The Toledo chronicle. [volume] (Toledo, Tama County, Iowa) 1873-1924, 1875-08-05

|
little church-were lost in the Destroyer on
their way to Europe for some purpose, at
which concert Jessie was to sing a song,
if she could find the courage.
you needn't be afraid, jessie" said
the good ministers wife; there's nobody
in the audience knows note more music
than you do"
ooh, but he will-the violinist you
know and Nine. Reuter-, if she comes
"She's coming. We're to pay expenses.
And she represented the case to Signor
Pazzani, and told him they were the chill
dren of musicians, and he volunteered 1t
was too good Of him! They're to stay
with me-"
ooh, not both Of them, Mrs. King,
ones enough with all your care. Send
one here,' said Mrs. Brooks.
"Well, l should be glad to, really I'll
send you the signor. Now, Jessie, sing
The Harp that Once Through Tara's
Halls just as if you were on the platform
and we were all down on the seats before
you"
And so Jessie sang it, and her voice
swelled out as if young sybil sang with
| the words:
Thus freedom now SO seldom wakes
The only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks
To show that still she lives.
| And the minister's wife cried and went
home.
One afternoon next week Nine Reuter-
came down and Mrs. King brought the
Signor Pazzani into the Brookses' parlor
| and left him.
1t was not much preparation the
Brookses had been able to make for their
distinguished guest; they could only fill
his room full to overflowing with Bellies
| flowers, that grew and blossomed in every
window the winter long As for their
| table, it was always a miracle of snow and
silver and parsley trimmed dishes, and it
was impossible for them to make much
difference. They found, though, that it
was of no consequence, for the signor was
Indifferent to everything but bread and
| fruit and salad, and presently looked
about him for the young lady who was to
sing. "You are She" he said, presently,
to Jessie, and began talking with her
about her music while he crumbled his
| bread But it was not till some hours
| after they left the table that he came down
from his room and demanded to hear
what she could do.
Poor Jessie had no more idea of hest
| tating or refusing than if an angel of an
nunciation had appeared and hidden her
She went instantly to the piano, and
Belle ran before her to play the accompa-
niment Belle had to play the prelude
twice over, though, before Jessie
could command her voice; and in the first
| measure it trembled so that she was afraid
| she would have to stop and she was pale
as death Courage, courage, my child, !"
cried the signor, and she took little and
went on; and soon she forgot the signor
| and her fright, and was singing as freely
| as a bird in the wild wood. g 1t is grand!
it is deliciousr' cried the signor, in his
own tongue, which Jessie and Belle under.
! stood tolerably. at is avOCe in thou
sand. Ina thousand? A voice In mill
ions! 1t is the nightingale's! and it must
have care, study, training-Italy"
Jessie shook her head, and felt very
much like crying. She knew if she ever
showed the least desire for Italy hcrfather
would cramp himself, her mother forcgo
her comforts, the children deny themselves
everything; they would sell the piano,
move into mcaner house, live on little,
give nothing away. She had never init
mated that she thought the thing worth
while Now she shook her head, and
vcnturcd to say in such Italian as she had ::
1T is impossible. Please don't speak of
it; it would only make grief here. But
thank you for the kind words"
And then the signor gazed hard at the
lovely face with its Madonna-like oval, and
its great, soft, dark eyes, and said: Moth
ing is impossible. Now 1 must seek my
violin. 1t was to come by express, but
has not, the good house-mother says"
No; it had not come, and, what was
more, it never would come in It's old shape.
| The express had met with an accident, and
all its contents had been shattered. The
violin that the Queen of Holland had
| given Signor Pazzani, that Jacques Stainer
had made himself in the Tyrol 200 years
ago and more, was nothing but a handful
of chips.
1t would have been ludicrous if it had
not been in reality narrowing, to see the
sfgnor's grief and rage when he heard OF
the destruction Of his darling, and had the
broken bits put into his hand. He remem-
bcred nothing more about Jessie's voice,
about the evening concert; he sat down
among the fragments, like Marius in
the ruins of Carthage, and bewalled him.
self
1t was an intensely cold and still win.
ter's day; there was not sound to be
heard in the village save now and then a
distant sIeigh-bell, the dropping of some
huge icicle, or the loud report of some
nail as it sprung with the frost in the
] rafters. As the signOr sat there now with
the broken volutc of his violin in his left
| hand, and the other hand wound in his hair
| distractcdly, one of these nails went off, as
you might say, with more of an explosion
than usual upon the frosty silence OF the
afternoon, followed by a clear, resonant
note that for half a moment seemed to fill
the house with a silveFy vibration. They
| all heard it, and looked up bewildered
and suddenly Jessie, with joyous cry
| sprang to her feet and darted from the
room The garret door had been left open
by somebody, she found. In a moment
she was back and had placed in the hands
of the signor, whose mood OF frenzy had
| been succeeded by one of silent despera
| ton, the little black fiddle.
at fell from its nail" she was saying
at was that we heard 1t wanted to
come and comfort you, you see. Is il
good for anything! Can you mend yoW
| own with it? 1t is SO oldn'
g Why doyou bring me this, my child "
he asked, sadly, but took it, and ran his
eye over it. Something seemed to strike
him as he did 50. He bent his head
quickly, lifted the violin to his ear, and
tapped it and listened, ran his finger dowr
its lines, took out his handkerchief anc
busted it minutely His hands began tC
shake; he was holding his breath, he was
comparing the measurements of the little