Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1876-01-27

! upon tue great stage De lore them. shaking
out from her pretty throat trill after trill.
each one more wonderful than the last.
until, driven to enthusiasm by this witch
cry, they rise from their seats and fling
flowers and jewels at the feet of this love-
! ly magician.
| Jane was in the full tide of these visiona-
~ delights when, in that summer holiday
at home, she went with her young sister 10
| the choir meeting. No other gathering
could have tempted her from the patcrnal
! hearth; but there was malicious slipping
! from the cup of nectar in hearing Dora
| sing in the village choir. Jane fancied these
| simple villagers were entertaining an angel
unawares, and unconsciously doing hom-
| aye TO a melody that would one day eu-
| chant the werld.
But suddenly the exquisite notes were
hushed. and looked over at Dora, Jane
found her, with olasped hands and rapt
eyes listening 10 a strain from Miles Van
Dom. And even when the strain was fin
ished, Dora's eyes still rested upon him
with an expression that caused that chill
to run down the vertebr9 of her sister
Jane.
The next day Jane carried her young
sister off with her 10 the city. She was a
reluctant traveller and dropped percepti-
bly, every mile farther from home.
Although Jane persisted In drives and
promenades, concerts and receptions, al
though She procured for Dora all the
amusement that money and respectable
share of influence could obtain, Dora re-
mained obstinately docile, aud wearied.
"A decided case of ennui,' said one of
James friends. I've never seen thar bor-
ed expression so perfect before. I'm afraid
Miss FAN field, its genuine your field daisy
won't bear transplanting.
Jane WINGED at this, but bore ii logged
ly. until three weeks later. the professor
himself declared that the child must 90
home.
DO You not see, my friend of friends. ="
cried the professor, "that even her voice Is
dwindling away: II is thin-thin TO atten-
uation; there is no longer power nor com
pass. See, now, she must 20 back 10 the
green fields and the daisies. II is a terri
bic sickness. this mai du pays. In the years
that are gone. Mees Fairfield. was near
dying with il myself. To long for ones
native sky, for the air that nourishes the
young life, you see.
Il don't see said Jane. testify, looking
at the poor old man with an air of stern
contempt, You needn't tell me it's all
home-sichness.
Every bit of II, Mees Fairfield, Tell her
now this night that she shall 90 home to-,
morrow and let us mark the result.
so Jane dropped into Dora's listless ear
a few words. of which one was t"home'
and forthwith that treacherous color leap
ed to Dora's cheek. her lips trembled.
"Oh. Jane!" she murnured, and two big
tears OF joy fell out of her trembling eyes.
One little hour after, she sang divnely
10 the professors accompaniment. That
good man clasped his hands and looked
upward with deyout enthusiasm.
Ash .chOH'' he said "truaderschon -
and the exclamation was a volume in it.
self IL prophesied success and glory, the
fulfilment of all their dreams.
Il suppose it might be home sickness"
whispered Jane TO herself, consolingly.
there's so much OF naudlin sentimentality
in some natures. II this old idiot of a pro-
fessor babbles thus of green fields and
daisies, why shouldn't it be for Dora.''
All the way home, however. a moody
skepticism weighed upon the sonl Of Jane,
and il was not until Dora had partaken
with spirit of the delicacies provided for
the evening meal, and nestled close TO her
mothers side in the evening twilight, sing.
ing softly but joyously, little hymn they
all loved, that Jane was allowed 10 fully
rest upon the thought that it was only
homesickness. after all, that allied Dora.
But even a. they sat there, hemmsd lin
with ropes OF tangled shrubs, the fragrant
scent of hope vine slyly sleeping the
practical soul OF Jane TO semi-intoxica-
tion. Dora's sweet voice seemingly part
OF the dew and the twilight, and all OF /.
| wondrously resting TO the poor tired mo
diste from town-eyen then big shadow
loomed up before them, and rather harsh
rasping,voice said, I've come TO bid you
good-by."
Jane cast one look at Dora. The rosy
lips of the child were still parted with the
last note of the song, her little white hands
| stretched forth uuconsciously to the new
conner, and faint echo OF the word Good
bye" reached Jane.
why, dear me- said Mrs. Fairfield
Il never thought to tell You that Mr.. Van
Dorm is going away. Ralph Peyton has
coaxed him Off to his church in the city to
be chorister there; and our folks don't like
it bit, either. But suppose it's best for
Mr.. Van Dorm; there amt much chance
for getting ahead here. What with fag-
ging at the village store all day, and teach
ing school at night. | can't see when he
gets chance to read law but l believe
he does il. somehow or other"
That is one reason ! can't stop and talk
with my friends like other folks said Mr..
Van Dorm but can only find time 10 say
good-by. / shall miss Miss Dora's voice in
my new choir. 1t is always full and rich I;
but never noticed till tonight the haunt
ing sweetness about it, that gets by the
senses into the soul, and stays there when
the music is fed"
Hum" said Jane; you'll never make
much of a lawyer if you din such stuff as
that into peoples ears"
Il don't give way to it Often" said Van
| narn lanuhpDly and made his
to Mrs. Fairfield and Dora. Suddenly Jane
saw the slender figure of her sister stagger
few steps toward the door, then sink tor.
ward. Jane sprang 10 catch tine falling
| form, but Van Dorm already held her in
his arms. and lifted her into the sitting
room. placed her gently on the old chin.Z-
covered lounge near the window.
1T is the heat. think" said Van Dorm,
| with flush of surprise and alarm in his
| face.
Yes" said Jane, bitterly, sit is the
heat, and you'd better get away; the few
er people we have here devouring the air,
| the better"
| Van Dorm cast one more lingering, puz-
zled, plying look. upon DOra's PROSTATE
form, then went away.
Dora soon recovered consciousness. and
said no word OF complaint: only asked that
! she might 60 to her room at once.
Il wender what allied Dora?' said Mrs.
Fairfield, when they had put the child to
bed, and descended again to the sitting
room.
sOh. mother" said poor Jane, "get
away. and leave me to myself awhile I!
Whatever allied her, it couldn't have been
homesickness. could it?'' Then she laugh
ed sardonically. And Mrs. Fairfield de-
clared. as she got out of her eldest daugh-
ter's presence, that If there was one thing
more than another she hated, 1t was that
nasty scof1lng way Jane had.
Taking the early train in the morning
Jane resolved she would remain In the city
till affairs had settled into the pleasant
shape Van Dorn's absence would natural
ly bring about.
A month passed away. however, and
there was no word of cheer from home. A
few lines scrawled upon an expanse Of pa
per at length told her that Dora was una
Bile to write. ard that even the music les
sons must be discontinued. A kind of de-
bility had seized upon Dora, Mrs. Fairfield
wrote, that took away her strength and ap'
| ITO