Free The Grass Harp by Truman Capote

with an anxiety that struck us simultaneously, the Judge and I stood up and started yelling his name. Our voices, curving slowly around the woods, again, again swung back on silence. I knew what had happened: he’d fallen into an old Indian well—many’s the case I could tell you of. I was about to suggest this when abruptly the Judge put a finger to his lips. The man must have had ears like a dog: I couldn’t hear a sound. But he was right, there was someone on the path. It turned out to be Maude Riordan and Riley’s older sister, the smart one, Elizabeth. They were very dear friends and wore white matching sweaters. Elizabeth was carrying a violin case.
    “Look here, Elizabeth,” said the Judge, startling the girls, for as yet they had not discovered us. “Look here, child, have you seen your brother?”
    Maude recovered first, and it was she who answered. “We sure have,” she said emphatically. “I was walking Elizabeth home from her lesson when Riley came along doing ninety miles an hour; nearly ran us over. You should speak to him, Elizabeth.Anyway, he asked us to come down here and tell you not to worry, said he’d explain everything later. Whatever that means.”
    Both Maude and Elizabeth had been in my class at school; they’d jumped a grade and graduated the previous June. I knew Maude especially well because for a summer I’d taken piano lessons from her mother; her father taught violin, and Elizabeth Henderson was one of his pupils. Maude herself played the violin beautifully; just a week before I’d read in the town paper where she’d been invited to play on a radio program in Birmingham: I was glad to hear it. The Riordans were nice people, considerate and cheerful. It was not because I wanted to learn piano that I took lessons with Mrs. Riordan—rather, I liked her blond largeness, the sympathetic, educated talk that went on while we sat before the splendid upright that smelled of polish and attention; and what I particularly liked was afterwards, when Maude would ask me to have a lemonade on the cool back porch. She was snub-nosed and elfin-eared, a skinny excitable girl who from her father had inherited Irish black eyes and from her mother platinum hair pale as morning—not the least like her best friend, the soulful and shadowy Elizabeth. I don’t know what those two talked about, books and music maybe. But with me Maude’s subjects were boys, dates, drugstore slander: didn’t I think it was terrible, the awful girls Riley Henderson chased around with? she felt so sorry for Elizabeth, and thought it wonderful how, despite all, Elizabeth held up her head. It didn’t take a genius to see that Maude was heartset on Riley; nevertheless, I imagined for a while that I was in love with her. At home I kept mentioning her until finally Catherine said Oh Maude Riordan, she’s too scrawny—nothing on her to pinch, a man’s crazy to give her the time of day. Once I showed Maude a big evening, made for her with my own hands a sweet-pea corsage, then took her to Phil’s Café where we had Kansas City steaks; afterwards, there was a dance at the Lola Hotel. Still she behaved as thoughshe hadn’t expected to be kissed good night. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Collin—though it was cute of you to take me out.” I was let down, you can see why; but as I didn’t allow myself to brood over it our friendship went on little changed. One day, at the end of a lesson, Mrs. Riordan omitted the usual new piece for home practice; instead, she kindly informed me that she preferred not to continue with my lessons: “We’re very fond of you, Collin, I don’t have to say that you’re welcome in this house at any time. But dear, the truth is you have no ability for music; it happens that way occasionally, and I don’t think it’s fair on either of us to pretend otherwise.” She was right, all the same my pride was hurt, I couldn’t help feeling pushed-out, it made me miserable to think of the