There once was a town known as Dewsbery. It was a pleasant town, the streets always alive with the bustle of its inhabitants. Amongst all of this noise, one may hear the sound not of a human voice, but of a musical instrument. Down the main street, past all of the bakers, trying to sell their loaves; just across the bridge, with its cool, pristine water flowing beneath; next to a stone well, in the middle of a street, sat a young boy, playing a mystical song on his harp.
The boy was not as strong as the others, he rarely took part in their daily brawls and matches. He instead sat by the well, practicing his instrument, allowing the whole town of Dewsbery to hear. Curious children soon approached the boy, gazing as his fingers slid from string to string, ever so delicately. When the boy finish his tune, the children, now having grown in number, clapped for his performance.
The young man stood, holding his small harp close to his chest, and took a bow. His chestnut bangs flopped over his eyes, and brushed them away to gain a better look at all the children who had watched him. They stood smiling at him, as he gave out greeting to each of them.
“Elizabeth, nice to see you again; David, my you’ve grown!” The musician turned to the last child, saying, “Catherine, a pleasure to see you again,” The toddler blushed, hiding behind the older girl.
“You’ve gotten much better, Parry,” said Elizabeth, “so maybe I could try playing now,” She attempted to swipe the harp from him, but Parry held it high out of her reach, and ran around the well as the little girl followed close behind.
“First you’ll have to catch me!” responded the young man. He went around the well countless times, until the child plopped down on the ground to catch her breath.
“Maybe when I’m older,” she said, defeatedly.
After playing another sweet song, Parry left the children to play on their own, then he crossed the bridge and found his way into the main street.
To his left and right were storefronts, their tables littered with goods from lands near and far. The people who shuffled around these storefronts were also distant travelers, and a few looked questioningly at the boy with the harp. Eventually, as Parry was passing through the crowd, he bumped into a man trying to buy some fruit.Parry quickly spoke up, saying, “Pardon me, sir! I-”
“What are you doing out here, Parry?” asked a familiar voice, “I thought I told you to help your mother in the garden today,”
“Oh, I’m sorry father,” said Parry, “but I just wanted to play by the well, like you always did as a young boy,”
Parry’s father turned towards him, bread in hand, and took Parry by the arm. “I understand you want to play, but your work must always come first, do you understand?” said the father.
Parry sighed, looking down at his instrument, and nodded. “I do, father,”
The two made their way through town and came to its outskirts, where a small cottage lay with a couple fields behind it, still filled with oats that were to be harvested and sold. A few patches of flowers were along the dirt path leading up to the house, and as the father and son approached, the heavy wooden door swung open to reveal a woman in a mud-stained dress.
“Welcome home you two!” She said cheerfully, and the father gave his wife a quick kiss as he entered the house, but the wife stopped Parry in the doorway.
“I do believe someone was suppose to help me pick some berries today,” she said, eyeing the harp in Parry’s arms.
“I'm sorry mom, I know I should have helped you,” the boy said. The mother, seeing her son’s regret, stepped away from the doorway to allow the boy in.
The boy was not as strong as the others, he rarely took part in their daily brawls and matches. He instead sat by the well, practicing his instrument, allowing the whole town of Dewsbery to hear. Curious children soon approached the boy, gazing as his fingers slid from string to string, ever so delicately. When the boy finish his tune, the children, now having grown in number, clapped for his performance.
The young man stood, holding his small harp close to his chest, and took a bow. His chestnut bangs flopped over his eyes, and brushed them away to gain a better look at all the children who had watched him. They stood smiling at him, as he gave out greeting to each of them.
“Elizabeth, nice to see you again; David, my you’ve grown!” The musician turned to the last child, saying, “Catherine, a pleasure to see you again,” The toddler blushed, hiding behind the older girl.
“You’ve gotten much better, Parry,” said Elizabeth, “so maybe I could try playing now,” She attempted to swipe the harp from him, but Parry held it high out of her reach, and ran around the well as the little girl followed close behind.
“First you’ll have to catch me!” responded the young man. He went around the well countless times, until the child plopped down on the ground to catch her breath.
“Maybe when I’m older,” she said, defeatedly.
After playing another sweet song, Parry left the children to play on their own, then he crossed the bridge and found his way into the main street.
To his left and right were storefronts, their tables littered with goods from lands near and far. The people who shuffled around these storefronts were also distant travelers, and a few looked questioningly at the boy with the harp. Eventually, as Parry was passing through the crowd, he bumped into a man trying to buy some fruit.Parry quickly spoke up, saying, “Pardon me, sir! I-”
“What are you doing out here, Parry?” asked a familiar voice, “I thought I told you to help your mother in the garden today,”
“Oh, I’m sorry father,” said Parry, “but I just wanted to play by the well, like you always did as a young boy,”
Parry’s father turned towards him, bread in hand, and took Parry by the arm. “I understand you want to play, but your work must always come first, do you understand?” said the father.
Parry sighed, looking down at his instrument, and nodded. “I do, father,”
The two made their way through town and came to its outskirts, where a small cottage lay with a couple fields behind it, still filled with oats that were to be harvested and sold. A few patches of flowers were along the dirt path leading up to the house, and as the father and son approached, the heavy wooden door swung open to reveal a woman in a mud-stained dress.
“Welcome home you two!” She said cheerfully, and the father gave his wife a quick kiss as he entered the house, but the wife stopped Parry in the doorway.
“I do believe someone was suppose to help me pick some berries today,” she said, eyeing the harp in Parry’s arms.
“I'm sorry mom, I know I should have helped you,” the boy said. The mother, seeing her son’s regret, stepped away from the doorway to allow the boy in.