This
was followed by an uncontrollable burst of laughter from the merry
lips of the musician.
"There--that's what I call a noise, Bill. Sweet Sall CAN make a
noise when I worry her into it; she's just like other women in that
respect; she'll be sure to squall out if you don't touch her just
in the right quarter. But the first time she did NOT go amiss, and
as for stunning you--but what's the matter? Where's the wind now?"
"Nothing--only I don't want to be deafened with such a clatter."
"Something's wrong, Bill, I know it. You look now for all the
world like a bottle of sour son, with the cork out, and ready to
boil over. As for Sall making a noise the first time, that's all
a notion, and a very strange one. She was as sweet-spoken then as
she was when you left me before supper. The last time, I confess,
I made her squall out on purpose. But what of that? you are not
the man to get angry with a little fun!"
"No, I'm not angry with you, Ned--I am not angry with anybody; but
just now, I would rather not hear the fiddle. Put it up."
"There!" said the other good-naturedly, as he placed the favorite
instrument in its immemorial case in the corner.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108