Even with this moderation, the risk of his absence exciting his grandmother's suspicion and inquiry was far from small.
And now, were those really faded old memories of his grandfather and his merry kindness, all so different from the solemn benevolence of his grandmother, which seemed to revive in his bosom with the revivification of the violin?
The instrument had surely laid up a story in its hollow breast, had been dreaming over it all the time it lay hidden away in the closet, and was now telling out its dreams about the old times in the ear of the listening boy.

To him also it began to assume something of that mystery and life which had such a softening, and, for the moment at least, elevating influence on his master.
At length the love of the violin had grown upon him so, that he could not but cast about how he might enjoy more of its company.

It would not do, for many reasons, to go oftener to the shoemaker's, especially now that the days were getting longer.

Nor was that what he wanted.
He wanted opportunity for practice.

He wanted to be alone with the creature, to see if she would not say something more to him than she had ever said yet.