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Updated: May 23, 2025
Some moments later, seven boys, shaking with laughter, emerged from the garret room and resumed their search. Colonel Witham had heard the strains of Henry Burns's horse-fiddle. "Let's look, Tim! Let me see. Say, where'd you find it? Bring it here to the light."
"We've made a horse-fiddle before now, haven't we? that rope's got so much resin on it that it squeaks if you just look at it." He passed the free end of the resined rope through a hole in the bottom of the upturned wash-boiler, and knotted it so it would not pull out again. "Now where's the fiddle-bow, John?" he asked.
"Oh, I 'm all right. I 'll just chase away these cattle and roll in under the wagon. And if you should hear me serrynadin' you with a horse-fiddle after a while, don't be scared. That's me snoring. I 'm what they call a sound sleeper." "Good-night, Mr. Hicks." "Same to you, Miss Janet."
"Put down your instruments and have some supper." "Let me relieve you," said Julia, and she took the dumb-bull from Bob Short and the "horse-fiddle" from Day, the tin horns and tin pans from others, and the two skillet-lids from Jim West, who looked as sheepish as possible. August escorted each of them to the table, though his face did not look altogether cordial.
"Let me go mother," said Desire, half hesitatingly. "It is not your place my child. I am his wife," replied Mrs. Edwards. "Yes mother, but Desire's so pretty, and this Hamlin fellow stopped the horse-fiddles just to please her, the other time," whimpered Jonathan. "Perhaps he'd let father off if she went. Do let her go mother." The allusion to the stopping of the horse-fiddle was Greek to Mrs.
But now, s'she, 'I get to thinkin' sometimes I wouldn't mind a horse-fiddle if some of 'em played it. "'They're lots o' company, the little things, says old Mis' Norris she'd kep' mislayin' her teeth an' the navy-blue lady had took 'em away from her that day for to teach her, so I couldn't hardly understand what she said. 'Mine was named Ellen an' Nancy, I made out.
Such a medley of discordant sounds, such a clatter and clangor, such a rattle of horse-fiddle, such a bellowing of dumb-bull, such a snorting of tin horns, such a ringing of tin pans, such a grinding of skillet-lids! But the house remained quiet. Once Bill Day thought that he heard a laugh within. Julia may have lost her self-control.
The Performer nearest them was running a slow bass scale on a sort of two-stringed horse-fiddle of a strange shape. Average Jones' still untouched glass, almost full of the precious port, trembled and sang a little tentative response. Up-up-up mounted the thrilling notes, in crescendo force. "What a racking sort of tone, for all its sweetness!" said Average Jones.
"If you did any harm, you'll suffer for it." "We didn't," said Henry Burns. "We only played on a horse-fiddle once or twice. You know there are rats in the mill, colonel. I guess they scampered when they heard that." Colonel Witham had been about to burst forth with an angry exclamation; but the thought of his own ignominious flight made him pause. Rats, indeed!
They are all in a hurry, but each rasps his iron type-stick across a thin partition of his type case. It is a small horse-fiddle. The combined effect is impressive, chaotic. The night foreman rages internally. He stalks about with baleful eye. "Buck in, you fellows," he says. "The paper is behind." "I wish it would kill him," the night foreman says of Corkey.
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