Mrs.
Woods saw them with secret fear, and the master with apprehension.

Several of the children began to cry, and there was a look of pain, terror, or distress on all the faces.
Suddenly Gretchen stepped apart from the group and lifted to her shoulder her violin.
A hunting strain rose on the bright morning air.

It seemed like the flight of a singing bird.
The chief's arms dropped.

The music arose like a sweet memory of all that is good and beautiful.
The three Indians stopped to listen.

The music became more sweet and entrancing.