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Updated: May 3, 2025
Ruth poured out a glass of beer for each of the players, and, having set the tray and jug upon the grass, took up her former place and position by the apple-tree. "Wheer's your rosin, 'Saiah?" asked Sennacherib. "I forgot to bring it wi' me," said Isaiah. "I took it out of the case last night, and was that neglectful as I forgot to put it back again."
Me and 'Saiah Eld tried that through together, and since then I've never drawn a note out o' catgut." "I could never altogether understand it, uncle," said Reuben. "What could the man's playing have been like?" "What was it like?" returned the older man. "What is theer as it wa'n't like? I couldn't tell thee, lad I couldn't tell thee. It was like a lost soul a-wailing i' the pit.
But, as I was a-sayin', he's a-breakin' up fast, poor man, and that's a thing as is only too clear to a old experienced eye like mine. A beautiful sperrit the man's got, to be sure, but allays a mild and sorrowful look with him. When me and Sennacherib was first married, he'd a habit of coming over here with 'Saiah Eld and Mr. Fuller for the music.
After a time, the thin crowing of game-cocks in distant villages, the first twitter of birds among the highest branches, told us that night had turned to morning. A soft patter of bare feet came along the deck, a shadow stood above us, and the low voice of the mate said: "Ada kapal api disitu, Tuan saiah kirah ada kapal prrang." "Gunboat, eh?"
"I've heard our Sennacherib and his brother 'Saiah say over and over again as since that time he niver so much as opened a piece of music." The little old maid arose with both hands on her heart, tight-clasped there. Her eyes were wild and she panted as if for breath. "Miss Blythe!" cried the other, alarmed by her aspect "Rachel! What's the matter? Why, my dear, you're ill!
Miss Blythe could scarcely have expressed a livelier contempt for him if he had been a convicted pick-pocket. His share of the music went so ill after this that he excited something like consternation in the minds of his friends. "What's come to the lad, 'Saiah," asked Sennacherib. "Bist a bit out o' sorts, Reuben, bisent?" said Isaiah, mildly anxious.
"Lads," said the man with the 'cello, in a fat and comfortable voice, "that was proper! He's a pretty writer, this here Bee-thoven. Rewben, the hallygro's a twister, I can tell thee. Thee hadst better grease thy elbow afore we start on it. Ruth, fetch a jug o' beer, theer's a good wench. I'm as dry as Bill Duke. Thee canst do a drop, 'Saiah, I know." "Why, yes," returned the second-fiddle.
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