Often he would not play
when he was asked, but he would play for hours by himself, when he
thought that no one was listening. His father brought his friend the
musician to hear him, and he said that it was wonderful. He had never
heard the fiddle played so well. Nobody had ever heard the fiddle
played so well.
And Kathleen never cared to hear Terence play. She did hear him play,
many times, of course, and she listened politely, but she told her
grandmother that she did not care about it at all. She would much
rather hear the poor fiddler of the little orchestra, who had come
from their county in Ireland. Their neighbor the fiddler himself was
as much shocked as anyone to hear Kathleen talk like this. "Did you
ever hear anybody play the fiddle like Terence plays it?" he asked
her, when she said something of the sort to him.
"No," Kathleen answered. "I never heard anybody play it like Terence,
but I have heard some play it better than Terence. You play it
better."
"Oh, child," he said, "I'ld give all the money I'll be earning in the
next ten years if I could play like he does.
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