Free The Fiddler's Secret by Lois Walfrid Johnson Page A

doesn’t mean everyone steals. When one person does something wrong, it doesn’t mean everyone will treat you that way!”
    Libby thought of the cruel slave catchers who wanted the reward on Jordan’s head. Yet a slave owner’s wife had tried to protect Jordan’s family.
    â€œEven if a whole group of people is unkind, it doesn’t mean everyone in our country is unkind,” Libby went on. “No matter where you go—north, east, south, west—there are good people.”
    His eyes filled with pain, the fiddler shook his head. “Wherever I go people ask me how long I have played the violin. I can’t remember. I was the age of my son when I stood on a chair to play. And now it is gone. All gone!”
    â€œMaybe not,” Caleb said. “We need to go to the police.”
    â€œThe police?” The fiddler’s eyes filled with fear. “Nein! Not the police!”
    For a moment Caleb stood there thinking. “In America the police are friends to good people,” he said. “The police will help us.”
    The fiddler shook his head. “Nein, nein, nein!”
    â€œThe police will help us find your violin.”
    â€œNein, nein, nein!”
    â€œWe’re wasting time,” Caleb answered. “We need to catch the thief at once. Come with us to the police. You don’t have to go in. I’ll talk to them.”
    Still looking uneasy, Franz followed Caleb across the levee. When they reached the police station, the fiddler waited outside with Libby.
    Soon Caleb returned. “I did my best,” he told Franz. “But I don’t know if they’ll find your violin.”
    From the police station they walked to the
Pioneer and Democrat
newspaper office. There they found someone working late. Caleb helped the fiddler place an ad offering a reward for the return of his violin.
    â€œWe can’t do any more tonight,” Caleb told the fiddler as they started back to the Lower Landing. “All the shops are closed. Tomorrow Libby and I will help you search.”
    Near the river the streets became more and more crowded. It seemed that every spare inch of ground had been taken.Many immigrants had turned the tops of their trunks into tables. One family had stretched canvas between two barrels to make a roof.
    Seeing the small shelters in which people slept upset Libby. “People are living in the streets!”
    â€œWhen navigation opened in May, three thousand people arrived in four days,” Caleb said. “It’s kept up all summer.”
    â€œBut soon winter will come!” Libby knew that many people would pass into the countryside and begin to farm. Yet she felt sure that others wanted to stay and find work in the city.
    â€œHotels and boardinghouses are filled to overflowing,” Caleb told her. “Even if people have the money to pay, there’s nowhere in St. Paul to go.”
    It wasn’t hard to figure out that Franz needed a place to spend the night. “Come back to the
Christina
with us,” Libby invited. “I’ll ask Pa if you can live on the boat till we leave. We’ll help you find your violin.”

    Early the next morning, Libby stood on the main deck, waiting for the gangplank to go down. When Caleb, Jordan, and Peter joined her, Wellington came along.
    The minute the deckhands put out the gangplank, Wellington tore across the levee.
    Samson raced after him, following the smaller dog up Jackson Street.
    At first Libby didn’t worry about the dogs running ahead. Whenever they left the boat, they needed exercise. Stopping here and there to look around, Caleb and Jordan took their time in following. But when the dogs got farther and farther away, Libby hurried to catch up. She didn’t trust Wellington.
    Before long the terrier headed down a side street. Reaching an area of homes and fenced-in yards, Wellington scared up a rabbit. Dodging this way and that, the rabbit fled