“Who is that?”

“I can’t tell you, but I will see if they have it yet, and get it if I can.  But if your mother finds it out she will never forgive me.”

“I can’t help it,” said Elnora.  “I want that violin.”

“I’ll go to-morrow, and see if it has been destroyed.”

“Destroyed!  Oh, Aunt Margaret!  Would any one dare?”

“I hardly think so.  It was a good instrument.  He played it like a master.”

“Tell me!” breathed Elnora.

“His hair was red and curled more than yours, and his eyes were blue.  He was tall, slim, and the very imp of mischief.  He joked and teased all day until he picked up that violin.  Then his head bent over it, and his eyes got big and earnest.  He seemed to listen as if he first heard the notes, and then copied them.  Sometimes he drew the bow trembly, like he wasn’t sure it was right, and he might have to try again.  He could almost drive you crazy when he wanted to, and no man that ever lived could make you dance as he could.  He made it all up as he went.  He seemed to listen for his dancing music, too.  It appeared to come to him; he’d begin to play and you had to keep time.  You couldn’t be still; he loved to sweep a crowd around with that bow of his.  I think it was the thing you call inspiration.  I can see him now, his handsome head bent, his cheeks red, his eyes snapping, and that bow going across the strings, and driving us like sheep.  He always kept his body swinging, and he loved to play.  He often slighted his work shamefully, and sometimes her a little; that is why she hated it—­Elnora, what are you making me do?”

The tears were rolling down Elnora’s cheeks.  “Oh, Aunt Margaret,” she sobbed.  “Why haven’t you told me about him sooner?  I feel as if you had given my father to me living, so that I could touch him.  I can see him, too!  Why didn’t you ever tell me before?  Go on!  Go on!”

“I can’t, Elnora!  I’m scared silly.  I never meant to say anything.  If I hadn’t promised her not to talk of him to you she wouldn’t have let you come here.  She made me swear it.”

“But why?  Why?  Was he a shame?  Was he disgraced?”

“Maybe it was that unjust feeling that took possession of her when she couldn’t help him from the swamp.  She had to blame some one, or go crazy, so she took it out on you.  At times, those first ten years, if I had talked to you, and you had repeated anything to her, she might have struck you too hard.  She was not master of herself.  You must be patient with her, Elnora.  God only knows what she has gone through, but I think she is a little better, lately.”

“So do I,” said Elnora.  “She seems more interested in my clothes, and she fixes me such delicious lunches that the girls bring fine candies and cake and beg to trade.  I gave half my lunch for a box of candy one day, brought it home to her, and told her.  Since, she has wanted me to carry a market basket and treat the crowd every day, she was so pleased.  Life has been too monotonous for her.  I think she enjoys even the little change made by my going and coming.  She sits up half the night to read the library books I bring, but she is so stubborn she won’t even admit that she touches them.  Tell me more about my father.”