When they walked along together, side by side, they did not talk; but
the father usually hummed a tune softly,--sometimes quite aloud,--and
the lad listened attentively. On rainy Sundays they sat at the window
together in the cottage, and seldom talked then; but the man drew his
harmonica from his pocket, and played one tune after another to the lad,
who listened most earnestly. Sometimes he would take a comb, or even a
leaf, and coax forth music; or he would shape a bit of wood with his
knife, and whistle a tune upon that. It really seemed as if there were
no object from which he could not draw forth sweet sounds. Once,
however, he brought a fiddle home with him, and the boy was so delighted
with the instrument, that he never forgot it. The man played one tune
after another, while the child listened and looked with all his might;
and when the fiddle was laid aside, the little fellow took it up, and
tried to find out for himself how the music was made. And it could not
have sounded so very badly, for his father had smiled, saying, "Come,
now!" and placed the big fingers of his left hand over his son's, and
held the little hand and the bow together in his right; and thus they
played for a long time, and produced a great many sweet tunes.
On the following day, after his father's departure, the boy tried again
and again to play, until at last he did succeed in producing a tune
quite correctly.
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