He 's crying in there this minute . Come now , Jimmy , dry up . Here 's Ted come to stop with you after all , and he 's brought his fiddle , too . '' Jimmy 's tears were soon dried , and he welcomed Ted joyfully . `` I 've been thinking awful long to hear you fiddling , '' said Jimmy , with a sigh of content . `` Seems like the ache ai n't never half so bad when I 'm listening to music -- and when it 's your music , I forget there 's any ache at all . '' Ted took his violin and began to play . After all , it was almost as good as a picnic to have a whole afternoon for his music . The stuffy little room , with its dingy plaster and shabby furniture , was filled with wonderful harmonies . Once he began , Ted could play for hours at a stretch and never be conscious of fatigue . Jimmy lay and listened in rapturous content while Ted 's violin sang and laughed and dreamed and rippled . There was another listener besides Jimmy . Outside , on the red sandstone doorstep , a man was sitting -- a tall , well-dressed man with a pale , beautiful face and long , supple white hands . Motionless , he sat there and listened to the music until at last it stopped . Then he rose and knocked at the door . Ted , violin in hand , opened it . An expression of amazement flashed into the stranger 's face , but he only said , `` Is Mrs. Ross at home ? '' `` No , sir , '' said Ted shyly . `` She went over to White Sands and she wo n't be back till night . But Jimmy is here -- Jimmy is her little boy .
Will you come XXXXX ? ''
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