“If dogs can't talk, I can make a violin talk,” announced Elnora, and then in amazement watched the face of Margaret Sinton grow pale.
“A violin!” she wavered. “Where did you get a violin?”
“They fairly seemed to speak to me in the orchestra. One day the conductor left his in the auditorium, and I took it, and Aunt Margaret, I can make it do the wind in the swamp, the birds, and the animals. I can make any sound I ever heard on it. If I had a chance to practise a little, I could make it do the orchestra music, too. I don't know how I know, but I do.”
“Did—did you ever mention it to your mother?” faltered Margaret.
“Yes, and she seems prejudiced against them. But oh, Aunt Margaret, I never felt so about anything, not even going to school. I just feel as if I'd die if I didn't have one. I could keep it at school, and practise at noon a whole hour. Soon they'd ask me to play in the orchestra. I could keep it in the case and practise in the woods in summer. You'd let me play over here Sunday. Oh, Aunt Margaret, what does one cost? Would it be wicked for me to take of my money, and buy a very cheap one? I could play on the least expensive one made.”
“Oh, no you couldn't! A cheap machine makes cheap music. You got to have a fine fiddle to make it sing. But there's no sense in your buying one. There isn't a decent reason on earth why you shouldn't have your fa——”
“My father's!” cried Elnora. She caught Margaret Sinton by the arm. “My father had a violin! He played it. That's why I can! Where is it! Is it in our house? Is it in mother's room?”
“Elnora!” panted Margaret. “Your mother will kill me! She always hated it.”
“Mother dearly loves music,” said Elnora.
“Not when it took the man she loved away from her to make it!”
“Where is my father's violin?”
“Elnora!”
“I've never seen a picture of my father. I've never heard his name mentioned. I've never had a scrap that belonged to him. Was he my father, or am I a charity child like Billy, and so she hates me?”
“She has good pictures of him. Seems she just can't bear to hear him talked about. Of course, he was your father. They lived right there when you were born. She doesn't dislike you; she merely tries to make herself think she does. There's no sense in the world in you not having his violin. I've a great notion——”
“Has mother got it?”
“No. I've never heard her mention it. It was not at home when he—when he died.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Yes. I'm the only person on earth who does, except the one who has it.”
“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.”
“Wait until I see if I can find the violin.”
So Elnora went home in suspense, and that night she added to her prayers: “Dear Lord, be merciful to my father, and oh, do help Aunt Margaret to get his violin.”
Wesley and Billy came in to supper tired and hungry. Billy ate heartily, but his eyes often rested on a plate of tempting cookies, and when Wesley offered them to the boy he reached for one. Margaret was compelled to explain that cookies were forbidden that night.
“What!” said Wesley. “Wrong words been coming again. Oh Billy, I do wish you could remember! I can't sit and eat cookies before a little boy who has none. I'll have to put mine back, too.” Billy's face twisted in despair.
“Aw go on!” he said gruffly, but his chin was jumping, for Wesley was his idol.
“Can't do it,” said Wesley. “It would choke me.”
Billy turned to Margaret. “You make him,” he appealed.
“He can't, Billy,” said Margaret. “I know how he feels. You see, I can't myself.”
Then Billy slid from his chair, ran to the couch, buried his face in the pillow and cried heart-brokenly. Wesley hurried to the barn, and Margaret to the kitchen. When the dishes were washed Billy slipped from the back door.
Wesley piling hay into the mangers heard a sound behind him and inquired, “That you, Billy?”
“Yes,” answered Billy, “and it's all so dark you can't see me now, isn't it?”
“Well, mighty near,” answered Wesley.
“Then you stoop down and open your mouth.”
Sinton had shared bites of apple and nuts for weeks, for Billy had not learned how to eat anything without dividing with Jimmy and Belle. Since he had been separated from them, he shared with Wesley and Margaret. So he bent over the boy and received an instalment of cooky that almost choked him.
“Now you can eat it!”