Meadow and Mountain 



body and every faculty of his mind was tense with rapture. 

 His soul drew toward the player as the sea draws toward 

 the moon in times of tide. The air was atremble with sounds 

 as sweet as the sunlight songs of morning. The music was 

 plaintive. Its tones were full of pleading. Then it came 

 in low, quick sobs. The prairieman noticed that only the 

 white keys had been touched by the player's hand. Then 

 he read across the white strings words which had hitherto 

 been invisible. The words were, "The music of infancy" 



After a brief pause the player's hand smote the chords 

 again, and more quickly than before. Still she left un- 

 touched the red and black chords. The music broke in 

 gusts like the winds of March. Then it tinkled softly like 

 far-off silver bells. Then it came in frolicsome leaps and 

 with snatches of laughter and song. It was hilarious and 

 made the heart beat high with hope. It recalled to the 

 prairieman his boyhood days and wakened a thousand de- 

 lightful memories. It was the mirthful music of childhood. 



Again for an instant the player paused. Wing to wing 

 two turtle doves flew past. Side by side a robin and his 

 mate sat, feasting on the wild foxgrapes. A meadow-lark 

 sent his trill across the bluestem. Save the lark's note and 

 the swish of the wind-blown grass, silence brooded over the 

 dreamer and player. Then music broke from the harp like 

 the unleashed winds of a storm. It swept every nerve with 

 emotion. The hand of the harper smote now on the scarlet 

 strings. The sonorous strains died away to symphonious 

 whispers. Then they arose like the thunder of the smitten 

 sea. It was the plea of passion voicing itself in the music 

 of love. Then the tones subsided like caressing winds when 

 wooing the prairies to bloom. Sobs issued from the scarlet 



70 



