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ye； ye wadna speyk like that。 Jist lat me sit an' leuk at ye。 I
want nae mair。'
A smile broke up the cold； sad； gray light of the young eagle…face。
Stern at once and gentle when in repose； its smile was as the
summer of some lovely land where neither the heat nor the sun shall
smite them。 The youth laid his hand upon the boy's head； then
withdrew it hastily； and the smile vanished like the sun behind a
cloud。 Robert saw it； and as if he had been David before Saul； rose
instinctively and said；
'I'll gang for my fiddle。Hoots！ I hae broken ane o' the strings。
We maun bide till the morn。 But I want nae fiddle mysel' whan I
hear the great water oot there。'
'You're young yet； my boy； or you might hear voices in that water！
I've lived in the sound of it all my days。 When I can't rest at
night； I hear a moaning and crying in the dark； and I lie and listen
till I can't tell whether I'm a man or some God…forsaken sea in the
sunless north。'
'Sometimes I believe in naething but my fiddle；' answered Robert。
'Yes； yes。 But when it comes into you； my boy！ You won't hear much
music in the cry of the sea after that。 As long as you've got it at
arm's length； it's all very well。 It's interesting then； and you
can talk to your fiddle about it； and make poetry about it；' said
Ericson； with a smile of self…contempt。 'But as soon as the real
earnest comes that is all over。 The sea…moan is the cry of a
tortured world then。 Its hollow bed is the cup of the world's pain；
ever rolling from side to side and dashing over its lip。 Of all
that might be； ought to be； nothing to be had！I could get music
out of it once。 Look here。 I could trifle like that once。'
He half rose； then dropped on his chair。 But Robert's believing
eyes justified confidence； and Ericson had never had any one to talk
to。 He rose again； opened a cupboard at his side； took out some
papers； threw them on the table； and； taking his hat； walked towards
the door。
'Which of your strings is broken？' he asked。
'The third；' answered Robert。
'I will get you one；' said Ericson； and before Robert could reply he
was down the stair。 Robert heard him cough； then the door shut； and
he was gone in the rain and fog。
Bewildered； unhappy； ready to fly after him； yet irresolute； Robert
almost mechanically turned over the papers upon the little deal
table。 He was soon arrested by the following verses； headed
A NOONDAY MELODY。
Everything goes to its rest；
The hills are asleep in the noon；
And life is as still in its nest
As the moon when she looks on a moon
In the depths of a calm river's breast
As it steals through a midnight in June。
The streams have forgotten the sea
In the dream of their musical sound；
The sunlight is thick on the tree；
And the shadows lie warm on the ground
So still； you may watch them and see
Every breath that awakens around。
The churchyard lies still in the heat；
With its handful of mouldering bone；
As still as the long stalk of wheat
In the shadow that sits by the stone；
As still as the grass at my feet
When I walk in the meadows alone。
The waves are asleep on the main；
And the ships are asleep on the wave；
And the thoughts are as still in my brain
As the echo that sleeps in the cave；
All rest from their labour and pain
Then why should not I in my grave？
His heart ready to burst with a sorrow； admiration； and devotion；
which no criticism interfered to qualify； Robert rushed out into the
darkness； and sped； fleet…footed； along the only path which Ericson
could have taken。 He could not bear to be left in the house while
his friend was out in the rain。
He was sure of joining him before he reached the new town； for he
was fleet…footed； and there was a path only on one side of the way；
so that there was no danger of passing him in the dark。 As he ran
he heard the moaning of the sea。 There must be a storm somewhere；
away in the deep spaces of its dark bosom； and its lips muttered of
its far unrest。 When the sun rose it would be seen misty and gray；
tossing about under the one rain cloud that like a thinner ocean
overspread the heavenstossing like an animal that would fain lie
down and be at peace but could not compose its unwieldy strength。
Suddenly Robert slackened his speed； ceased running； stood； gazed
through the darkness at a figure a few yards before him。
An old wall； bowed out with age and the weight behind it； flanked
the road in this part。 Doors in this wall； with a few steps in
front of them and more behind； led up into gardens upon a slope； at
the top of which stood the houses to which they belonged。 Against
one of these doors the figure stood with its head bowed upon its
hands。 When Robert was within a few feet； it descended and went on。
'Mr。 Ericson！' exclaimed Robert。 'Ye'll get yer deith gin ye stan'
that gait i' the weet。'
'Amen；' said Ericson； turning with a smile that glimmered wan
through the misty night。 Then changing his tone； he went on： 'What
are you after； Robert？'
'You；' answered Robert。 'I cudna bide to be left my lane whan I
micht be wi' ye a' the timegin ye wad lat me。 Ye war oot o' the
hoose afore I weel kent what ye was aboot。 It's no a fit nicht for
ye to be oot at a'； mair by token 'at ye're no the ablest to stan'
cauld an' weet。'
'I've stood a great deal of both in my time；' returned Ericson； 'but
come along。 We'll go and get that fiddle…string。'
'Dinna ye think it wad be fully better to gang hame？' Robert
ventured to suggest。
'What would be the use？ I'm in no mood for Plato to…night；' he
answered； trying hard to keep from shivering。
'Ye hae an ill cauld upo' ye；' persisted Robert； 'an' ye maun be as
weet 's a dishcloot。'
Ericson laugheda strange； hollow laugh。
'Come along；' he said。 'A walk will do me good。 We'll get the
string； and then you shall play to me。 That will do me more good
yet。'
Robert ceased opposing him； and they walked together to the new
town。 Robert bought the string； and they set out； as he thought； to
return。
But not yet did Ericson seem inclined to go home。 He took the lead；
and they emerged upon the quay。
There were not many vessels。 One of them was the Antwerp tub；
already known to Robert。 He recognized her even in the dull light
of the quay lamps。 Her captain being a prudent and well…to…do
Dutchman； never slept on shore； he preferred saving his money； and
therefore； as the friends passed； Robert caught sight of him walking
his own deck and smoking a long clay pipe before turning in。
'A fine nicht； capt'n；' said Robert。
'It does rain；' returned the captain。 'Will you come on board and
have one schnapps before you turn in？'
'I hae a frien' wi' me here；' said Robert； feeling his way。
'Let him come and be welcomed。'
Ericson making no objection； they went on board； and down into the
neat little cabin； which was all the roomier for the straightness of
the vessel's quarter。 The captain got out a square；
coffin…shouldered bottle； and having respect to the condition of
their garments； neither of the young men refused his hospitality；
though Robert did feel a little compunction at the thought of the
horror it would have caused his grandmother。 Then the Dutchman got
out his violin and asked Robert to play a Scotch air。 But in the
middle of it his eyes fell on Ericson； and he stopped at once。
Ericson was sitting on a locker； leaning back against the side of
the vessel： his eyes were open and fixed； and he seemed quite
unconscious of what was passing。 Robert fancied at first that the
hollands he had taken had gone to his head； but he saw at the same
moment； from his glass； that he had scarcely tasted the spirit。 In
great alarm they tried to rouse him； and at length succeeded。 He
closed his eyes； opened them again； rose up； and was going away。
'What's the maitter wi' ye； Mr。 Ericson？' said Robert； in distress。
'Nothing； nothing；' answered Ericson； in a strange voice。 'I fell
asleep； I believe。 It was very bad manners； captain。 I beg your
pardon。 I believe I am overtired。'
The Dutchman was as kind as possible； and begged Ericson to stay the
night and occupy his berth。 But he insisted on going home； although
he was clearly unfit for such a walk。 They bade the skipper
good…night； went on shore； and set out； Ericson leaning rather
heavily upon Robert's arm。 Robert led him up Marischal Street。
The steep ascent was too much for Ericson。 He stood still upon the
bridge and leaned over the wall of it。 Robert stood beside； almost
in despair about getting him home。
'Have patience with me； Robert；' said Ericson； in his natural voice。
'I shall be better presently。 I don't know what's come to me。 If I
had been a Celt now； I should have said I had a touch of the second
s