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Er, but if not, I ask you to will her to somebody as'll know her
value, and handle her as her deserves." Reuben was embarrassed by the
gift. "To tell the truth, uncle," he said, "I should
take her the more readily if I'd coveted her less." "Bring her out
into the gardin, lad," returned his uncle. "Let's hear the 'Last
Rose' again." Reuben followed the old man's lead. His uncle's
house-keeper carried
chairs to the grass-plot, and there the old man and the young one sat
down together in the summer air, and Reuben, drawing a little
pitch-pipe from his pocket, sounded its note, adjusted the violin,
and played. Ezra set his elbows upon his knees and chin in his hands,
and sat to listen. "Lend her to me,
lad," he said, when his nephew laid the instrument across his knees.
"I don't know--I
wonder--Let's see if there is any of the old skill left." His face
was gray and his hands shook as he held them out. "Theer's almost a
fear upon me," he said,
as he took the fiddle and tucked it beneath his chin. "No, no, I dar'
not. I doubt the poor thing 'ud shriek at me." "Nonsense, uncle,"
answered Reuben, with a swift and subtle movement of the fingers of
the left hand, such as only a violin-player could accomplish. "I
doubt if there is such a thing as forgetting when once you
have played. Try." "No," said the old man, handing back the fiddle.
"I dar'