Chapter 24 - Page 2

for the love of a girl like that?' she whispered.

I thought a moment, sounding depths of undiscovered woe to see if
there were anything I should hesitate to suffer and there was
nothing.

'I'd lay me doun an' dee,' I said.

And I well remember how, when I lay dying, as I believed, in rain
and darkness on the bloody field of Bull Run, I thought of that
moment and of those words.

'I cannot say such beautiful things as you,' she answered, when I
asked her to describe her ideal. 'He must be good and he must be
tall and handsome and strong and brave.'

Then she sang a tender love ballad. I have often shared the
pleasure of thousands under the spell of her voice, but I have never
heard her sing as to that small audience on Faraway turnpike.

As we came near Rickard's Hall we could hear the fiddles and the
calling off.

The windows on the long sides of the big house were open. Long
shafts of light shot out upon the gloom. It had always reminded me
of a picture of Noah's ark that hung in my bedroom and now it
seemed to be floating, with resting oars of gold, in a deluge of
darkness. We were greeted with a noisy welcome, at the door.
Many of the boys and girls came, from all sides of the big hall, and
shook hands with us. Enos Brown, whose long forelocks had been
oiled for the occasion and combed down so they touched his right
eyebrow, was panting in a jig that jarred the house. His trouser legs
were caught on the tops of his fine boots. He nodded to me as I
came in, snapped his fingers and doubled his energy. It was an
exhibition both of power and endurance. He was damp and
apologetic when, at length, he stopped with a mighty bang of his
foot and sat down beside me. He said he was badly out of practice
when I offered congratulations. The first fiddler was a small man,
with a short leg, and a character that was minus one dimension. It
had length and breadth but no thickness. He sat with his fellow
player on a little platform at one end of the room. He was an odd
man who wandered all over the township with his fiddle. He
played by ear, and I have seen babies smile and old men dance
when his bow was swaying. I remember that when I heard it for the
first time, I determined that I should be a fiddler if I ever grew to
be a man. But David told me that fiddlers were a worthless lot, and
that no wise man should ever fool with a fiddle. One is lucky, I
have since learned, if any dream of yesterday shall stand the better
light of today or the more searching rays of tomorrow.

'Choose yer partners fer Money Musk!' the caller shouted.

Hope and I got into line, the music started, the circles began to
sway. Darwin Powers, an old but frisky man, stood up beside the