The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1908-04-01
By CHARLES RAYMOND MAcayisy.


er tore it's way to the sea through q
canoned pass. The sun had but just
dipped behind the white-topped
crags, and the frontier village was
sunk in sweet obscurity in the purple
shadows that stretched along the base
OF the hills. It was as though the
everlasting mountain had drawn It's
royal robes about its rugged form,
,donned it's white nightcap, and was
preparing to sink to sleep in the calm
bosom of approaching night. Just
another touch of realism was given
the metaphor by the moon that firted
a moment with the silhouetted crags,
and then, with a cold, p~assionless,
goodnight kiss. parted reluctantly
from them and sailed majestically off
into the star-lit dome. From afar
out upon the plain came the mourn
full howl of a solitary coyote. which
was echoed dismally from cliff to
beetling cliff. The faraway murmur
of the rock-girted river and the oc-
casional boot of an owl among the
towering pines were the only sounds
that disturbed the stiffness of the
evening.
Dan Cupid stood at the intersection
-of two well-nigh deserted streets and
bethought him of some congenial oc-
cupation for his meddlesome and mis-
chievous fingers.
Upon the opposite corner a youth
and a maiden met. stopped and con-
versed in guarded undertones.
Dan unfastened his bow from an
invisible baldric and drew an arrow
from the well-flled culver at his
back; fitting the notched shaft care
fully to the taut string. he took DELHI
- crate aim and let fyat the pair across
the road. The downcast eyes of the
, maiden, the blush upon her cheek, the
abashed look of the youth, gave un-
questionable evidence of the little
gods unerring aim.
1t was an excellent shot and pretti-
ly planted, yet it afforded the little
sportsman no more satisfaction or
amusement than would have been felt
by a mighty hunter upon potting a
sleeping antelope. The game was too
easy, and scarce worthy the skill of
the marksman.
Dan turned disdainfully upon his
chubby heel and wandered aimlessly
down the d%arkening street. Being
the author of his own code of ethics,
he did not hesitate to peep through
a keyhole here or between the chinks
of a shutter there. Whenever occa-
sion offered he winged IN arrow from
his tiny bow.
He arrived at length near the
point where the street canted up into
the mountain. There, at the end Of
the level thoroughfare, stood a ram
shackle, two-story structure, which
might have been said to have been an
'Old Curiosity Shop" transplanted.
Within it's grimy windows was ar
rayed a wondrous variety of unsal-
able knickknacks. So far as could be
seer they were thickly mantled with
dust, and a busy spider had set the
anchorage Of his intricate web from
the headpiece of a stringless guitar to
the rusty muZZle of a revolver that
was fashioned after the name of
another time. The roc opening off
the street was untenanted, but from
somewhere within came the plain
tive strains of a violin. The most Gu
phemistic would have hesitated to
dignity the sound by the name of
music, yet upon occasion a note rang
true, and as it quivered on the night
air spoke Of a genius untutored and
a dizziness and sympathy of touch
once acquired, but long since forgot
ten.
CHANGING above the outer door Dan
Cupid noted the half-obliterated
name, Thomas MacWhirter. Without
a moments hesitation he melted
through the two walls and stood with
in the inner room. The room was
meagrely furnished, and the table,
benches and chairs were Of the most
primitive pattern. The wood fire
that glowed within the open CRATE
performed the double duty of pro-
viding light and heat for its two oc-
cupants. Bathed in the rudy fire.
light sat an old woman bent far for
ward, with her elbows fixed upon her
knees, her chin resting within her
open palms. She might we'll have
been a rustic figure cast in bronze,
so far as any outward semblance of
life was concerned. BY the side of
the curtainless window, illumined by
the pallid radiance of the moon, an
old man sat, drawing a ~listless bow
owe the strings.
Dan Cupid shivered, climbed to a
seat upon a high-backed bench near
the window, and bent his gaze upon
the aged musician.
The Old man paused for q moment;
his bow wandered aimlessly over the
strings. and then came the first notes,
low and sweet, of Robin Adair."
The old woman raised her head,
clasped her bony hands together, and
looked straight before her into the
Pickering blaze. 1t was her initial
movement since Dan Cupid's entrance.
From Robin Adair" the music
swept into ''Comin' Thro' the Rye"
The notes were falling firm, resonant,
tue, and not without a touch Of mys-
tic sentiment. Dame MacWhirter's
hands were clasping and unclasping;
once she stole a glance at MacWhir-
ter, and it could be seen that an ex-