power that had held them at its will and the applause
broke out in showers of happy tumult. They crowded around the
Lad--strong men and beautiful women,--gazing at him in wonder; then
broke up into knots talking and marvelling. To the old Trapper's face,
as he gazed at the Lad, a strange look came,--the look of a man to whose
soul has come a revelation so pure and sweet that he is unable at first
to compass it with his understanding. He came close to the Lad, and,
sitting down on the edge of the platform, put his hand on the knee of
the youth, and said:
"I have heerd most of the sweet and terrible noises that natur' makes,
boy: I have heered the thunder among the hills, when the Lord was
knockin' ag'in the 'arth until it jarred; and I have heered the wind in
the pines and the waves on the beaches when the darkness of night was on
the woods, and Natur' was singin' her evenin' psalm; and there be no
bird or beast the Lord has made whose cry, be it lively or solemn, I
have not heerd; and I have said that man had never made an instrument
that could make so sweet a noise as Natur' makes when the Sperit of the
universe speaks through her stillness: but ye have made sounds
to-night, Lad, sweeter than my ears have ever heerd on hill or
lake-shore, at noon or in the night season, and I sartinly believe that
the Sperit of the Lord has been with ye, boy, and gi'n ye the power to
bring out sech music as the Book says the angels make in their happiness
in the world above. I trust ye be grateful, Lad, for the gift the Lord
has gi'n ye; for, though yer tongue knows leetle of speech, yit yer
fingers can bring sech sounds out of that fiddle as a man might wish to
have in his ears when his body lies stiffenin' in his cabin, and his
sperit is standin' on the edge of the Great Clearin'. Yis, Lad, ye must
sartinly play for me when my eyes grow dim, and my feet strike the trail
that no man strikes but once, nor travels both ways."
At this point the announcement of supper was made; and the company
streamed towards the tables. The repast was of that bounteous character
customary to the houses located in the woods, in which the hearty
provisions of the forest were brought into conjunction with and
re-enforced by the more light and fanciful _cuisine_ of the cities.
Among the substantiate, fish and venison predominated. There was
venison roast, and venison spitted, and venison broiled; venison steak
and venison pie; trout broiled, and baked, and boiled; pancakes and
rolls; ices and cream; pies and puddings; pickles and sauces of every
conceivable character and make; ducks and partridges; coffee and tea
whose nature, I regret to say, was discernible only to the eye of faith.
In the midst of this abundance, the Old Trapper was entirely at home. He
ate with the relish and heartiness of a man whose appetite was of the
highest order, and whose courage mounted to the occasion.
[Illustration: "_Even the waiters, as they came and went, caught the
infection._"]
"I tell ye, Henry," said the old man, as he transferred a duck to his
plate and proceeded to carve it with the aptness of one who had
practical knowledge of its anatomy, "I tell ye, Henry, the birds be
gittin' fat; and I sartinly hope the flight this fall will be a good un.
Don't be bashful, Lad, in yer eatin'," he continued, as he transferred
half of the bird to his companion's plate, "ye haven't got the size of
some about the waist, but yer length is in yer favor, and if ye will
only straighten up, and Henry don't gin' out, there'll be leetle left on
this eend of the table when we have satisfied our hunger. I don't know
when the cravin' of natur' has been stronger within me then it is this
minit; and if nothin' happens, and ye stand by me, the Saranacers will
remember our visit for days after we be gone. It isn't often that I feed
in the settlements, or get a taste of their cookin', but the man who
basted these birds knowed what he was doin', and the fire has given
them jest the right tech; and the morsels actilly melt in yer mouth."
The Trapper's feelings were evidently not peculiar to himself. And the
spirit of feasting was abroad. The eating was such as would astonish the
dwellers in cities. Wit flashed across the table in answer to wit. Mirth
rippled from end to end of the room. Laughter roared and rollicked adown
the hall. Jokes were cracked. Fun exploded. Plates rattled. Cups and
glasses touched and rang. Even the waiters, as they came and went in
their happy service, caught the infection of the surrounding happiness,
and their laughter mingled with that of the guests.
The great pine branches and the evergreens nailed against the corner
posts and wreathed into festoons along the walls shook and trembled in
the uproar as to the passage of winds along their native hills. And the
huge buck's heads, whose antlers were tied with rosettes and streaming
ribbons, lost the staring look of their great artificial eyes and seemed
as they gazed out through the interlacing boughs of cedar and balsam as
if life had returned to them, and they once more were animate.
In about an hour the company streamed back into the parlor, with a mood
even livelier than that which had characterized the early hours of the
occasion. Their minds were in the state of highest action, and their
bodies needed but the opportunity for rapid motion. Even the Lad had
caught the infection of the surrounding liveliness, for his eyes and
face glowed with the light of quickened animation.
"Have ye got any jigs in that fiddle, Lad?" said the Trapper; "Can ye
twist any thing out of yer instrument that will set the feet travellin'?
It seems to me that the young folks here want shakin' up a leetle; and a
leetle of the old-fashioned dancin' will help 'em settle the vittles.
Can ye liven up, Lad, and give 'em a tune that will set 'em whirlin'?"
The only reply of the Lad was a motion of the bow; but the motion was
effective, for it sent a torrent of notes into the air, which thrilled
through the body and tingled along the nerves like successive electric
shocks. The old Trapper fairly bounded into the air; and when he struck
the floor his feet were flying. Nor was he alone; the jig had started a
dozen on the instant; and the floor rattled and rang with the tap of toe
and heel.
"Henry," said the old Trapper, "hold on to me or I shall sartinly make a
fool of myself. The Lad is ticklin' me from head to foot, and my toes
are snappin' inside of the moccasins. Lord, who'd a thought that the
blood in the veins of a man whose head is whitenin' could be sot leapin'
as mine is doin' at this minit by the scrapin' of a fiddle!"
The Lad was a picture to see. His bow flew like lightning. His long
fingers drummed and slid along the strings of the violin with
bewildering swiftness. The little instrument jetted and effervesced its
melody. The continuous and resounding noise poured out of it in tuneful
bubbles. The air was filled with tinkling fragments of sound. The Lad's
body swayed to and fro. His face glowed. His eyes flashed. The sweat
stood in drops on his forehead, but still the bow snapped and crinkled,
and the instrument continued to burst in musical explosions, while the
floor shook, the windows rattled, and the lamps flared and fluttered, as
the dancers chased the music on.
[Illustration: "_The music stopped with a snap._"]