Uncle Eb went upstairs after dinner and presently we heard him descending with a slow and heavy foot. I opened the stair door and there he stood with the old bass viol that had long lain neglected in a dusty corner of the attic. Many a night I had heard it groan as the strings loosened, in the years it had lain on its back, helpless and forgotten. It was like a dreamer, snoring in his sleep, and murmuring of that he saw in his dreams. Uncle Eb had dusted and strung it and glued its weaker joints. He sat down with it, the severe look of old upon his face, and set the strings roaring as he tuned them. Then he brought the sacred treasure to me and leaned it against my shoulder. 'There that's a Crissmus present fer ye, Willie,' said he. 'It may help ye t' pass away the time once in a while.' I thanked him warmly. ''S a reel firs'-class instrument,' he said. 'Been a rip snorter 'n its day.' He took from his bosom then the old heart pin of silver that he had always worn of a Sunday. 'Goin' t' give ye thet, too,' he said. 'Dunno's ye'll ever care to wear it, but I want ye should hev sumthin' ye can carry'n yer pocket t' remember me by.' I did not dare trust myself to speak, and I sat helplessly turning that relic of a better day in my fingers. 'It's genuwine silver,' said he proudly. I took his old hand in mine and raised it reverently to my lips. 'Hear'n 'em tell 'bout goin' t' the village, an' I says t' myself, “Uncle Eb,” says I, “we'll hev t' be goin'. 'Tain' no place fer you in the village.”' 'Holden,' said David Brower, 'don't ye never talk like that ag'in. Yer just the same as married t' this family, an' ye can't ever git away from us.' And he never did until his help was needed in other and fairer fields, I am sure, than those of Faraway--God knows where. Chapter 19