The Daily clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1866-1888, 1868-06-06

So' HCl. aOut IS III wake lllm up.
He laid lis cheek down on bis little
fddle-you don't know how Tommy
loved that little fddle-and struck up
gay, rollicking ture: -ot
Il care for nobody, and nobody cares for me'' {
Tie man in tie corner sat quite still
When it vas over he shrugged his
shoulders. oUg
"When folks are asleep they don't
hist their shou'ders-not as a general
thing, " observed Tommy. SWELL try
another" sf
Tommy tried another. Nobody
knows what possessed The little f, low,
the little fellow himself least of al;
but he tried this:
We've lived and loved together
Through many a changing year"
1t was a new tune, and he wanted
practice, perhaps a .a 81
The train Jared and started Slowly;
the gloved exquisite, waiting hackmen,
hfggage masters, coffee counter and
station walls slid bach; engine house,
and prison towers, and labyfinths OF
tracks slipped by; lumber and sh' p
ping took their place, with clear
spaces between, where sea and sky
shone through. The speed of the train
increased with sickeniug sway; old
wharves shot past, with the greeu
water sucking at their piers; the city
shifted by and out of sight;
"weve lived and loved together"
played Tommy, in little plaintive
wall -.
Harmon pushed up his hat with a
jerk, and looked out of the window.
The night was coming on. A dull
sun set lay low on the water, burning
like a bale fire through the snaky trail
of smoke that went wriihing past tie
car windows, Against lonely signal
houses and little deserted beach4s the
water was sp'ashing drearily, and
playing monotonous bases to Tommy's
wall:
Through many changing year"
1t was a nuisance, this music in the
cars. Why don't somebody stop il?
What did the child mean by playing
that? They had left the city far be
hind now. He wondered how far.
He pushed up the window ferctly
venting the passion of the music on
the first thing that came in his way. as
mcn will, and thrust his head out to
look back. Through the undu' ating
smoke. out in the pale glimmer from
the sky, he could see low, red
tongue of land, covered with the
twinkle Of lighted homes Somewhere
there, III among the quivering warmth,
was our
Whit was that boy about now?
Not "Home, Sweet Homer" But tha:
was what Tommy was about.
They were lighting the lamps now
in the car Harmon looked at the
conductors face, at the sickly yellow
flare stuck on it, with curious sen
sation. He wondered if he had wife
and five children; if he ever thought
of running away from them; what he
would think of a man who did; what
most people would think, what she
would think. She-ah, she had it all
to find out yet.
There is no place like home,''
said Tommy 8 Little fiddle. E
Now, this fiddle of Tommy's may
have had crack or SO in it, and | can
not assert that Tommy never strut k a
false note; but the man in the corner
was not faslidious as musical critic;
he sickly light was fl ckering through
the Car, the culver on the red fats was
quite out of sight, the train was
shrieking away into the west-tl e
baleful, lonely west-which wss dyirg
fast now out there upon the sea; and
it is fact that his hat went slowly
down over his face again, and that his
face went slowly down upon his am.
There, in the lighted home out upon
he flats, that had drifted by forever,
she sat wal ing now. 1t was abo' t
time for him to be in to supper; she
was beginning to wonder a little
where he was; she was eping the
tea hot, and telling the children hot to
touch ths ir fathers pickles she had
set the fable and drawn the chairs; his
pipe lay filled on the she'll over the
stove. The baby was trettlng-the
baby ALWAYS fretted toward night -