“And you don’t like to practice!” Grandma exclaimed in surprise when Bobby told her why he did not like to take violin lessons. “But you’ll have to practice, you know, or you will never learn to play. I knew a boy once, who dearly liked to practice. I think I’ll tell you about him. It was my brother Charlie. Charlie had wanted a violin ever since he was just a little bit of a fellow and had first heard old Mr. Potter play on his violin.
“Mr. Potter was a traveling tailor who went around the country making and mending men’s clothing. He carried his goods from place to place in pack saddles, and he always brought his violin along.
“In the evenings he would play, and we all loved to hear him. He played beautifully. All Charlie and I had ever heard before were things like ‘Pop goes the Weasel,’ or ‘Turkey in the Straw.’ There was such a difference between these tunes and what Mr. Potter played that the first time Charlie heard him play—‘Annie Laurie,’ I think it was—he walked up to him and said very solemnly, ‘I like a violin better than a fiddle,’ and everybody laughed.
“Years before, Mr. Potter had had a thriving trade, but when I knew him he did not get much to do because store suits for men had become common. Mother always found some work for him, though, and in his spare time he gave violin lessons.
“He was in our neighborhood several weeks each spring, and one winter Charlie determined to have a violin and be ready to take lessons when he came next time.
“So right away he began to save money for a violin. But there wasn’t much Charlie could do to earn money, and it looked as though he would never get enough for a violin, let alone enough for an instruction book and lessons. But he did get the violin, and this is how it came about.
“It was one of the coldest winters anyone remembered in years. A deep snow lay on the ground for weeks and weeks, and the roads were frozen hard and as smooth as glass.
“There was a sawmill about eight miles down the road from our house, and every day we could see men passing on their way to the mill with logs. Big iron hooks called ‘dogs’ would be driven into the logs and fastened to a heavy chain which would be hitched to a single-tree, and the log would be dragged over the smooth road by one horse. It was an easy way to get logs to the mill, and every one was hurrying to haul as many as possible before the thaw came.
“I like a violin better than a fiddle,” said Charlie to Mr. Potter
“Father had cut one big walnut log when he had been called to serve on jury duty and had gone to Clayville to attend court. Before he went, Charlie asked him what he would do with that one log and Father told Charlie he could have it. Charlie could hardly believe his ears and he asked Father whether he really meant that he could have the money for the log if he could get it to the mill. Father said that was what he meant, but afterward he told Mother he never dreamed Charlie would try to do it.
“But from the first Charlie intended to move that walnut log to the mill. He thought of nothing else. He made plan after plan. He found out from the storekeeper that the man who owned the sawmill came to the store Saturday afternoons to buy supplies for the next week. So when Charlie and I went to the store for Mother on the next Saturday we sat by the stove to warm ourselves and wait for the sawmill man. When he came, Charlie asked him whether he would buy the walnut log.
“‘Well, that depends,’ said the man, looking Charlie over good-naturedly. ‘I’m not anxious to lay in any more logs than we’ve bargained for. We’re going to move Wednesday.’ Then when he saw the disappointment on Charlie’s face he asked, ‘Pretty good log, is it?’
“‘Oh, yes, sir,’ said Charlie eagerly. ‘My father said when he cut it that it was first grade—woods-grown, ten or twelve feet long.’
“‘Well, if that’s the case, I reckon I could use it,’ said the man. ‘Be sure to have it in by Tuesday, though.’
“We went home by way of Mr. Brierly’s, and Charlie got permission to borrow his logging chain and ‘dogs,’ as they were called. We stopped to look at the log, and Charlie declared he could get it to the mill without any trouble. He could have, too, if it hadn’t been for the thaw.
“Sunday was the longest day Charlie ever put in. Sometimes he would get discouraged and think he couldn’t do it at all. Then the next minute he would be talking about the kind of violin he would get with the money the log would bring. Father had come home for over Sunday and he would help him get started, the older boys being away from home.
“Sunday, after dinner, the weather turned slightly warmer, and by four o’clock a gentle rain was falling. When Charlie got up long before daylight Monday morning, Mother told him that it had rained hard all night. He fed the horse and ate his breakfast, and Father helped him drive the hooks or dogs into the log. Then Charlie was off.
“He got the log as far as Sugar Creek without any trouble, and there what a sight met his eyes! Sugar Creek was out of bank, and the shallow stream, easily forded the year round, was like an angry, rushing little river filled with cakes of ice. To ford it was clearly impossible till the ice went out, and even then the current would be rapid and dangerous. There was nothing to do but wait, and Charlie unhitched the horse and came back home. It was still raining and thawing and it didn’t get any better all that day. The next morning, though, the creek was clear of ice, which was some advantage.
“I went with Charlie and sat on the log, feeling very helpless while he walked up and down the creek bank trying to think of some way to get the log across. The current was so strong that, though the horse could swim it, he could not swim and drag the heavy log along.
“Charlie examined the foot-log carefully and found that it had not been moved by the high water, being chained at each bank to a big tree. Then he made his plan. He fastened some strong rope he had brought along to the chain which went around the walnut log. Holding the other end of the rope, he got on the horse and made him swim to the opposite bank. Then he fastened the rope at that side to the single-tree and urged the horse up the bank.
“The horse tugged and pulled and finally the log moved slowly down into the water. Now came the test of Charlie’s plan. If the foot-log proved strong enough to withstand the jar it would get when the walnut log hit it, everything would be all right; but if the foot-log gave way, Charlie would have to cut the rope quickly to keep the horse from being drawn back into the water, and the walnut log would float down stream and be lost.
“I almost held my breath when the walnut log, sucked rapidly down the stream by the swift current, struck the foot-log. I shut my eyes tight and did not open them until I heard Charlie shouting for joy. The foot-log hadn’t budged! Because of the high water Charlie thought it would be easy for the horse to pull the log out on the ground, but the log stuck on something under the water. Charlie couldn’t raise the log up, and he had to let it slide back into the water. It slid back several times before it finally came out on the road.
“It was nearly noon and Charlie was wet to the waist, so he went back home to change his clothes and get a fresh horse. After dinner he started out again. He got to the mill all right and sold the log, and when he reached home late that night he had money enough for a violin.
“When Father heard about it, he was so proud of him that he doubled the money. So Charlie had more than enough for his lessons and his instruction book, too.”
“And did he really like to practice?” asked Bobby unbelievingly.
“Yes, indeed, and he came to be a fine violinist and owned a violin that cost a great deal of money, but he always kept that first one, too.
“There! Mother’s calling you to bed.”