Corn-stalk Fiddles 101 



and Billy would play such familiar airs as had 

 penetrated even into the quiet of Quaker- 

 dom. It was no mere imitation of the music, 

 but the thing itself; and it would be an hour 

 or more before the fiddle's strings had lost 

 their tension, the silicious covering had worn 

 away, and the sweet sounds ceased. 



Almost the last of my November after- 

 noons passed in this way had a somewhat 

 dramatic ending. The fiddle was one of 

 more than ordinary excellence. In the 

 height of our fun I spied the brim of my 

 grandfather's hat extending an inch or two 

 around the corner. I gave no sign, but 

 danced more vigorously than ever, and as 

 the music and dancing became more fast and 

 furious the crown of his stiff hat appeared, 

 and then my grandfather's face. His coun- 

 tenance was a study. Whether to give the 

 alarm and run or to remain was the decision 

 of an instant. I gave no sign, but kept one 

 eye on him. "Faster !" I cried to Billy, and, 

 to my complete astonishment, the hat moved 

 rapidly up and down. Grandfather was 

 keeping time ! " Faster !" I cried again, and 

 the music was now a shrieking medley, and 

 the broad-brimmed hat vibrated wonderfully 



