and the sight seemed to fill Benjamin with a mysterious delight. Mrs.
Woods saw them with secret fear, and the master with apprehension. Several
of the children began to cry, and there was a look of pain, terror, or
distress on all the faces.

Suddenly Gretchen stepped apart from the group and lifted to her shoulder
her violin.

A hunting strain rose on the bright morning air. It seemed like the flight
of a singing bird.

The chief's arms dropped. The music arose like a sweet memory of all that
is good and beautiful.

The three Indians stopped to listen. The music became more sweet and
entrancing. The anger went out of Benjamin's face, and there came better
feelings into his soul.

The music breathed of the Rhine, of vineyards and festivals, but he
understood it not; to him it recalled the mysterious legends of the
Umatillas, the mysteries of life, and the glory of the heroes who slept
on the island of the dead or amid the sweetly sighing branches of the
trees. The air was the _Traumerei_.

When the music ceased there was a long silence. In it Mrs. Woods turned
away slowly, with a word of advice to Gretchen that under other
circumstances would have appeared amusing:

"Behave yourself like a lady," she said, "and remember your bringing up.
Good-morning to ye all."