“Yes, yes,” said Ezra, rising as if from a dream. “You're getting to have a very pretty hand on the fiddle, Reuben, and--well, it's a shame to bury anything that has a value. This”--he arose and laid a hand on the topmost book of the great pile of music--“this has never seen the light for a good five-and-twenty year. Theer's some of it forgot, notwithstanding that it's all main good music. But theer's no room i' the world for th' old-fangled an' the newfangled. One nail drives out another. But I've been thinking thee mightst find a thing or two herein as would prove of value, and it's yours if you see fit to take it away.” “Why, it's a library,” said Reuben. “You are very good, uncle, but--” “Tek it, lad, tek it, if you'd like it, and make no words. And if it shouldn't turn out to have been worth the carrying you can let th' old chap think it was--eh?” “Worth the carrying?” said Reuben, with a half-embarrassed little laugh. “I'm pretty sure you had no rubbish on your shelves, uncle.” He began to turn over the leaves of the topmost book. “'_Études?_” he read, “'_pour deux violins, par_ Joseph Manzini.' This looks good. Who was Joseph Manzini? I never heard of him.” “Manzini?” asked the old man, with a curious eagerness--“Manzini.” His voice changed altogether, and fell into a dreamy and retrospective tone. He laid a hand upon the open pages, and smoothed them with a touch which looked like a caress. “Who was he?” asked Reuben. “Did you know him?” “No, lad,” returned the old man, coming out of his dream, and smiling as he spoke, “I never knew him. What should bring me to know a German musician as was great in his own day?” “I thought you spoke as if you knew him,” said Reuben. “Hast a quick ear,” said Ezra, “and a searching fancy. No, lad, no; I never knew him. But that was the last man I ever handled bow and fiddle for. I left that open” (he tapped the book with his fingers and then closed it as he spoke)--“I left that open on my table when I was called away on business to London. I found it open when I came home again, and I closed it, for I never touched a bow again. I'd heard Paganini in the mean time. Me and 'Saiah Eld tried that through together, and since then I've never drawn a note out o' catgut.” “I could never altogether understand it, uncle,” said Reuben. “What could the man's playing have been like?”