Comstock had followed them,
and was standing on the trail, where she could not have helped hearing
everything Elnora had said.
So to Philip before her and the mother watching on the trail, Elnora
played the Song of the Limberlost. It seemed as if the swamp hushed all
its other voices and spoke only through her dancing bow. The mother out
on the trail had heard it all, once before from the girl, many times
from her father. To the man it was a revelation. He stood so stunned he
forgot Mrs. Comstock. He tried to realize what a city audience would
say to that music, from such a player, with a similar background, and he
could not imagine.
He was wondering what he dared say, how much he might express, when
the last note fell and the girl laid the violin in the case, closed the
door, locked it and hid the key in the rotting wood at the end of a log.
Then she came to him. Philip stood looking at her curiously.
"I wonder," he said, "what people would say to that?"
"I played that in public once," said Elnora. "I think they liked it,
fairly well. I had a note yesterday offering me the leadership of the
high school orchestra in Onabasha. I can take it as well as not. None of
my talks to the grades come the first thing in the morning. I can play
a few minutes in the orchestra and reach the rooms in plenty of time.
It will be more work that I love, and like finding the money. I would
gladly play for nothing, merely to be able to express myself.
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