The Young Musician ; Or, Fighting His Way eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 204 pages of information about The Young Musician ; Or, Fighting His Way.

“I am a little of a musician,” said Philip modestly.

“Sho! do you make it pay?”

“Pretty well, so far; but I think when I get to New York I shall try something else.”

“Are you a musician as well as he?” asked the farmer of Henry.

“No, sir.”

“Come, father, you’d better sit down to supper, and do your talking afterward,” said the farmer’s wife.

So they sat down to the table, and all did full justice to the wholesome fare, particularly Henry, who felt absolutely ravenous.

Never at the luxurious home of his father, in Madison Avenue, had the wandering city boy enjoyed his supper as much as at the plain table of this country farmer.

The good mistress of the household was delighted at the justice done to her viands, considering it a tribute to her qualities as a cook.

When Philip produced his purse to pay for their supper, the farmer absolutely refused to receive anything.  “But I would rather pay,” persisted our hero.

“Then I’ll tell you how you may pay.  Give us one or two tunes on your violin.”

This Philip was quite willing to do, and it is needless to say that his small audience was very much pleased.

“I say,” said Henry, “you play well enough to give concerts.”

“I have done it before now,” answered Philip, smiling.

They were invited to spend the night, but desired to push on to the hotel, being refreshed by their supper and feeling able to walk three or four miles farther.

About half-way their attention was drawn to what appeared a deserted cabin in the edge of the woods, some twenty rods back from the road.

“I say, Philip,” said Henry, “there’s an old hut that looks as if nobody lived in it.  Wouldn’t it be a lark for us to sleep there to-night?  It would save the expense of lodging at the hotel, and would be an adventure.  I haven’t had any adventures yet.”

“I have no objection,” said Philip.  “We’ll go, at any rate, and look at it.”

They crossed the field, which seemed to have been only partially cleared, and soon reached the hut.

It was very bare within, but on the floor, in one corner, was a blanket spread out.  There was a place for a window, but the sash had been removed, and it was easy to step in.

“I wonder how this blanket came here?” said Philip.

“Oh, I guess the last people that lived here left it!” returned Henry.  “I say, Phil, I begin to feel tired.  Suppose we lie down?  I’m glad I haven’t got to walk any farther.”

Philip sympathized with his new friend; and so, without much parley, the two boys threw themselves down on the blanket, and were soon fast asleep.

How long Philip slept he didn’t know, but he was awakened by a terrible screech, and, opening his eyes, say Henry sitting bolt upright, with trembling limbs and distended eyeballs, gazing fearfully at a tall, muscular-looking Indian, who had just stepped into the cabin through the open window.

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The Young Musician ; Or, Fighting His Way from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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