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