Deep in the woods a little robin stood singing a merry tune. Johnny Genre listened with a wide smile breaking over his young innocent face. Unbeknownst to him, many years earlier his fairy godmother had secreted him away in this little hut, deep in the dark woods, where most folks feared to tread. Ignorant of the big world outside the wood, the only music he heard was that of the animals around him. And the most tuneful of those were the birds of the forest.On his twefth birthday a surprise awaited his return home. His fairy godmother peered through the faded and frayed curtains to catch the look of glee on his face. She could not have been more delighted. A large parcel was laying propped against the gnarled doorpost. Eagerly he unwrapped it and discovered to his delight a small guitar exqusitely made and inlaid with intircate silver filigree. Tentitively, he began to strum and summing up all the courage his poor heart could muster, he fashioned a tune that he could sing while picking out cadences and arpeggios that fell like water from his fingertips.
At first his only audience was the birds and beasts of the forest. But before too many icy winters had passed, news travelled to the nearby villagefolk, some of whom had heard his plaintive songs while gathering firewood. They told their friends and in those early far off days, they would meet round a warming fire, where they cooked food and talked of life and love. Johnny Genre was the centre of those meetings and always had a song to enthrall their simple souls.
However (and this why his fairy godmother had sought to protect him), a rich man from one of the big towns far away, heard tell of this youth with his gift for charming the birds from the trees. Johnny, unused to the outside world, was lured away with so many promises, it made his poor head hurt when he tried to remember why he had left his simple shack in the woods.
And that was the last that was heard of Johnny Genre for many years...