affliction　of　asthma。
  He　came　over　one　noon　in　the　early　summer；　that　followed　the　event　of　our　last　chapter；　to　tell　us　of　a　strawberry　party　that　evening　at　the　White　Church。
  'I've　had　a　wonderful　experience；'　said　he　as　he　took　a　seat　on　the　piazza；　while　Mrs　Brower　came　and　sat　near　him。　'I've　discovered　a　great　genius　…　a　wandering　fiddler；　and　I　shall　try　to　bring　him　to　play　for　us。'
  'A　fiddler！　why；　Elder！'　said　she；　'you　astonish　me！'
  'Nothing　but　sacred　music；'　he　said；　lifting　his　hand。　'I　heard　him　play　all　the　grand　things　today　…　〃Rock　of　Ages〃；　〃Nearer　My　God；　to　Thee〃；　〃The　Marseillaise〃　and　〃Home；　Sweet　Home〃。　Lifted　me　off　my　feet！　I've　heard　the　great　masters　in　New　York　and　London；　but　no　greater　player　than　this　man。'
  'Where　is　he　and　where　did　he　come　from？'
  'He's　at　my　house　now；'　said　the　good　man。　'I　found　him　this　morning。　He　stood　under　a　tree　by　the　road　side；　above　Nortlrup's。　As　I　came　near　I　heard　the　strains　of　〃The　Marseillaise〃。　For　more　than　an　hour　I　sat　there　listening。　It　was　wonderful；　Mrs　Brower；　wonderful！　The　poor　fellow　is　eccentric。　He　never　spoke　to　me。　His　clothes　were　dusty　and　worn。　But　his　music　went　to　my　heart　like　a　voice　from　Heaven。　when　he　had　finished　I　took　him　home　with　me；　gave　him　food　and　a　new　coat；　and　left　him　sleeping。　I　want　you　to　come　over；　and　be　sure　to　bring　Hope。　She　must　sing　for　us。'
  'Mr　Brower　will　be　tired　out；　but　perhaps　the　young　people　may　go；'　she　said；　looking　at　Hope　and　me。
  My　heart　gave　a　leap　as　I　saw　in　Hope's　eyes　a　reflection　of　my　own　joy。　In　a　moment　she　came　and　gave　her　mother　a　sounding　kiss　and　asked　her　what　she　should　wear。
  'I　must　look　my　best；　mother；'　she　said。
  'My　child；'　said　the　elder；　'it's　what　you　do　and　not　what　you　wear　that's　important。'
  'They're　both　important；　Elder；'　said　my　foster　mother。　You　should　teach　your　people　the　duty　of　comeliness。　They　honour　their　Maker　when　they　look　their　best。'
  The　spirit　of　liberalism　was　abroad　in　the　sons　of　the　Puritans。　In　Elizabeth　Brower　the　andent　austerity　of　her　race　had　been　freely　diluted　with　humour　and　cheerfulness　and　human　sympathy。　It　used　to　be　said　of　Deacon　Hospur；　a　good　but　lazy　man；　that　he　was　given　both　to　prayer　and　profanity。　Uncle　Eb；　who　had　once　heard　the　deacon　swear；　when　the　latter　had　been　bruised　by　a　kicking　cow；　said　that；　so　far　as　he　knew；　the　deacon　never　swore　except　when　'twas　necessary。　Indeed；　most　of　those　men　had；　I　doubt　not；　too　little　of　that　fear　of　God　in　them　that　characterised　their　fathers。　And　yet；　as　shall　appear；　there　were　in　Faraway　some　relics　of　a　stern　faith。
  Hope　came　out　in　fine　feather；　and　although　I　have　seen　many　grand　ladles；　gowned　for　the　eyes　of　kings；　I　have　never　seen　a　lovelier　figure　than　when；　that　evening；　she　came　tripping　down　to　the　buggy。　It　was　three　miles　to　the　white　Church；　and　riding　over　in　the　twilight　I　laid　the　plan　of　my　life　before　her。　She　sat　a　moment　in　silence　after　I　had　finished。
  'I　am　going　away；　too；'　she　remarked；　with　a　sigh。
  'Going　away！'　I　said　with　some　surprise；　for　in　all　my　plans　I　had　secretly　counted　on　returning　in　grand　style　to　take　her　back　with　me。
  'Going　away；'　said　she　decisively。
  'It　isn't　nice　for　girls　to　go　away　from　home；'　I　said。
  'It　isn't　nice　for　boys；　either；'　said　she。
  We　had　come　to　the　church；　its　open　doors　and　windows　all　aglow　with　light。　I　helped　her　out　at　the　steps；　and　hitched　my　horse　under　the　long　shed。　We　entered　together　and　made　our　way　through　the　chattering　crowd　to　the　little　cloakroom　in　one　corner。　Elder　Whitmarsh　arrived　in　a　moment　and　the　fiddler；　a　short；　stout；　stupid…looking　man；　his　fiddle　in　a　black　box　under　his　arm；　followed　him　to　the　platform　that　had　been　cleared　of　its　pulpit　The　stranger　stood　staring　vacantly　at　the　crowd　until　the　elder　motioned　him　to　a　chair；　when　he　obeyed　with　the　hesitating；　blind　obedience　of　a　dog。　Then　the　elder　made　a　brief　prayer；　and　after　a　few　remarks　flavoured　with　puns；　sacred　and　immemorial　as　the　pulpit　itself；　started　a　brief　programme　of　entertainment。　A　broad　smile　marked　the　beginning　of　his　lighter　mood。　His　manner　seemed　to　say：　'Now；　ladies　and　gentlemen；　if　you　will　give　good　heed；　you　shall　see　I　can　be　witty　on　occasion。'
  Then　a　young　man　came　to　the　platform　and　recited；　after　which　Hope　went　forward　and　sang　'The　Land　o'　the　Leal'　with　such　spirit　that　I　can　feel　my　blood　go　faster　even　now　as　I　thank　of　it；　and　of　that　girlish　figure　crowned　with　a　glory　of　fair　curls　that　fell　low　upon　her　waist　and　mingled　with　the　wild　pink　roses　at　her　bosom。　The　fiddler　sat　quietly　as　if　he　heard　nothing　until　she　began　to　sing；　when　he　turned　to　look　at　her。　The　elder　announced；　after　the　ballad；　that　he　had　brought　with　him　a　wonderful　musician　who　would　favour　them　with　some　sacred　music。　He　used　the　word　'sacred'　because　he　had　observed；　I　suppose；　that　certain　of　the　'hardshells'　were　looking　askance　at　the　fiddle。　There　was　an　awkward　moment　in　which　the　fiddler　made　no　move　or　sign　of　intelligence。　The　elder　stepped　near　him　and　whispered。　Getting　no　response；　he　returned　to　the　front　of　the　platform　and　said：　'We　shall　first　resign　ourselves　to　social　intercourse　and　the　good　things　the　ladies　have　provided。'
  Mountains　of　frosted　cake　reared　their　snowy　summits　on　a　long　table；　and　the　strawberries；　heaped　in　saucers　around　them；　were　like　red　foothills。　I　remember　that　while　they　were　serving　us　Hope　and　I　were　introduced　to　one　Robert　Livingstone　…　a　young　New　Yorker；　stoppmg　at　the　inn　near　by；　on　his　way　to　the　big　woods。　He　was　a　handsome　fellow；　with　such　a　fine　air　of　gallantry　and　so　trig　in　fashionable　clothes　that　he　made　me　feel　awkward　and　uncomfortable。
  'I　have　never　heard　anything　more　delightful　than　that　ballad；'　he　said　to　Hope。　'You　must　have　your　voice　trained　…　you　really　must。　It　will　make　a　great　name　for　you。'
  I　wondered　then　why　his　words　hurt　me　to　the　soul。　The　castle　of　my　dreams　had　fallen　as　he　spoke。　A　new　light　came　into　her　face　…　I　did　not　know　then　what　it　meant。
  'Will　you　let　me　call　upon　you　before　I　leave　…　may　I？'　He　turned　to　me　while　she　stood　silent。　'I　wish　to　see　your　father；'　he　added。
  'Certanly；'　she　answered；　blushing；　'you　may　come　…　if　you　care　to　come。
  The　musician　had　begun　to　thrum　the　strings　of　his　violin。　We　turned　to　look　at　him。　He　still　sat　in　his　chair；　his　ear　bent　to　the　echoing　chamber　of　the　violin。　Soon　he　laid　his　bow　to　the　strings　and　a　great　chord　hushed　every　whisper　and　died　into　a　sweet；　low　melody；　in　which　his　thought　seemed　to　be　feeling　its　way　through　sombre　paths　of　sound。　The　music　brightened；　the　bow　went　faster；　and　suddenly　'The　Girl　I　Left　Behind　Me'　came　rushing　off　the　strings。　A　look　of　amazement　gathered　on　the　elder's　face　and　deepened　into　horror。　It　went　from　one　to　another　as　if　it　had　been　a　dish　of　ipecac。　Ann　Jane　Foster　went　directly　for　her　things；　and　with　a　most　unchristian　look　hurried　out　into　the　night。　Half　a　dozen　others　followed　her；　while　the　unholy　music　went　on；　its　merry　echoes　rioting　in　that　sacred　room；　hallowed　with　memories　of　the　hour　of　conviction；　of　the　day　of　mourning；　of　the　coming　of　the　bride　in　her　beauty。
  Deacon　Hospur　rose　and　began　to　drawl　a　sort　of　apology；　when　the　player　stopped　suddenly　and　shot　an　oath　at　him。　The　deacon　staggered　under　the　shock　of　it。　His　whiskers　seemed　to　lift　a　bit　like　the　hair　of　a　cat　under　provocation。　Then　he　tried　to　speak；　but　only　stuttered　helplessly　a　moment　as　if　his　tongue　were　oscillating　between　silence　and　profanity；　and　was　finally　pulled　down　by　his　wife；　who　had　laid　hold　of　his　coat　tails。　If　　it　had　been　any　other　man　than　Deacon　Hospur　it　would　have　gone　badly　with　the　musician　then　and　there；　but　we　boys　saw　his　discomfiture　with　positive　gratitude。　In　a　moment　all　rose；　the　dishes　were　gathered　up；　and　many　hurried　away　with　indignant　glances　at　the　poor　elder；　who　was　busy　taking　counsel　with　some　of　the　brethren。
  I　have　never　seen　a　more　pathetic　figure　than　that　of　poor　Nick　Goodall　as　he　sat　there　thrumming　the　strings　of　which　he　was　a　Heaven…born　master。　I　saw　him　often　after　that　night　…　a　poor；　halfwitted　creature；　who　wandered　from　inn　to　inn　there　in　the　north　country；　trading　music　for　hospitality。　A　thoroughly　intelligible　sentence　never　passed　his　lips；　but　he　had　a　great　gift　of　eloquence　in　music。　Nobody　knew　whence　he　had　come　or　any　particular　of　his　birth　or　training　or　family。　But　for　his　sullen　temper；　that　broke　into　wild；　unmeaning　profanity　at　times；　Nick　Goodall　would　have　made　fame　and　fortune。
  He　stared　at　the　thinning　crowd　as　if　he　had　begun　dimly　to　comprehend　the　havoc　he　had　wrought。　Then　he　put　on　his　hat；　came　down　off　the　platform；　and　shuffled　out　of　the　open　door；　his　violin　in　one　hand；　its　box　in　the　other。　There　were　not　more　than　a　dozen　of　us　who　followed　him　into　the　little　churchyard。　The　moon　was　rising；　and　the　shadows　of　lilac　and　rose　bush；　of　slab　and　monument　lay　long　across　the　green　mounds。　Standing　there　between　the　graves　of　the　dead　he　began　to　play。　I　shall　never　forget　that　solemn　calling　of　the　silver　string：
  'Come　ye　disconsolate　where'er　ye　languish。'
  It　was　a　new　voice；　a