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Updated: June 20, 2025
He was well versed in herbal lore, a self-taught 'cellist, playing each Sunday in the Congregational Chapel at Mattishall, and an equally self-taught watch-repairer; but his chief claim to fame was as a bee-keeper, local tradition crediting him with being the first man to keep bees under glass. He would solemnly state that his bees, whom he looked upon as friends, talked to him.
At his words, the girl burst into tears. "NA, NA, NA!" he said soothingly. "What's all this about? You did excellently." She seized his hand and clung to it. The 'cellist ran to fetch water; the other two young men were embarrassed, and looked away. Here, however, several friends burst into the room, and bore Fraulein Prybowski off.
He listened with good-natured interest, which was not far removed from indifference, to the contralto, the 'cellist, the violinist, only waking up to something like enthusiasm when the infant prodigy, a quaint, painfully shy little creature, who bobbed a side curtsey at the audience, and looked much too small to tackle the grand piano, appeared and proceeded to execute wonderful things with her small fingers.
The sad-eyed bass viol player with his companions, the violinist and the 'cellist, occupied folding chairs several yards to the right of the cameras, where they were protected from the sun in the shade of a tree.
Mister Unger done come and Marse Richard say he can't wait a minute." When she and Oliver entered the drawing-room the 'cellist was the centre of the group. He was stripping off the green baize cover from his instrument and at the same time was apologizing, in his broken English, for being so late.
A suite in Paris, immense high grave rooms, with lambrequins and a balcony. The Enchanted Mesa. An ancient stone mill in Maryland, at the turn of the road, between rocky brook and abrupt hills. An upland moor of sheep and flitting cool sunlight. A clanging dock where steel cranes unloaded steamers from Buenos Ayres and Tsing-tao. A Munich concert-hall, and a famous 'cellist playing playing to her.
The ladies immediately got up, threw their wraps over their shoulders and left the room, turning their faces away from the windows. Soon the ballroom was empty, save for the old cellist, who had gone to sleep with his arms round his instrument. The bustle was transferred to distant rooms; there was much stamping upstairs and noise of men's voices in the courtyard. Then all became silent.
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