Creative Books

"Lord, sir," said a farmer, who was standing by, "he's gone to get
drunk; he is the biggest old drunkard in the countryside, and yet they
do say he was gentleman once, and the best fiddler in London; but he
can't be depended on, so no one will hire him now."
"How sad," said Angela, as they moved homewards.
"Yes, and what music that was; I never heard any with such imagination
before. You have a turn that way, Angela; you should try to put it
into words, it would make a poem."
"I complain like the old man, that you set a difficult subject," she
said; "but I will try, if you will promise not to laugh at the
result."
"If you succeed on paper only half so well as he did on the violin,
your verses will be worth listening to, and I certainly shall not
laugh."

CHAPTER XXV
On the following day the somewhat curious religious conversation
between Arthur and Angela--a conversation which, begun on Arthur's
part out of curiosity, had ended on both sides very much in earnest--
the weather broke up and the grand old English climate reasserted its
treacherous supremacy.


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