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“The whole fambly!” muttered Kennedy. Then, aloud, “Why don’t you uns kerry the baby, Basil Bedell, an’ give yer wife a rest?”

At the prosaic suggestion the crystal realm of dreams was shattered. The bow, with a quavering discordant scrape upon the strings, paused. Then Bedell slowly mastered the meaning of the interruption.

“Kerry the baby! Why, Aurely won’t let none but herself tech that baby.” He laughed as he tossed the tousled yellow hair from his face, and looked over his shoulder to speak to the infant. “It air sech a plumb special delightsome peach, it air,–it air!”

The pale face of the child lighted up with a smile of recognition and a faint gleam of mirth.

“I jes’ kem out ennyhows ter drive up the cow,” Basil added.

“Big job,” sneered Kennedy. “‘Pears-like it takes the whole fambly to do it.”

Such slothful mismanagement was calculated to affront an energetic spirit. Obviously, at this hour the woman should be at home cooking the supper.

“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.