“That was as far as the declamation got, although the actor went considerably farther.  The obedient horse, never averse to standing still, suddenly and firmly planted his feet and stood—­motionless as a painted horse upon a painted highway.  Russell, obedient to the laws of inertia, made a parabola over the dashboard, landed on the back of the patient beast, ricochetted to the ground, cutting his forehead on the shaft as he descended, a scar whereof he carries unto this day, and plunged into a yielding cushion of mud at the roadside.”

He returned home, a confused mixture of blood, mud, black eyes and torn clothes.  Such a condition must be explained.  It could not be turned aside by any off-handed joke.  The jeers and jibes, the unsympathetic and irritating comments effectually killed any desire he cherished for the life of the stage.  It became a sore subject.  He didn’t even want it mentioned in his hearing.  He never again thought of it seriously as a life work.

But one thing these entertainments did that was of great value.  They developed and fostered a love of music and eventually led to his gaining the musical education which has proven of such value to him.  He had a voice of singular sweetness and great power.  At school, at church, in the little social gatherings of the neighborhood, whenever there was singing his voice led.  It was almost a passion with him.  At the few parades and entertainments he saw in nearby towns, he watched the musicians fascinated.  He was consumed with a desire to learn to play.  Inventive as he was and having already made so many things useful about the farm or in the house, it is a wonder he did not immediately begin the making of some musical instrument rather than go without it.  Probably he would, if an agent had not appeared for the Estey Organ Company.  They were beginning to make the little home organs which have since become an ornament of nearly every country parlor.  But they were rare in those days and the price to Martin Conwell, almost prohibitive.  Knowing Russell’s love of music, the father fully realized the pleasure an organ in the home would give his son.  But the price was beyond him.  He offered the man every dollar he felt he could afford.  But it was ten dollars below the cost of the organ and the agent refused it.

Martin Conwell felt he must not spend more on a luxury, and the agent left.  Crossing the fields to seek another purchaser, he met Miranda Conwell.  She asked him if her husband had bought the organ.  His answer was a keen disappointment The mother’s heart had sympathized with the boy’s passion for music and knew the joy such a possession would be to Russell.  Ever ready to sacrifice herself, she told the man she would pay him the ten dollars, if he would wait for it, but not to let her husband know.  The agent returned to Martin Conwell, told him he would accept his offer, and in a short time a brand new organ was installed in the farmhouse.  Miranda Conwell sewed later at nights, that was all.  Not till she had earned the ten dollars with her needle did she tell her husband why the agent had, with such surprising celerity, changed his mind in regard to the price.