The thought had at once
come to him of how the New York papers once in a while print a story of
the accidental finding in it of a wonderful voice--in New York, where
you can find everything that is human. He recalled throughout the
history of music instances in which some one of the world's famous
singers had been picked up on life's road where it was roughest. Was
anything like this now to become his own experience? Falling on his ear
was an unmistakable gift of song, a wandering, haunting, unidentified
note under that early April blue. He had never heard anything like it.
It was a singing soul.
Voice alone did not suffice for his purpose; the singer's face,
personality, manners, some unfortunate strain in the blood, might debar
the voice, block its acceptance, ruin everything. He almost dreaded to
walk on, to explore what was ahead. But his road led that way, and three
steps brought him around the woody bend of it.
There he stopped again. In an embrasure of rock on which vines were
turning green, a little fellow, seasoned by wind and sun, with a
countenance open and friendly, like the sky, was pouring out his full
heart.
The instant the man came into view, the song was broken off. The sturdy
figure started up and sprang forward with the instinct of business.
Pages:
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31