The voices were still raised one above another, all eager to establish some important observation about ninepins, or marbles, or tops, or bows and arrows, when suddenly music was heard and the crowd was silenced. The music seemed to be near the spot where the children were standing, and they looked round to see whence it could come. Susan pointed to the great oak-tree, and they beheld, seated under its shade, an old man playing upon his harp. The children all approached—at first timidly, for the sounds were solemn; but as the harper heard their little footsteps coming towards him, he changed his hand and played one of his most lively tunes. The circle closed, and pressed nearer and nearer to him; some who were in the foremost row whispered to each other, “He is blind!” “What a pity!” and “He looks very poor,—what a ragged coat he wears!” said others. “He must be very old, for all his hair is white; and he must have travelled a great way, for his shoes are quite worn out,” observed another.
All these remarks were made whilst he was tuning his harp, for when he once more began to play, not a word was uttered. He seemed pleased by their simple exclamations of wonder and delight, and, eager to amuse his young audience, he played now a gay and now a pathetic air, to suit their several humours.
Susan’s voice, which was soft and sweet, expressive of gentleness and good nature, caught his ear the moment she spoke. He turned his face eagerly to the place where she stood; and it was observed, that whenever she said that she liked any tune particularly he played it over again.
“I am blind,” said the old man, “and cannot see your faces; but I know you all asunder by your voices, and I can guess pretty well at all your humours and characters by your voices.”
“Can you so, indeed?” cried Susan’s little brother William, who had stationed himself between the old man’s knees. “Then you heard my sister Susan speak just now. Can you tell us what sort of person she is?”
“That I can, I think, without being a conjurer,” said the old man, lifting the boy up on his knee; “your sister Susan is good-natured.” The boy clapped his hands. “And good-tempered.” “Right,” said little William, with a louder clap of applause. “And very fond of the little boy who sits upon my knee.” “O right! right! quite right!” exclaimed the child, and “quite right” echoed on all sides.
“But how came you to know so much, when you are blind?” said William, examining the old man attentively.
“Hush,” said John, who was a year older than his brother, and very sage, “you should not put him in mind of his being blind.”
“Though I am blind,” said the harper, “I can hear, you know, and I heard from your sister herself all that I told you of her, that she was good-tempered and good-natured and fond of you.”
“Oh, that’s wrong—you did not hear all that from herself, I’m sure,” said John, “for nobody ever hears her praising herself.”