Sandy rose from the supper table and after a yawn remarked: “It’s too quiet around here for me; I think I’ll go up to Hiram Lewis’.” He took his fiddle from its case and tucking it under his arm, put on his hat and stood for a moment in the doorway. Hiram Lewis was their nearest neighbor and had two daughters of marriageable age.
Jeannette who had read all the afternoon and really desired to hear him play their mountain music, which he did so capably, was disappointed. Without understanding the cause, she felt embarrassed at the thought of asking him to remain; and would not do so directly.
“If you are going you better put your violin in its case. It’s going to rain.”
“My what?”
“O, your fiddle then; if it gets wet it will affect its tone.”
“O! the sound it makes. If I stay will you teach me to play that hard piece of yours?”
“That was my intention; but do not let me detain you.”
“My intention—is that the name of the piece?”
“No, sit down Sandy, I’ll get my fiddle.”
Jeannette went to her room for the violin and music. While there the thought occurred they had better use her reading lamp instead of Mrs. Blair’s smoky, smelly, tin one, which gave but a feeble flame; removing the green shade, she substituted one of pink silk which was much prettier and which transformed the light into a more becoming [pg 59] tint. Carrying it into the other room she placed it on the small table near the door, and sat down beside it, her face tinted by the shade. The Blair family were on the porch, just beyond the doorway; and Sandy sat on the door-step, almost at her feet; his bright red hair and smiling, healthy face in the full glare of the light.