It was battered and scarred and the auctioneer thought it scarcely worth his while, to waste his
time on the old violin, but he held it up with a smile. “What am I bid, good people,” he cried,
“Who starts the bidding for me? One dollar? One dollar. Do I hear two? Two dollars, who makes
it three? Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three…”but no! From the room, far
back, a grey-bearded man came forward and picked up the bow. Then wiping the dust from the
old violin, and tightening up the strings, he played a melody, pure and sweet, as sweet as the
angel sings. The music ceased, and the auctioneer with a voice that was quiet and low said,
“What now am I bid for this old violin?” as he held it aloft with its bow. “One thousand? One
thousand, do I hear two? Two thousand. Who makes it three? Three thousand once, three
thousand twice, going and gone!” said he. The audience cheered, but some of them cried. “We
just don’t understand. What changed its worth?” Swift came the reply, “The touch of the
Master’s hand.” Author unknown.

-Ken Tubbesing
March, 2018