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Chronicles of Avonlea | Lucy Maud Montgomery | |
III. Each In His Own Tongue |
Page 3 of 15 |
"And I love him," said Felix warmly. "I love him so much that I'll even try to be a minister for his sake, though I don't want to be." "What do you want to be?" "A great violinist," answered the child, his ivory-hued face suddenly warming into living rose. "I want to play to thousands--and see their eyes look as yours do when I play. Sometimes your eyes frighten me, but oh, it's a splendid fright! If I had father's violin I could do better. I remember that he once said it had a soul that was doing purgatory for its sins when it had lived on earth. I don't know what he meant, but it did seem to me that HIS violin was alive. He taught me to play on it as soon as I was big enough to hold it." "Did you love your father?" asked old Abel, with a keen look. Again Felix crimsoned; but he looked straightly and steadily into his old friend's face. "No," he said, "I didn't; but," he added, gravely and deliberately, "I don't think you should have asked me such a question." It was old Abel's turn to blush. Carmody people would not have believed he could blush; and perhaps no living being could have called that deepening hue into his weather-beaten cheek save only this gray-eyed child of the rebuking face. |
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Chronicles of Avonlea Lucy Maud Montgomery |
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