Читать книгу Guest the One-Eyed онлайн

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Never before had he missed his mother so sorely as this morning, when every one else seemed to have forgotten her; never before had he felt her loss so keenly. He sighed, checked the swinging of his legs, and sat motionless for a while. Tears rose to his eyes. He felt he must go out, or he would be crying openly in a minute, and disturb the comfort of the rest. For a moment he sat pondering where to go, then he remembered that the cowman would by now have finished work in the shed, and taking down an old violin from a rack, he left the room.

Reaching the cowshed, he sat down in his accustomed place, on a board between two empty chests, and commenced tuning his instrument. It was an old thing that had been in the family for generations, but no one could remember having heard it played. Then, seven years before, Ormarr had been taught the rudiments of music by a wandering fiddler, an adventurous soul, who tramped the country with his fiddle slung over his shoulder in a calfskin bag. Since then, Ormarr had given all his spare time to the music.