He was a bent old man with white hair and beautiful blue, shining eyes. As the music ended in one long, sweet, trembling chord, Pedro saw the Master bend his head over his violin, and as he quietly slipped away he thought he heard the sound of sobbing.
Pedro walked the rest of the way home in a dream. As he came into the work-shop he saw the beautiful violin and touched it tenderly, caressingly. Oh, if he could only play! He went to bed, but could not sleep. The beautiful music kept coming back again and again. At last he arose, dressed himself and went into the work-shop. He picked up the violin tenderly, lovingly, and went out to the orchard to where a little brook ran merrily by. It was a beautiful night, calm and peaceful, a soft wind whispered through the trees, through the stillness the sweet, clear notes of a bird were heard. The witchery of the night, its calmness and quiet beauty, seemed to want him to play. So placing the violin in position, he ran the bow gently over the strings; at first the notes were short, trembling, and broken. Soon it became very beautiful, and still he played on and on. He did not notice that day was dawning, and upon looking up he was frightened at seeing his father standing before him. But his father smiled at him and said:
“My son, you are then a musician? The music was wonderful!”
Pedro smiled, but said nothing.
“You shall have lessons from the Master,” his father said. Pedro could hardly believe it. Lessons from the Master! To learn to play!
After the day’s work was done Pedro and his father walked down the same little, narrow street to the little vine-covered cottage that he had seen the night before. Soon Pedro found himself in a little sitting-room awaiting the Master. Soon the Master came, and Pedro’s father said, “If you will teach my son to play I will make you the most beautiful violin in the world.”
The Master was very well satisfied with his violin and he did not like to teach. But he said to Pedro, “Do you like music?” Pedro smiled, his whole soul in his eyes. The Master said, “Yes, you love it, you shall play.”
The next day Pedro came for his first lesson. He enjoyed it very much and soon mastered the tedious exercises.
So the years passed and Pedro had become famous. The Master was growing old; still the most beautiful violin had not been completed. One day Pedro came to visit the Master and the housekeeper told him he was ill. Pedro waited, hoping the Master might want him. Soon he returned home and began to play. While he was playing his father told him that the Master’s violin was finished. Pedro smiled sadly and said, “The Master is ill.” That evening as he sat playing a messenger came and summoned him to the Master’s house. He took the finished violin with him, and as he looked into the Master’s room he saw him lying there on a couch, so thin, and still, and white. He smiled as Pedro entered, and said, “You have come to play for me, my son? The night is so long and I am so tired. Play, Pedro, play!” Pedro showed him the newly finished violin, but he only smiled as he nodded for Pedro to begin.