Evening bulletin. [volume] (Honolulu [Oahu, Hawaii]) 1895-1912, 1903-01-09
SHORT STORY FOR
EVENING HOURS
IN HARNESS

I
The door closed softly behind the
last pupil of the afternoon, and the
old master drew a chair beside the dy.
ing embers, holding out his hands to
the warmth.
He was very tired. more tired than
he ever remembered to have been in
his life before. His white head sank
| forward n little as though the effort
of holding II up was too great.
On the table at his elbow lay his vio
lin; his eyes fell upon 1t. and he smil-
ed. then pulled himself up and lifted it
gently from its place. His hands pass
Cd over It lovingly. as II II were a liv.
ing thing; he drew the bow tenderly
across the strings, and a wailing mel.
ody filled the little room. Then he laid
the instrument down upon his knee
and sighed heavily.
He was old--a long day of teaching
told upon him, he felt tired, so tired!
| His fingers fell softly upon the
strings Of his violin again, and again
he smiled.
Better, after all, to work TO the
end" he said aloud, better to wear
out than to be eaten out with rust!
When the time comes-let me die--in
harness."
He leant back in his chair, looking
dreamily into the dull red of the slow.
ly dying fire, and, looking, his thoughts
wandered away to old days. old faces,
far.away memories.
Was IL memory of long ago? Or
was II only yesterday after all? He
was a brownfaced boy again, trying to
bring out of the cheap fiddle. bought in
the village shop, some of the melodies
that echoed and re-echoed in his brain.
He played in the pine woods above the
cottage, because his mother grumbled
over the noise he made! Was 1t yes.
terday, or was IL sixty long years ago
that the great maestro had heard him
playing, up amongst the fragrant pine
woods, and had brought him away
away
A coal dropped into the CRATE; the
old man started. He glanced round the
bare little room and shivered - there
was no scent of the pines here after
all, and he--was an old man and
tired!
Again his fingers touched the violin.
Their touch was caress.
80" he murmured, they gave me
this-they gave me this-when--I was
great" He lifted his head, a light
shone In his tired old eyes. He no lon
ger sat beside a dying fire, he faced a
shouting multitude, who stood up as
one man to call his name. Was 1t the
the lights that dazzled him? Or-or
the shouts that dazed his brain? He
passed his hand YEARLY over his
brow.
"And now-I am an old man-and
tired" he whispered, butt shall
work-to the end-for love of the
work"
He lifted the violin and swept the
strings with the bow. The strange
wailing melody hoated out of the
room and down the stairs.
The caretaker waited to shut up the
music school: the weird beauty of the
sounds made her SILVER.
Pore old gentleman" she said,
'e's a-playin' all to ITSELF Thinks
'e's a'playin' at concert ag'in."
Upstairs the old man played on soft
ly. There was magic even now in his
touch. His dim eyes frightened as he
played. Now 1t was love song whose
sweetness filled the room-his wife's
faced looked out at him from the shad.
ows, he felt the touch Of her hand on
| his hair.
80 you have come back" he whis-
pered. Il thought thought you
were dead, sweetheart, but that must
have been dream, and you are
here. 1t Is good to see your face"
Then his fingers slipped from the
notes Of the love song. to play little
tripping dance tune. He laughed soft.
ly.
See how the children dance" he
said, my boys and girls; they would
like to dance all night, and am never
tired of playing for them. Tired? Not
T." He laughed once more-his laugh
echoed strangely in that bare place.
All at once the tune changed again.
He played Polish melody that tore at
your heart-strings, and brought tears
TO your eyes, and then, with another
swift transition, the stately rhythm OF
some grand old chorale filled the
room.
"The first tune I ever learnt-maes.
tro," he murmured, "the first-I-ever
played-amongst the pine-when-you
found me-and took-me. The wind
sings-in the trees-and the sun sets
I-red-behind-- His voice grew
drowsy, the violin slipped to his knee,
but his hand still grasped 1t tenderly.
"The wind--sings-and the river -
sings-in my ears. Coming-sweet-
heart-coming," His voice died away;
the last red glow faded from the fire,
the room was very still, so still that