Melissa, whom he knew at once as the best of his new friends.

After supper, Dolph got out his banjo and played "Shady Grove," and "Blind
Coon Dog," and "Sugar Hill," and "Gamblin' Man," while Chad's eyes glistened
and his feet shuffled under his chair. And when Dolph put the rude thing down
on the bed and went into the kitchen, Chad edged toward it and, while old Joel
was bragging about Jack to the school-master, he took hold of it with
trembling fingers and touched the strings timidly. Then he looked around
cautiously: nobody was paying any attention to him and he took it up into his
lap and began to pick, ever so softly. Nobody saw him but Melissa, who slipped
quietly to the back of the room and drew near him. Softly and swiftly Chad's
fingers worked and Melissa could scarcely hear the sound of the banjo under
her father's loud voice, but she could make out that he was playing a tune
that still vibrates unceasingly from the Pennsylvania border to the
pine-covered hills of Georgia-- "Sourwood Mountain." Melissa held her breath
while she listened--Dolph could not play like that--and by and by she slipped
quietly to her father and pulled his sleeve and pointed to Chad. Old Joel
stopped talking, but Chad never noticed; his head was bent over the neck of
the banjo, his body was swaying rhythmically, his chubby fingers were going
like lightning, and his eyes were closed--the boy was fairly lost to the
world. The tune came out in the sudden silence, clean-cut and swinging;

Heh - o - dee - um - dee - eedle - dahdee - deet

rang the strings and old Joel's eyes danced.

"Sing it, boy!" he roared, "sing it!" And Chad sprang from the bed, on fire
with confusion and twisting his fingers helplessly. He looked almost
frightened when Dolph ran back into the room and cried: