At first he played a medley of fragments, short snatches from old tunes, each shading imperceptibly into the one that followed, blending into a whole that chorded with the night and sea and wind and the driftwood fire crackling in the little stove in the lonely island cabin. The boys sat motionless, listening, brooding over the visions the music opened to each. They had never heard such music before. Even Percy had to acknowledge that, as he leaned breathlessly forward, eyes glued to the dancing bow. One final, long, slow sweep, and the last notes died away, mellow and silvery as a distant bell. The musician raised his bowed head and looked about. "More!" begged the boys. With a nod of assent, he began "Annie Laurie." His audience sat spellbound. "Flow Gently, Sweet Afton" followed; and he closed with "Auld Lang Syne." Then he laid the violin carefully on the table and burst into tears. For two or three minutes nobody spoke. Filippo was weeping silently; Percy cleared his throat; and even the other three were conscious of a slight huskiness. The evening was turning out differently from what they had anticipated. Brushing away his tears, the stranger controlled himself with a strong effort. "I don't know what you'll think of me, boys," said he, shamefacedly. "I'm sorry to have made such an exhibition of myself. But music always did affect me; besides, it's wakened some old memories. Guess I'd better be going now." He half rose. "Stay awhile longer," urged Jim; and the others seconded the invitation. Thorpe sank back on his box. "You won't have to persuade me very hard. Evenings alone on the _Helen_ are pretty long." His eye fell on Percy's AEneid on the shelf beside the window. "Aha! Who's reading Virgil?" "I am," confessed Percy. "Making up college conditions." The stranger looked at him keenly. "Conditions, eh? Guess you don't need to have any, unless you want 'em." "Found you at home there, Perce!" laughed Lane. "I don't propose to have any more after this summer," averred Percy, stoutly. "Stick to that!" encouraged Thorpe. "There's enough have 'em that can't help it." Taking down the volume, he opened it at the beginning of the first book, and began reading aloud, dividing the lines into feet: _"Arma virumque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris Italiam, fato profugus, Laviniaque venit._ "Wouldn't want to say how long it's been since I last set eyes on that. Probably you boys notice that I use the English pronunciation of Latin instead of the continental; it's what I had when I was in college." "What was your college?" inquired Percy. Melancholy darkened Thorpe's face again. "Never mind about that," he replied, a little brusquely.