There was a fugue, a wonderful finale, and while the concluding notes rang in their ears the old man laid his violin in his lap, leaned back against his cushions and heaved a deep sigh.
They forebore disturbing him for a while.

How strange it seemed that this really talented musician should be banished to a wilderness while still possessing power to stir the souls of men with his marvelous execution.

Truly he was a "maestro," as he had said; a genius whose star had risen, flashed across the sky and suddenly faded, leaving his future a blank.
Wampus moved uneasily in his chair.
"I like to know something," he remarked.
Dan'l roused himself and turned to look at the speaker.
"You have one bad eye," continued Wampus, reflectively.

"What make him so?
You stick violin bow in eye some day ?" "No," grunted Dan'l.
"Bad eye he no make himself," persisted the little chauffeur.

"What make him, then ?" For a moment there was an awkward silence.