human
No, Antone, I have told thee many times, no, thou shalt not sell it until I am gone.
gpt
But I need money; what good is that old fiddle to thee? The very crows laugh at thee when thou art trying to play. Thy hand trembles so thou canst scarce hold the bow. Thou shalt go with me to the Blue to cut wood to-morrow. See to it thou art up early.
human
What, on the Sabbath, Antone, when it is so cold? I get so very cold, my son, let us not go to-morrow.
gpt
Yes, to-morrow, thou lazy old man. Do not I cut wood upon the Sabbath? Care I how cold it is? Wood thou shalt cut, and haul it too, and as for the fiddle, I tell thee I will sell it yet. Antone pulled his ragged cap down over his low heavy brow, and went out. The old man drew his stool up nearer the fire, and sat stroking his violin with trembling fingers and muttering,
human
Not while I live, not while I live.