He even anticipated seeing Crawley foaming at the mouth knowing what a vile temper the greasy old wretch was said to possess. Fearing that Amos might be in danger of rough handling, Teddy gripped the gun he held, and instantly resolved to block that little game, if it were tried.
Crawley, it is true, came into the cabin with the impetuosity of a hurricane, and his hard face was indeed working with some sort of emotion, but it was far from anger.
Indeed, the man seemed to be quivering with eagerness, and the hand he stretched out toward the boy on the floor was more indicative of pleading than wrath.
Crawley was at that moment fairly transformed. Deep down in his rough soul he must have had a natural love for music which, owing to his clumsiness and lack of education could never find an adequate outlet. Old sinner that he was, probably he had stood many a time and listened as if charmed, to some song bird in the brush; and even the cheery call of the bobolink, heard in the early Spring, may have had the power to make him look up and listen, when in the act of taking a mink or a muskrat from his traps.
Teddy saw this, and greatly marveled. He realized that every day he lived it was possible for him to learn something new. Because a man might be rough and uncouth, and perhaps even lawless in his way of living, was no evidence that he might not have a streak of good deep down in his nature.
In Crawley it was perhaps this passion for music; but Teddy guessed it was so very deep down, that it was hardly likely to do himself, or any one else in the world, any good.
Teddy did not move, nor did Dolph. They could not have done so, even had they wanted, so enthralled did that strange scene hold them.
No one looked toward the window, fortunately, and consequently the presence there of the two peeping canoe boys was not discovered.
Of course, this sudden coming of Crawley upon the scene had created a diversion. The girl started up with a little cry of grief, as though bewailing the possible finish of her pleasure. Hearing all this, Amos, too, ceased to draw his bow across the strings, and as the music abruptly ceased, he opened his eyes.
“Go on, consarn ye!” exclaimed Crawley, in a voice that fairly trembled with eagerness, “keep right along wid yer fiddlin’ I tell yer. Don’t yer _dar’_ ter stop jest thar—finish that piece like ye was a-doin’! By glory! ain’t I been a-tryin’ ter git the second part o’ that Traveler tune this ten months, an’ allers swingin’ right around inter the fust half agin. Go on, boy, play it all ther way through, I tells yer! I’m jest fairly wild ter hear how she goes. By gum—but ye _kin_ make thet ole fiddle o’ mine talk some. Ye jest fair seem ter burn the strings wid yer bow. I ain’t never herd sech music. Go on! Go on, boy, play!”