"Here, Frenchy, take yer long-necked, pot-bellied music-gourd. And
I want you boys to understand, ef any one teches that fiddle ag'in,
I'll knock hell out 'n him."

So the recording angel dropped another tear upon the record of Hosea
Ransom, and the books were closed for the night.



III


For some weeks after the incident of the violin and the carving-
knife, it looked as if a permanent cloud had settled upon the
spirits of Fiddlin' Jack. He was sad and nervous; if any one
touched him, or even spoke to him suddenly, he would jump like a
deer. He kept out of everybody's way as much as possible, sat out
in the wood-shed when he was not at work, and could not be persuaded
to bring down his fiddle. He seemed in a fair way to be transformed
into "the melancholy Jaques."

It was Serena who broke the spell; and she did it in a woman's way,
the simplest way in the world--by taking no notice of it.

"Ain't you goin' to play for me to-night?" she asked one evening, as
Jacques passed through the kitchen. Whereupon the evil spirit was
exorcised, and the violin came back again to its place in the life
of the house.

But there was less time for music now than there had been in the