Then, suddenly, the wizard released them from the spell. He stopped and looked about him at his helpless victims. He shook his head at them sadly as if he regretted their folly, and drawing faithful “Betsy,” his fiddle, the one close friend of his lonely life, from its case, began to play. It was quiet music, almost like a hymn, and kind music, like friendship which endures. Paying no attention to the gasps and gurgles of those he had led into folly, he went on steadily with his playing. Deep, full and rich were the chords he played; clear and high and serene was the melody, and the troubled laughter died before such sounds. Little Simms with his aching face and humiliated spirit, was struggling to get the better of his sobs. Coulter, the conqueror, had folded his arms across his unbuttoned shirt and sat there waiting for what might happen next. What happened next was that Haystack Thompson began to talk. He did not cease playing, but the music that came from his instrument was as soft as the summer wind in the trees. “There’s something on my mind,” he said in his deep, kind voice, “that I want to pass on to you-all. You’re young and I’m old, and it’s fitting that what I’ve learned by living a long time should be handed on to you, who ain’t lived long and consequently hain’t had the chance to make the mistakes I have. “The constitution of the United States says that all men are born free and equal. Now, in a way that there saying is true, and in another way it ain’t. There’s differences in men and in the chances that come to them, that can’t be gainsaid nor got around. But it is true that all men have an equal right to certain things. They’ve an equal right to be free, and an equal right to the good things God made—to sun and air and water and food. They’ve a right to feel happy and a right to be good. What’s more, they’ve got a right to learning—got a right to know what’s hid in books and in Nature. Anybody who tries to take away these rights from another is a mean cuss. He’s unfitten for other men to deal with. He’s got the soul of a wolf, and it seems like he should be hunted out of the ha’nts of men. Only that wouldn’t do, for then we’d be taking away the greatest right of all from him—the right to be good. You can’t make an outlaw of a man and expect him to be good. No, you’ve got to forgive him and help him—you’ve got to show him what his rights are, what the rights of his neighbors are.