The Master's Violin

by Myrtle Reed

  XI

  "Sunset and Evening Star"

  Doctor Brinkerhoff came in the morning, but afterward, when Margaretquestioned him, he shook his head sadly. "I will do the best I can," hesaid, "and none of us can do more." He went down the path, bent and old.He seemed to have aged since the previous night.

  On Friday, Lynn went to Herr Kaufmann's as usual, but he playedcarelessly. "Young man," said the Master, "why is it that you study theviolin?"

  "Why?" repeated Lynn. "Well, why not?"

  "It is all the same," returned the Master, frankly. "I can teach younothing. You have the technique and the good wrist, you read quickly,but you play like one parrot. When I say 'fortissimo,' you playfortissimo; when I say 'allegro,' you play allegro. You are oneobedient pupil," he continued, making no effort to conceal his scorn.

  "What else should I be?" asked Lynn.

  "Do not misunderstand," said the Master, more kindly. "You can play themusic as it is written. If that satisfies you, well and good, but thegreat ones have something more. They make the music to talk from one toanother, but you express nothing. It is a possibility that you havenothing to express."

  Lynn walked back and forth with his hands behind his back, vaguelytroubled.

  "One moment," the Master went on, "have you ever felt sorry?"

  "Sorry for what?"

  "Anything."

  "Of course--I am often sorry."

  "Well," sighed the Master, instantly comprehending, "you are young, andit may yet come, but the sorrows of youth are more sharp than those ofage, and there is not much chance. The violin is the most noble ofinstruments. It is for those who have been sorry to play to those whoare. You have nothing to give, but it is one pity to lose your finetechnique. Since you wish to amuse, change your instrument, and studythe banjo, or perhaps the concertina."

  Lynn understood no more than if Herr Kaufmann had spoken in a foreigntongue. "I may have to stop for a little while," he said, "for my auntis ill, and I can't practise."

  "Practise here," returned the Master, indifferently. "Fredrika will notcare. Or go to the office of mine friend, the Herr Doctor. He will notmind. A fine gentleman, but he has no ear, no taste. Until you acquirethe concertina, you may keep on with the violin."

  "My mother," began Lynn. "She wants me to be an artist."

  "An artist!" repeated the Master, with a bitter laugh. "Your mother--"here he paused and looked keenly into Lynn's eyes. Something wasstirred; some far-off memory. "She believes in you, is it not so?"

  "Yes, she does--she has always believed in me."

  "Well," said the Master, with an indefinable shrug, "we must notdisappoint her. You work on like one faithful parrot, and I continuewith your instruction. It is good that mothers are so easy to please."

  "Herr Kaufmann," pleaded the boy, "tell me. Shall I ever be an artist?"

  "Yes, I think so."

  "When?"

  "When the river flows up hill and the sun rises in the west."

  Suddenly, Lynn's face turned white. "I will!" he cried, passionately; "Iwill! I will be an artist! I tell you, I will!"

  "Perhaps," returned the Master. He was apparently unmoved, butafterward, when Lynn had gone, he regretted his harshness. "I may bemistaken," he admitted to himself, grudgingly. "There may be somethingin the boy, after all. He is young yet, and his mother, she believes inhim. Well, we shall see!"

  Lynn went home by a long, circuitous route. Far beyond East Lancasterwas a stretch of woodland which he had not as yet explored. HerrKaufmann's words still rang in his ears, and for the first time hedoubted himself. He sat down on a rock to think it over. "He said I hadthe technique," mused Lynn, "but why should I feel sorry?"

  After long study, he concluded that the Master was eccentric, as geniusis popularly supposed to be, and determined to think no more of it.Still, it was not so easily put wholly aside. "You play like oneparrot,"--that single sentence, like a barbed shaft, had pierced thearmour of his self-esteem.

  He went on through the woods, and stopped at a pile of rocks near aspring. It might have been an altar erected to the deity of the wood,but for one symbol. On the topmost stone was chiselled a cross.

  "Wonder who did it," said Lynn, to himself, "and what for." He foundsome wild berries, made a cup of leaves, and filled it with the fragrantfruit, planning to take it to Aunt Peace.

  But when he reached home Aunt Peace was far beyond the thought ofberries. She was delirious, and her ravings were pitiful. Iris was aswhite as a ghost, and Margaret was sorely troubled.

  "Lynn," she said, "don't go away. I need you. Where have you been?"

  "To my lesson, and then for a walk. Herr Kaufmann says I may practisethere sometimes. He also suggested Doctor Brinkerhoff's."

  "That was kind, and I am sure the Doctor will be willing. How does hethink you are getting along?"

  She asked the question idly, and scarcely expected an answer, but Lynnturned his face away and refused to meet her eyes. "Not very well," hesaid, in a low tone.

  "Why not, dear? You practise enough, don't you?"

  "Yes, I think so. He says I have the technique and the good wrist, but Iplay like a parrot, and can only amuse. He told me to take up theconcertina."

  Margaret smiled. "That is his way. Just go on, dear, and do the verybest you can."

  "But I don't want to disappoint you, mother--I want to be an artist."

  "Lynn, dear, you will never disappoint me. You have been a comfort to mesince the day you were born. What should I have done without you in allthese years that I have been alone!"

  She drew his tall head down and kissed him, but Lynn, boy-like,evaded the sentiment and turned it into a joke. "That's very Irish,mother--'what would you have done without me in all the time you'vebeen alone?' How is the invalid?"

  "The fever is high," sighed Margaret, "and Doctor Brinkerhoff looks verygrave."

  "I hope she isn't going to die," said Lynn, conventionally. "Can I doanything?"

  "No, nothing but wait. Sometimes I think that waiting is the veryhardest thing in the world."

  That day was like the others. Weeks went by, and still Aunt Peace foughtgallantly with her enemy. Doctor Brinkerhoff took up his abode in thegreat spare chamber and was absent from the house only when there wasurgent need of his services elsewhere. He even gave up his Sundayafternoons at Herr Kaufmann's, and Fraeulein Fredrika was secretlydistressed.

  "Fredrika," said the Master, gently, "the suffering ones have need ofour friend. We must not be selfish."

  "Our friend possesses great skill," replied the Fraeulein, with quietdignity. "Do you think he will forget us, Franz?"

  "Forget us? No! Fear not, Fredrika; it is only little loves and littlefriendships that forget. One does not need those ties which can bebroken. The Herr Doctor himself has said that, and of a surety, heknows. Let us be patient and wait."

  "To wait," repeated Fredrika; "one finds it difficult, is it not so?"

  "Yes," smiled the Master, "but when one has learned to wait patiently,one has learned to live."

  Meanwhile, Aunt Peace grew steadily weaker, and the strain was beginningto tell upon all. Doctor Brinkerhoff had lost his youth--he was an oldman. Margaret, painfully anxious, found relief from heartache only inunremitting toil. Iris ate very little, slept scarcely at all, and creptabout the house like the ghost of her former self. Lynn alone maintainedhis cheerfulness.

  "Iris," said Aunt Peace, one day, "come here."

  "I'm here," said the girl, kneeling beside the bed, and putting her coldhand upon the other's burning cheek, "what can I do?"

  "Nothing, dearie. I could get well, I think, were it not for my terribledreams."

  Iris shuddered, and yet was thankful because Aunt Peace could call herdelirium "dreams."

  "Lately," continued Aunt Peace, "I have been afraid that I am not goingto get well."

  "Don't!" cried Iris, sharply, turning her face away.

  "Dearie, dearie," said the other, caressingly, "be my brave girl, andlet me talk to you
. When the dreams come back, I shall not know you, butnow I do. I am stronger to-day, and we are alone, are we not? Where arethe others?"

  "The Doctor has gone to see someone who is very ill. Lynn has taken Mrs.Irving out for a walk."

  "I am glad," said Aunt Peace, tenderly. "Margaret has been very good tome. You have all been good to me."

  Iris stroked the flushed face softly with her cool hand. In her eyeswere love and longing, and a foreshadowed loneliness.

  "Dearie," Aunt Peace continued, "listen while I have the strength tospeak. All the papers are in a tin box, in the trunk in the attic. Thereyou will find everything that is known of your father and mother. I donot anticipate any need of the information, but it is well that youshould know where to find it.

  "I have left the house to Margaret," she went on, with difficulty, "forit was rightfully hers, and after her it goes to Lynn, but there is adistinct understanding that it shall be your home while you live, if youchoose to claim it. Margaret has promised me to keep you with her. WhenLynn marries, as some day he will, you will be left alone. You andMargaret can make a home together."

  The girl's face was hidden in her hands, and her shoulders shook withsobs.

  "Don't, dearie," pleaded Aunt Peace, gently; "be my brave girl. Look upat me and smile. Don't, dearie--please don't!

  "I have left you enough to make you comfortable," she went on, aftera little, "but not enough to be a care to you, nor to make you theprey of fortune hunters. It is, I think, securely invested, and youwill have the income while you live. Some few keepsakes are yours,also--they are written down in"--here she hesitated--"in a paper DoctorBrinkerhoff has. He has been very good to us, dearie. He is almost yourfoster-father, for he was with me when I found you. He is a gentleman,"she said, with something of her old spirit, "though he has no socialposition."

  "Social position is not much, Aunt Peace, beside the things that reallycount, do you think it is?"

  "I hardly know, dearie, but I have changed my mind about a great manythings since I have lain here. I was never ill before--in all myseventy-five years, I have never been ill more than a day at a time, andit seems very hard."

  "It is hard, Aunt Peace, but we hope you will soon be well."

  "No, dearie," she answered, "I'm afraid not. But do not let us borrowtrouble, and let me tell you something to remember. When you have theheartache, dearie,"--here the old eyes looked trustfully into theyounger ones,--"don't forget that you made me happy. You have filled mydays with sunshine, and, more than anything else, you have kept meyoung. I know you thought me harsh at first, but now, I am sure youunderstand. You have been my own dear daughter, Iris. If you had been myown flesh and blood, you could not have been more to me than you have."

  Margaret came in, and Iris went away, sobbing bitterly. Aunt Peacesighed heavily. Her cheeks were scarlet, and her eyes burned like stars.

  "I'm afraid you've tired yourself," said Margaret, softly. "Was I gonetoo long?"

  "No, indeed! Iris has been with me, and I am better to-day."

  "Try to sleep," said Margaret, soothingly.

  Obediently, Aunt Peace closed her eyes, but presently she sat up. "I'mso warm," she said, fretfully. "Where is Doctor Brinkerhoff?"

  "He has not come yet, but I think he will be here soon."

  "Margaret?"

  "Yes, Aunt Peace."

  "Will you write off the recipe for those little cakes for him? He may beable to find someone to make them for him, though of course they willnot be the same."

  "Yes, I will."

  "It's in my book. They are called 'Doctor Brinkerhoff's cakes.' You willnot forget?"

  "No, I won't forget. Can't you sleep now?"

  "I'll try."

  Presently, the deep regular breathing told that she was asleep. Iriscame back with her eyes swollen and Margaret took her out into the hall.They sat there for a long time, hand in hand, waiting, but no sound camefrom the other room.

  "I cannot bear it," moaned Iris, her mouth quivering. "I cannot bear tohave Aunt Peace die."

  "Life has many meanings," said Margaret, "but it is what we make it,after all. The pendulum swings from daylight to darkness, from sun tostorm, but the balance is always true."

  Iris leaned against her, insensibly comforted.

  "She would be the first to tell you not to grieve," Margaret went on,though her voice faltered, "and still, we need sorrow as the world needsnight. We cannot always live in the sun. We can take what comes to usbravely, as gentlewomen should, but we must take it, dear--there is noother way."

  Long afterward, Iris remembered the look on Margaret's face as she saidit, but the tears blinded her just then.

  Doctor Brinkerhoff came back at twilight, anxious and worn, yet eager todo his share. Through the night he watched with her, alert, capable, andunselfish, putting aside his personal grief for the sake of the others.

  In the last days, those two had grown very near together. When thedreams came, he held her in his arms until the tempest passed, andafterwards, soothed her to sleep.

  "Doctor," she said one day, "I have been thinking a great deal while Ihave lain here. I seem never to have had the time before. I think it iswell, at the end, to have a little space of calm, for one sees so muchmore clearly."

  "You have always seen clearly, dear lady," said the Doctor, very gently.

  "Not always," she answered, shaking her head. "I can see many a mistakenow. The fogs have sometimes gathered thick about me, but now they havelifted forever. We are but ships on the sea of life," she went on. "Mycourse has lain through calm waters, for the most part, with the skiesblue and fair above me. I have been sheltered, and I can see now that itmight have made me stronger and better to face some of the storms.Still, my Captain knows, and now, when I can hear the breakers boomingon the reef where I am to strike my colours, I am not afraid."

  The end came on Sunday, just at sunset, while the bells were tolling forthe vesper service. The crescent moon rocked idly in the west, and astar glimmered faintly above it.

  "Sunset and evening star," she repeated, softly. "And one clear call forme. Will you say the rest of it?"

  Choking, Doctor Brinkerhoff went on with the poem until he reached thelast verse, when he could speak no more.

  "For though from out our bourne of time and place The flood may bear me far, I hope to meet my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar."

  She finished it, then turned to him with her face illumined. "It isbeautiful," she said, "is it not, my friend?"

  * * * * *

  Twilight came, and Margaret found them there when she went in with alighted candle. The Doctor sat at the side of the bed, very stiff andstraight, with the tears streaming over his wrinkled face. On hisshoulder, like a tired child, lay Aunt Peace, who had put on, at last,her Necklace of Perfect Joy.