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Updated: May 14, 2025
And Blake stared. This the fiddler's wife! She was clutching in her hand a brush with which she had been arranging her hair. The hair, jet black, was wonderful. Her eyes were still more wonderful to Blake. She was not an Indian not a half-breed and beautiful. The loveliest face he had ever visioned, sleeping or awake, was looking down at him.
Should you open that door Ill-Luck will be sure to overtake you." "Pooh!" said the Fiddler, "I don't care to know, anyhow," and off they went, hand in hand. Yes, that was a very fine thing to say; but before an hour had gone by the Fiddler's head began to hum and buzz like a beehive.
Making haste to the house of a friend, a gamekeeper, he called him out, and requested the loan of a gun. The alarmed gamekeeper, not liking the fiddler's looks and voice, anxiously inquired what he was going to do with it. "Surely," said he, "you're no gan to shoot yoursel." One calm summer evening a red-headed woodpecker was drowned in our lake.
If the young fiddler's music was an attraction before, fancy its power now, when the musician had to be lifted to his chair on top of the table! Bonaventure sought comfort of Zoséphine, and she gave it, tittering at 'Thanase behind his back, giving Bonaventure knowing looks, and sticking her sunbonnet in her mouth.
She was as slim as a reed. Her hair fell to her hips. He drew a deep breath. Unconsciously he clenched his hands. SHE the fiddler's wife! The thought repeated itself again and again. Jan Thoreau, MURDERER, and this woman HIS WIFE. She returned in a moment with hot tea, and he drank with subtle hypocrisy from the cup she held to his lips.
All the young ladies in the neighbourhood of Fiddler's Row, where he resided, set their caps at him: all the most fashionable prigs, or tobymen, sought to get him into their set; and the most crack blowen in London would have given her ears at any time for a loving word from Bachelor Bill. But Bill was a longheaded, prudent fellow, and of a remarkably cautious temperament.
Then was there a dance indeed no soft swish of lace and muslin, but the active swing of linsey and simple homespun; no French fiddler's bows and scrapings, no intricate lancers, no languid waltz; but neat shuffling forward and back, with every note of the music beat; floor-thumping "cuttings of the pigeon's wing," and jolly jigs, two by two, and a great "swinging of corners," and "caging the bird," and "fust lady to the right CHEAT an' swing"; no flirting from behind fans and under stairways and little nooks, but honest, open courtship strong arms about healthy waists, and a kiss taken now and then, with everybody to see and nobody to care who saw.
And now, if I hear ye, quean lassies, sae muckle as name dancing, or think there's sic a thing in this warld as flinging to fiddler's sounds, and piper's springs, as sure as my father's spirit is with the just, ye shall be no more either charge or concern of mine!
The air was now that one without any particular beginning, middle, or end, which perhaps, among all the dances which throng an inspired fiddler's fancy, best conveys the idea of the interminable the celebrated "Devil's Dream."
Forester darted forward, stopped the fiddler's hand, and began an expostulation, not one word of which was understood by the person to whom it was addressed. A stout lad, who was very impatient at this interruption of his diversion, began to abuse Forester, and presently from words he proceeded to blows. Forester, though a better orator, was by no means so able a boxer as his opponent.
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