“Hiram settled in a little lawg house that stood on South Ridge near where Silver’s peach orchard is now. Peter Billings’s farm joined his lot, an’ it wasn’t long ’fore the leetle man tuk to strollin’ over to see his neighbors of an evenin’. By an’ by he seemed to take a considerable shine fer Peter’s dotter Susan. First no one thot nawthin’ of it, fer it hairdly seemed likely that ez pretty a girl ez she would care much about sech a dried-up leetle speciment ez Hiram Gum. Besides, fer a long time she’d ben keepin’ company with young Jawhn McCullagh, whose father owned ’bout the best piece o’ farmin’ land up the walley. He was a big, fine-lookin’ felly, a bit o’ a boaster, an’ with a likin’ fer his own way.
“So no one ever dreamt anything ’ud come o’ Hiram Gum loafin’ over at Billings’s. But, boys, ’hen you’ve lived ez long ez I hev, an’ seen ez much o’ the worl’ ez I hev, you’ll come to the conclusion that they is a heap o’ truth in the old sayin’ that matches is made in Heaven. But it do seem sometim’s like they wasn’t much time or thot spent in the makin’. Fust thing we heard that Hi hed ben drove off the Billings’s place an’ Susan was kep’ locked in her room fer a week. An’ sech a change ez come over that man. It was airly in the spring ’hen it happened. He’d allus met a man with a hearty ‘howde’ before, but after that he never spoke ’hen he passed. From one o’ the pleasantest o’ men he become one o’ the blackest. From comin’ to store every day, he got to comin’ only ’hen he needed things. The rest o’ the time he spent mopin’ up in his placet on the hill. Susan changed too. She lost color an’ got solemn like. Many a time I seen her leanin’ over the gate, lookin’ away up the ridge to where Hiram’s placet lay.
“Then come the Lander’s big party. It was the last o’ the season fer the hot weather was near ’hen they wasn’t no time fer swingin’ corners, let alone the overheatin’ that ’ud come by it, so everybody in the walley was there. Young an’ old danced that night. They was three sets in the settin’-room an’ two in the kitchen; they was two in the entry an’ one on the porch. Save fer layin’ off at ten o’clock fer sweet-cake an’ cider we done wery leetle restin’. They was mighty few wanted to rest much ’hen Hiram Gum played. He’d no sooner tuk his placet in the corner then every inch o’ the floor was covered with sets. Bow yer corners! an’ we was off.”
The old man beat his stick on the porch and waved his body to and fro.
“My, but that was fiddlin’! It jest went th’oo a man like one o’ them ’lectric shockin’ machines. Yer feet was started an’ away ye went; ole Hiram settin’ there with his withered arm crooked up to hold the fiddle, the long, crooked fingers flyin’ over the strings, the bow goin’ so fast ye could hairdly see it, his big black eyes lookin’ down inter the instermen’, his long hair an’ beard wavin’ ez he swung to an’ fro. Now yer own! Oh, them was dancin’ days ’hen Hi Gum played!
“They never was a more inweterate hat-passer then Hiram, fer be his playin’ he made his livin’, an’ never a note ’ud he make tell they was fifty cents in his ole white beaver. Then he’d play that out an’ ’round he’d come agin. That night he didn’t ast a cent, but jest sat there glum an’ never oncet stopped the music.
“Susan was a wonderful dancer—jest ez quick ez a flash, untirin’, an’ so light on her feet that ye felt like ye was holtin’ to a fairy ’hen ye swung corners with her. She was on the floor continual’. I done one set with her an’ noticed how she could scarce keep her eyes offen Hi. She only danced one set with McCullagh an’ lay kind o’ limp like in swingin’ corners an’ didn’t say nawthin’, so ’hen they finished he left the house. I seen him go out o’ the door with a black look in his face.
“Most all hed gone ’hen I left Lander’s airly in the mornin’. We lived over the river, an’ ez they wasn’t no bridge we use to cross in a couple o’ ole boats that was kep’ tied along the bank jest below the canal lock. I went down over the flat an’ th’oo the woods tell I come to the canal, where I crossed the lock an’ walked along the towpath, whistlin’ all the time fer company. It was a clear night. The moon was shinin’ bright th’oo the trees. The canal was on one side o’ me, an’ th’oo the open places in the bushes on the other I could see the river gleamin’ along. I got to the bend jest a couple of hundred yards above where the boats lay an’ was jest steppin’ out inter the clearin’ there ’hen sudden I heard a loud voice. I stopped. Then it come louder, an’ I recognized Jawhn McCullagh’s rough talk. I went cautious tell I was out o’ the woods. There, jest ahead, I seen him, near the path, facin’ ole Hiram Gum, who, with his fiddle under his arm, was standin’ with his back to the canal, lookin’ quiet at the big felly. I dropped to the ground an’ watched, scarce breathin’ I was so excited.
“Jawhn raised a heavy stick, an’ shook it, an’ stepped slow-like toward the leetle fiddler, crowdin’ him nearer the bank.
“‘Hiram Gum!’ he sayd, ‘I’ve hed ’nough o’ you. Git out o’ this country an’ never come back, or you’ll never fiddle agin!’