“I follered along ter listen ter the fiddle,--ef ye hev enny call ter know.” Mrs. Bedell replied to his unspoken thought, as if by divination. But indeed such strictures were not heard for the first time. They were in some sort the penalty of the disinterested friendship which Kennedy had harbored for Basil since their childhood. He wished that his compeer might prosper in such simple wise as his own experience had proved to be amply possible. Kennedy's earlier incentive to industry had been his intention to marry, but the object of his affections had found him “too mortal solemn,” and without a word of warning had married another man in a distant cove. The element of treachery in this event had gone far to reconcile the jilted lover to his future, bereft of her companionship, but the habit of industry thus formed had continued of its own momentum. It had resulted in forehanded thrift; he now possessed a comfortable holding,--cattle, house, ample land; and he had all the intolerance of the ant for the cricket. As Bedell lifted the bow once more, every wincing nerve was enlisted in arresting it in mid-air. “Mighty long tramp fur Bobbie, thar,--why n't ye kerry him!” y The imperturbable calm still held fast on the musician's face. “Bob,” he addressed the toddler, “will you uns let daddy kerry ye like a baby!” He swooped down as if to lift the child, the violin and bow in his left hand. The hardy youngster backed off precipitately. “Don't ye _dare_ ter do it!” he virulently admonished his parent, a resentful light in his blue eyes. Then, as Bedell sang a stave in a full rich voice, “Bye-oh, Baby!” Bob vociferated anew, “Don't you _begin_ ter dare do it!” every inch a man though a little one. “That's the kind of a fambly I hev got,” Basil commented easily. “Wife an' boy an' baby all walk over me,--plumb stomp on me! Jes' enough lef of me ter play the fiddle a leetle once in a while.” “Mighty nigh all the while, I be afeared,” Kennedy corrected the phrase. “How did yer corn crap turn out!” he asked, as he too fell into line and the procession moved on once more along the narrow path. “Well enough,” said Basil; “we uns hev got a sufficiency.” Then, as if afraid of seeming boastful he qualified, “Ye know I hain't got but one muel ter feed, an' the cow thar. My sheep gits thar pastur' on the volunteer grass 'mongst the rocks, an' I hev jes' got a few head ennyhows.” “But _why_ hain't ye got more, Basil! Why n't ye work more and quit wastin' yer time on that old fool fiddle!” The limits of patience were reached. The musician fired up. “'Kase,” he retorted, “I make enough. I hev got grace enough ter be thankful fur sech ez be vouchsafed ter me. _I_ ain't wantin' no meracle.” Kennedy flushed, following in silence while the musician annotated his triumph by a series of gay little harmonics, and young Hopeful, trudging in the rear, executed a soundless fantasia on the cornstalk fiddle with great brilliancy of technique.