And now Rosin the Beau proves the good right he has to his name. Trill
and quavers and roulades are shaken from his bow as lightly as foam
from the prow of a ship. The music leaps rollicking up and down, here
and there, till the air is all a-quiver with merriment. The old man
draws himself up to his full height, all save that loving bend of the
head over the beloved instrument. His long slender foot, in its quaint
"Congress" shoe, beats time like a mill-clapper,--tap, tap, tap; his
snowy curl dances over his forehead, his brown eyes twinkle with pride
and pleasure. Other feet beside his began to pat the ground; heads
were lifted, eyes looked invitation and response. At length the child
Melody, with one superb outburst of song, lifted her hands above her
head, and springing out into the road cried, "A dance! a dance!"

Instantly the quiet road was alive with dancers. Old and young sprang
to their feet in joyful response. The fiddle struck into "The Irish
Washerwoman," and the people danced. Children joined hands and jumped
up and down, knowing no steps save Nature's leaps of joy; youths and
maidens flew in graceful measures together; last, but not least, old
Simon Parker the postmaster seized Mrs. Martha Penny by both hands,
and regardless of her breathless shrieks whirled her round and round
till the poor old dame had no breath left to scream with. Alone in the
midst of the gay throng (as strange a one, surely, as ever disturbed
the quiet of a New England country road) danced the blind child, a
figure of perfect grace. Who taught Melody to dance? Surely it was the
wind, the swaying birch-tree, the slender grasses that nod and wave by
the brookside. Light as air she floated in and out among the motley
groups, never jostling or touching any one. Her slender arms waved in
time to the music; her beautiful hair floated over her shoulders. Her
whole face glowed with light and joy, while only her eyes, steadfast
and unchanging, struck the one grave note in the symphony of joy and