On his way to the farmhouse, Philip ascertained that his companion's name was Abner Webb, and that he and his brother Jonas carried on a farm of about a hundred acres. Abner appeared to be about twenty-five years old.

“You seem pretty young to be a fiddler,” said the young man, surveying Philip with a glance of curiosity.

“I am almost sixteen.”

“I am twenty-five, and I can't play at all.”

“It isn't all in the age,” returned our hero. “Did you ever try to learn?”

“Yes, I took one or two lessons, but I had to give it up for a bad job. I couldn't get into it somehow.”

“You didn't try very long,” said Philip, smiling.

“I reckon I'd never do much at it. How long have you been a fiddler?”

“I've been playing three or four years.”

“Sho! You don't say so! Do you like it?”

“Yes; very much.”

“Well, I'm glad you happened along. It would have been a pity to have our dance spoiled.”

By this time they had reached the farmhouse, and Abner went in, followed by our hero.

A young woman, his brother's wife, looked at Philip in some surprise.

“You see, I've got a fiddler, after all,” said Abner gleefully. “We won't have to put off the dance.”

As he spoke, his brother Jonas came into the room, and the explanation was repeated.

“That's good,” said Jonas heartily. “You'd better go down to the store after supper, Abner, and tell the boys, for they've just heard that Paul Beck can't come.”

“You just save me some supper, and I'll go now. The boy'll stay with us to-night. That's the bargain I made with him.”

“He's heartily welcome,” said Jonas Webb, a pleasant-faced man, with sandy complexion, who was probably from two to three years older than his brother. “You've happened along just at the right time.”

“I am glad of it,” said Philip; and there is no doubt he was sincere, for we know how much he stood in need of employment, though he naturally did not care to let his new friends know of his destitution.

“My brother didn't tell me your name,” said Jonas.

“My name is Philip Gray,” answered our hero.

“Do you go round playing for dances?” inquired Jonas.

“I have only just begun.”

Philip didn't think it necessary to say that the idea of making money in this way had never occurred to him till this very day.

“Sit right up to supper, Jonas, and you, too, Mr. Gray,” said Mrs. Webb.

Philip was by no means loath, for the dishes which he saw on the table had had the effect of stimulating his appetite, already sharpened by his long walk and long fast.

Philip, as the guest, was first helped to a bountiful supply of cold meat, a hot biscuit, and some golden butter, not to mention two kinds of preserves, for the Webbs always lived well. He was not slow in doing justice to the good supper spread before him. He was almost afraid to eat as much as he wanted, lest his appetite should attract attention, and, therefore, was pleased to see that Jonas quite kept pace with him.

Indeed, when he had already eaten as much as he dared, Mrs. Webb said, hospitably:

“I am afraid, Mr. Gray, you won't make out a supper.”

“I don't think there is any danger of that,” said Philip, smiling. “I have enjoyed my supper very much.”

The young woman looked gratified by this tribute to her cooking, and just then Abner came in.

“Did you see the boys, Abner?” asked Jonas.

“Yes, I saw them all. They were awfully glad we could have the dance, after all. You see, we've been lookin' forward to it, and didn't like to be disappointed. And now I must hurry down my supper, for I've got to slick up and go for Mary Ann Temple. Are you goin', Lucy?”

“Of course she is,” answered Jonas. “I don't have so far to go for my girl as you do,” he added slyly.

“You used to go farther once, Jonas—six miles, where I have only to go two.”

When supper was over, Philip inquired:

“How early will the dance commence?”

“About eight. We keep early hours in the country, and we like to get our money's worth.”

“If you have no objection, I will go out to the barn and try my violin a little to see if it is in good tune.”

“Try it in the next room,” said the farmer's wife.

“Yes, do!” said her husband. “We'd like to hear you.”

He was a little afraid, judging from Philip's youth, that he could not play very well, and this would give him an opportunity of deciding how competent the boy was to take the place of Paul Beck, of Pomfret, who had quite a reputation in the towns around.

Philip went into the next room and began to prepare himself for his evening's task. Though lus training had by no means been confined to dancing-tunes, he was quite proficient in that department, having more than once been called upon in Norton to officiate in a similar capacity.

When Jonas had listened for five minutes to Philip, he turned to Abner with a satisfied look.

“He understands his business,” he said, nodding with emphasis. “He ain't no new beginner.”

“I think he beats Paul Beck,” said Abner, delighted to find his choice approved.

“I don't know but he does. I feel as if I wanted to start off now.”

“I don't see how he does it,” said Abner, with a puzzled look. “I never could do anything at it, though I'm almost twice as old.”

He passed into the room where Philip was practising.

“You're a tip-top player,” said he, to Philip admiringly. “Why, you beat Paul Beck.”

“Is he the one you expected to have?”

“Yes. Paul's got a big name for fiddlin'.”

“I am glad you like my playing,” said Philip, who was naturally pleased to find that he was likely to give satisfaction in his new business.

“The boys will be pleased, I can tell you.”

“I will do all I can to give them satisfaction,” said Philip modestly.

“Oh, you will! there's no doubt about that. How much did you pay for your fiddle?”

“I believe it cost twenty-five dollars. My father gave it to me.”

“Sho! I didn't think fiddles cost so much.”

“Some cost a great deal more.”

“Seems a good deal to lay out, but you'll get your money back, if you can get enough to do.”

“I hope so.”

“Well, you must excuse me now. I've got to slick up, and go after Mary Ann Temple. She'd have been awfully disappointed if we'd had to give it up.”

“Is she fond of dancing?”

“You'd better believe she is. Why, that girl could dance for four hours stiddy—without wiltin'!”

“How late do you keep it up?”

“Till eleven or twelve. You won't be sleepy, will you?”

“If I am, I will get up later to-morrow morning.”

“That's all right. You can get up jest as late as you like. Lucy will save you some breakfast. We don't allow no one to go hungry here. But I must be off. You will go to the hall along with Jonas and Lucy. They'll introduce you round and see that you are taken care of.” Philip congratulated himself on being so well provided for, at least for one night. The future was uncertain, but with the money which he was to receive for his services, he would be able to get along for two or three days, and he might, perhaps, if successful, obtain another similar engagement.

He had a new reason for being thankful that Squire Pope had not succeeded in depriving him of his violin, for this was likely to prove a breadwinner.

He continued to practice till it was time to go over to the hall.