And when we had listened a moment, our eyes wide with wonder, he would turn and say in a low, half-whispered tone: ''S a swift' I suppose we needed more the fear of God, but the young children of the pioneer needed also the fear of the woods or they would have strayed to their death in them.
A big bass viol, taller than himself, had long been the solace of his Sundays.

After he had shaved--a ceremony so solemn that it seemed a rite of his religion--that sacred viol was uncovered.

He carried it sometimes to the back piazza and sometimes to the barn, where the horses shook and trembled at the roaring thunder of the strings.

When he began playing we children had to get well out of the way, and keep our distance.

I remember now the look of him, then--his thin face, his soft black eyes, his long nose, the suit of broadcloth, the stock and standing collar and, above all, the solemnity in his manner when that big devil of a thing was leaning on his breast.
As to his playing I have never heard a more fearful sound in any time of peace or one less creditable to a Christian.