that his life was saved; but to Phratos they only gave such
burial as the corby gives the stricken deer,
" It is only a gypsy; let him lie," they said; and they
left him there, and the snoAv kept him.
His viol they robbed him of, and cast it as a plaything to
their children. But the children could make no melody
from its dumb strings.
For the viol was faithful; and its music was dead too.
And his own land and his oAvn people knew him never
again; and never again at evening Avas the voice of his viol
heard in the stillness; and neA^er again did the young men
and maidens dance to his bidding, and the tears and the
laughter rise and fall at his Avill, and the beasts and the
birds frisk and sing at his coming, and the children in his
footsteps cry:—" Lo, it is summer, since Phratos is here 1"