A side remark here may be of interest to those readers who enjoy
the dream that on some fortunate day they will invade a lonely
nook, where amid dust and cobwebs, neglected because unrecognized,
reposes a masterpiece of Stradivari or some other great fiddle-
maker. Oncle Jazon knew nothing whatever about old violins. He was
a natural musician, that was all, and flung himself upon his
fiddle with the same passionate abandon that characterizes a
healthy boy's assault when a plum pudding is at his mercy. But his
fiddle was a Carlo Bergonzi; and now let the search be renewed,
for the precious instrument was certainly still in Vincennes as
late as 1819, and there is a vague tradition that Governor
Whitcomb played on it not long before he died. The mark by which
it may be identified is the single word "Jazon" cut in the back of
its neck by Oncle Jazon himself.
When their dance was ended Alice and Beverley followed the others
of their set out into the open air while a fresh stream of eager
dancers poured in. Beverley insisted upon wrapping Alice in her
mantle of unlined beaver skin against the searching winter breath.
They did not go to the fire, but walked back and forth, chatting
until their turn to dance should come again, pausing frequently to
exchange pleasantries with some of the people. Curiously enough
both of them had forgotten the fact that other young men would be
sure to ask Alice for a dance, and that more than one pretty
creole lass was rightfully expecting a giddy turn with the
stalwart and handsome Lieutenant Beverley.
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