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There was a single nail in the wall, holding up a . . . banjo? Guitar?

"Mr. Davison, what is that thing hanging on the wall?" Melissa asked when he came back to the room.

"Ah, Melinda-uh, Melissa, that is an Amati violin. The Amatis were a family of violin-makers that were very popular in the 1500s and 1600s. The violins are still treasured to this day," said Mr. Davison proudly. This was clearly the most valuable concrete item in his house.

Melissa admired it a few seconds longer, then allowed Mr. Davison to bandage her knee.

This was followed by a pounding on the door.

"Melissa? Mr. Davison? Are you in there?" cried Melissa's father.

"Yes, Daddy. Mr. Davison fixed me up," called Melissa cheerfully. Melissa's father opened the door and all three family members burst in. Their talk was like a river, flowing and never-ending.

"Melissa, what happened?" cried her mother.

"Lissa, does it hurt?" asked Tom.

"Melissa, you should be a little more careful," chided her father.

"Melissa-" her mother began.

"Melin-er, Melissa here is just fine. I bandaged her knee up very carefully. Melissa and I were just looking at my violin. I enjoy such visits so much. You know, a man like me gets very lonely," Joe said, half-cheerfully, half-sorrowfully.

"Thank you for fixing my knee, Mister," Melissa chirped with a gap-toothed grin.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Davison," Mr. an Mrs. Xaviersen immediately chorused.

"You're welcome, Melind-MELISSA, Tom, Sandra, and Jonathan. Feel free to drop by any time," called Mr. Davison as the Xaviersens walked out of his cottage, Melissa on her father's back.

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