And the music went on. What was it that the musician played? Indeed, I know not; things that awakened the imagination and touched the heart.
"No one knows," said Molly, "what he plays; only he makes one lost to everything."
As for herself, she had a delicious dream of going on the tramp with Dick, he and she alone—he to play, and she—— But when she was about to tell this dream, she would not confess her part in the tramp.
The music was over; the fiddle was replaced in its case; the musician was going away.
In the porch stood Hilarie. "Cousin," she said, "do you go on tramp for pleasure or for necessity?"
"For both. I must needs go on tramp from time to time. There is a restlessness in me. I suppose it is in the blood. Perhaps there was a gipsy once among my ancestors."
"But do you really—live—by playing to people?"
"He needn't," said Molly; "but he must. He leaves his money at home, and carries his fiddle. Oh, heavenly!"
"Why not? I fiddle on village greens and in rustic inns. I camp among the gipsies; I walk with the tramps and casuals. There is no more pleasant life, believe me!"