“It’s about the best music we have,”
said Mrs. Comstock. “I wonder if you couldn’t
copy that and make a strong, original piece out of
it for your violin, Elnora?”
There was one tense breath, then——
“I could try,” said Elnora simply.
Philip rushed to the rescue. “We must go
to work,” he said, and began examining a walnut
branch for Luna moth eggs. Elnora joined him while
Mrs. Comstock drew her embroidery from her pocket and
sat on a log. She said she was tired, they could
come for her when they were ready to go. She
could hear their voices around her until she called
them at supper time. When they came to her she
stood waiting on the trail, the sewing in one hand,
the violin in the other. Elnora became very white,
but followed the trail without a word. Philip,
unable to see a woman carry a heavier load than he,
reached for the instrument. Mrs. Comstock shook
her head. She carried the violin home, took it
into her room and closed the door. Elnora turned
to Philip.
“If she destroys that, I shall die!” cried
the girl.
“She won’t!” said Philip. “You
misunderstand her. She wouldn’t have said
what she did about the owls, if she had meant to.
She is your mother. No one loves you as she does.
Trust her! Myself—I think she’s
simply great!”
Mrs. Comstock returned with serene face, and all of
them helped with the supper. When it was over
Philip and Elnora sorted and classified the afternoon’s
specimens, and made a trip to the woods to paint and
light several trees for moths. When they came
back Mrs. Comstock sat in the arbour, and they joined
her. The moonlight was so intense, print could
have been read by it. The damp night air held
odours near to earth, making flower and tree perfume
strong. A thousand insects were serenading, and
in the maple the grosbeak occasionally said a reassuring
word to his wife, while she answered that all was well.
A whip-poor-will wailed in the swamp and beside the
blue-bordered pool a chat complained disconsolately.
Mrs. Comstock went into the cabin, but she returned
immediately, laying the violin and bow across Elnora’s
lap. “I wish you would give us a little
music,” she said.
WHEREIN MRS. COMSTOCK DANCES IN THE MOONLIGHT, AND ELNORA MAKES A
CONFESSION
Billy was swinging in the hammock, at peace with himself
and all the world, when he thought he heard something.
He sat bolt upright, his eyes staring. Once he
opened his lips, then thought again and closed them.
The sound persisted. Billy vaulted the fence,
and ran down the road with his queer sidewise hop.
When he neared the Comstock cabin, he left the warm
dust of the highway and stepped softly at slower pace
over the rank grasses of the roadside. He had
heard aright. The violin was in the grape arbour,
singing a perfect jumble of everything, poured out
in an exultant tumult. The strings were voicing
the joy of a happy girl heart.
