Part 9 (2/2)

Then she turned to Ulric, who was standing in the doorway, half dazzled by the brightness of the pretty room into which he was ushered after the darker hall, and still more confused by his intense anxiety to please the graceful lady who was greeting him so kindly, and to win the liking of the child he was to teach. But Basil's mother's pleasant manner soon set him at his ease, and in a minute or two he was opening the violin cases and discussing which would be the right size for the boy. Basil gazed and listened in silence. At the first glance Herr Wildermann had felt a little disappointed. His new pupil was not certainly a poetical looking child! His short st.u.r.dy figure and round rosy face spoke of the perfection of hearty boyish life, but nothing more. But his breathless eagerness, the intense interest in his eyes--most of all the look in his face as he listened to a little caprice which Ulric played on his own violin as a sort of introduction to the lesson, soon made the musician change his opinion.

”He has it--he has the musician's soul. One can see it!” he half said, half whispered to Lady Iltyd, though he had the good sense to understand what might have seemed a little cold in her answer.

”I think Basil truly loves music,” she said, ”but you will join with me, I am sure, Herr Wildermann, in telling him that to be a musician at all, to play _well_ above all, takes much patience and perseverance. Nothing in this world can be done without trouble, can it?”

”Ah no,” said Herr Wildermann, ”that is true.”

But Basil, whose fingers were fidgeting to touch at last the violin and dainty bow, said nothing.

”I will leave you,” said his mother. ”I think you will find it better to be alone with Basil, Herr Wildermann.”

And she left the room.

She listened with some anxiety to the sounds which now and then made their way to the room where she sat writing. Sweet clear sounds occasionally from the master's violin, but mingled, it must be confessed, with others the reverse of musical. Squeakings and gruntings, and a dreadful sort of sc.r.a.ping whine, not to be described in words.

”My poor Basil,” thought his mother, though it was a little difficult not to smile at a _most_ unearthly shriek that just then reached her ears. ”I hope he is not losing his temper already.”

But she waited quietly till the sounds ceased. Then came the soft sweet notes of a melody which she knew well, played by Herr Wildermann alone; and a few minutes after she saw among the trees the tall thin figure of the young German, laden with but two violins this time as he made his way down the avenue.

She waited a minute or two to see if Basil would come to her. Then, as he did not, she returned to the morning room where he had had his lesson. He was still there, standing by the window, but she was pleased to hear as she went in that he was humming to himself the air that Ulric had played last.

”Well, Basil?” she said, ”and how did you get on?”

The boy turned round--there was a mixture of expressions on his face. A rather dewy look about his eyes made his mother wonder for a moment if he had been crying. But when he spoke it was so cheerfully that she thought she must have been mistaken.

”He plays _so_ beautifully, mother,” he said.

”Yes,” she replied. ”I knew he did. I heard him one day at Mrs.

Marchcote's, and I listened this morning.”

”You listened, mother?” he said. ”Did you hear how awfully it squeaked with me?”

”Of course,” said Lady Iltyd, in a matter-of-fact way; ”it is always so at first.”

Basil seemed relieved.

”Yes,” he said, ”_he_ said so too. But I don't mind. He says I shall very soon be able to make it sound prettily--to get nice _sounds_, you know, even before I can play tunes, if----” and Basil hesitated.

”If what?”

”If I practise a lot. But I think I shall. It's rather fun after all, and I do so like to have that ducky little violin in my arms. It does feel so jolly,” and he turned with sparkling eyes again to the dainty little case containing his new treasure.

His mother was pleased. The first brunt of disappointment which she was sure Basil had felt, whether he owned to it or not, had pa.s.sed off better than she had expected.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BASIL'S VIOLIN

<script>