Aunt Tulip was a pessimist on the subject of boys, and was always expecting an outbreak of depravity on Kettle's part. The form in which this came was altogether unusual. Kettle loved music, and whatever he might be doing, if he heard the strains of the Colonel's violin, or especially Betty's touch upon the harp in the sitting-room, it would have been necessary to chain him up to keep him away. He would sit on a little cricket in a corner, his black, shiny eyes full of rapture, and his mouth one vast grin. Kettle was in a heaven of delight when the Colonel, of evenings, tuned up his violin, and, sending for Uncle Cesar, "ole Marse" and his "boy" would make sweet, old-time music between them. In a little while, however, Kettle began to long that he too might call the soul of music forth from the strings. On the rare occasions when the Colonel was able to go out for a walk, or when he was taking his afternoon nap more soundly than usual, Kettle would creep to the fiddle-case, and, opening it, would let his little black hand wander among the strings, and, bending his ear down, he would listen as if it were the music of the spheres. Uncle Cesar caught him at this one day, and, seizing him by the collar, gave him a shaking which made Kettle's teeth rattle. Kettle shrieked, and Betty came running into the kitchen, expecting to find a tragedy in progress. "Miss Betty," said Uncle Cesar, "this heah impident little black nigger has been openin' ole Marse' fiddle-box an' mine, and pickin' at the strings, an' I kinder believe he has been a-pickin' at the strings of your harp, Miss Betty. Did you ever heah of such owdaciousness sence Gord made you, Miss Betty?" "No, I never did," answered Betty promptly. And then she said sternly, with an accusing forefinger, to Kettle: "Remember, Kettle, if ever I catch you meddling with the harp or with the violin, I will certainly give you a good switching, myself. Do you understand?" "Yessum," answered Kettle, with solemn emphasis. This engagement was reinforced by Uncle Cesar promising him an additional switching in case he did not get his deserts in the first one. For a week or two, Kettle was able to keep his fingers off the harp-strings and out of the fiddle-box, but one morning, when the winter sun was shining, and Colonel Beverley had gone out for a little turn on the lawn, Kettle fell from grace. Suspicious sounds were heard in the sitting-room. Aunt Tulip softly opened the door, and there was Kettle down on his knees before the fiddle-case, picking away in rapture. Aunt Tulip grabbed him, and called wrathfully to Uncle Cesar to go and get a switch. Uncle Cesar, full of vengeance, went out and returned with what might better be described as a sapling, it was so long and stout. Just then Betty entered the room, and Aunt Tulip told her of Kettle's felonious acts. "Of course, Aunt Tulip, you must give him a whipping," said Betty positively.