He knew that the society of Ike had been forbidden to him, lest he should come in contact with this elderly reprobate, but he felt a great flutter of delight when Binwell, coming up beside him, as he trotted along in the moonlight, said again that he could sing like all possessed, and declared that if he had a fiddle he could teach Skimpy many new tunes that he had heard when he lived down in Persimmon Cove. “Mighty fiddlin’ folks down thar,” he added, seductively. Now there was hanging on the wall at the Sawyer house—and it is barely possible that Jerry Binwell may have seen it there—a crazy old fiddle and bow. It was claimed as the property of Obadiah, the eldest of the boys, who had his share of such musical talent as blessed the Sawyer family. In him it expressed itself in fiddling to the exclusion of his brothers—for very intolerant was he of anybody who undertook to “play the fool with this fiddle,” as he phrased it. A critical person might have said that he played the fool with it himself, or perhaps that it played the fool with him. But such as the performance was, he esteemed the instrument as the apple of his eye, and was very solicitous of not breaking its “bredge.” Therefore Skimpy was a very bold boy, and preposterously hopeful, when he suggested to Binwell that he could borrow Obadiah’s fiddle, and thus the treasures of sound so rapturously fiddled forth by the dwellers in Persimmon Cove might rejoice the air in Tanglefoot. “Naw, naw, don’t ’sturb Obadiah,” said the considerate Jerry. “Jes’ to-morrer evenin’, two hours by sun, whenst he ain’t needin’ it an’ ain’t studyin’ bout’n it, ye jes’ git it, an’ ye kem an’ meet me by the sulphur spring, an’ I kin l’arn ye them new chunes.” Skimpy’s ridiculous attenuated shadow thumped along in front of them; Jerry’s eyes were fixed upon it—he was too cautious to scan the boy himself. It stumped its toe presently on a stone which Skimpy was too much absorbed to see, and so it had to hop and limp for a while. Skimpy said nothing, for he was wondering how it would be easiest and safest to undertake to play the fool with that fiddle of Obadiah’s. They were a considerable distance in advance of the others and nearing Keedon Bluffs; the whoopings of their invisible companions, who were hidden by the frequent turns in the road, came now and again upon the air, arousing the latent voices of the rocks; occasionally there was only the sound of loud indistinguishable talking, as if the powers of the earth and the air had broken out in prosaic communion. “Pipe up, sonny,” said the paternal Jerry, seeing that the conversation was not likely to be resumed. “Gin us that one bout’n ‘Dig Taters;’ that thar one air new ter me.” To his surprise Skimpy refused. “I can’t ’pear ter git no purchase on it hyar. Them rocks keep up sech a hollerin’.”