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Updated: May 6, 2025
"I noticed when she smiles she seems to change," he said. "It's like puttin' bow to the strings. A fiddle's a glum kind of a thing till you wake it up; she's that way, I reckon." "Well, git ready for dinner or lunch, as Nola calls it they'll be starved by this time, ridin' all the way from the post in this chilly wind. I'm mighty afraid we're goin' to have some weather before long."
"Yes," he babbled on, "it's a fixed fact, Smith; the cracked fiddle's a smashed fiddle at last!" I drew him out of the hot sun and into a secluded archway, he talking straight on with a speed and pitiful grandiloquence totally unlike him.
He glanced about him and spied with delight Peter Fiddle's canoe lying upside down under the birches. Peter worked for his father, when not away fishing or playing the fiddle or spinning yarns; and when he went away by land his canoe was always at home, and sometimes the Lad had paddled out in it alone.
Second Fiddle's no good on earth in the kitchen; she couldn't boil an egg. Say, breaking your knee-pan's no joke. Price Williston did it a year ago August, and he hasn't got good use of it yet, 'fraid he never will " "Oh, let up on that," Lanse cut him short, "and don't mention it again to anybody.
'And sae is the fact'ry, she added, as if she had not quite reassured herself concerning it. 'The fiddle's yours nae mair, grannie. And for the fact'ry ye winna believe me: gang and see yersel'. Therewith Robert retreated to his garret.
Miss Fiddle's fragile complexion had approached to within six inches of the stage-manager's broad and shiny features, and it had little resemblance to any of the various faces which audiences associated with the figure of Eliza Fiddle; it was a face voluptuously distorted by the violence of emotion. As Miss Fiddle appeared to be under the impression that she was alone with the stage-manager, Mr.
There's always a rakish, scampish twist about a fiddle's looks that seems to say the Wicked One had a hand in making o'en; while angels be supposed to play clar'nets in heaven, or som'at like 'em, if ye may believe picters." "Robert Penny, you was in the right," broke in the eldest Dewy. "They should ha' stuck to strings.
Old memories came rushing back to him of the nights when he used to ride five and ten and twenty miles and play the cabinet organ to a fiddle's lead, and call off until daybreak for two dollars. And such a quadrille as he gave them four figures of it before he sent them to their seats.
He looked grave as he soothed the baby, whose small breast still heaved convulsively. "Are you conscientiously trying to do your full share in developing our little second fiddle's capacity to play first?" he asked the baby, with his face against hers. "Never mind, little one, never mind.
This was his regret his constant chase for those elusive notes that refused to be captured. But he consoled himself many a time with the reflection that it was the fiddle's fault, not his own. With a finer instrument, capable of rendering more delicate shades of sound, he might yet surprise the Nixy's strain, and record it unmistakably in black and white.
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