Litchfield enquirer., 1879-10-16
Mrs. MarcheIi's Bound Girl.

VI hSsSs SssSs
 II think I'll take hat one," said Mre Marius Marchen, pointing with the end of her finger in one particular direction.
 It was quite little Ife-picture-the row of eager-eyed girls standing in the stuffy little reception-room of the orphan asylum at Bloomington, each one clad ill her dingy gray stuff gown, with green gingham bib apron, and hair cut close to the head-a style of coiffure' which gave an undue pre- dominance to the ears, and would have made tue divine Venus di Milo herself look like a female pickpocket. Just behind them stood the matron, fat old woman, with a crumpled white cap, and three dis tinct layers of chin, and a hungry dog, peeping in at the half open door, completed the tableau.
 7 Deborah Dove. stumpy. girl of thirteen, with empurpled fingers and blunt nose, sighed deeply; Sarah Jackson's freckled countenance fell. The others looked stol- idly. about them indifferent as to Mrs. Mar chelrs preference neglect; and little gray-eyed lassie at the end of the line, who had been balancing herself uneasily on one foot, like 8 crane started forward with 8 half -stifed cry of delight. -.......
 "Phabe Lockett! " cried the matron.
 'Phoebe Lockett, if that's her name" said Mrs Marchell decidedly
 "Why, she's the smallest of the lot" said the matron. ..y ..s.....s..... .....
 "She'll grow" said Mrs. Marchell.
 "And the ugliest," added the matron.
 And at her unconsidered words, poNf little Phoebe winced and hung down her head, as if some rude hand had struck her.
 Handsome is that handsome does." re- turned Mrs. Marchell, didactically. "Put up her things, please. Mrs. Jenks, and let the lady directress know that have de- cided."
 As Phoebe Lockett rode away in the open farm-wagon, sitting beside Mrs. Marchelrs s ample figure, the farmers wife looked down, and caught the clear eyes looking tilndly up into hers, like wells of gray water"
 "Come," said Mrs. Marchell, brusquely, "what are you thinking about3"
 -"Please, ma'am," said Phoebe, |" I was wondering why on earth you chose mse, when Caroline Purple was so much prettier, and Deborah Dove 8 great deal taller and stronger"
 "Humph!" said Mrs Marehell. "I chose you because I liked your looks You're little but you're wiry ;h you aren't pretty as some of those simpering girls, but you've an honest look in your face. That's why chose you" ....r.
 '.Thank you, ma'am." said Phoebe. sim ply. ...
 And she r"j'iced fervently in her inno- cent little heart. in that she had escaped from the iron rule, scanty fare and distaste- full drudgery of the Bloomington Orphan Asylum at last.
 Mir. Marchen, stout good -humored farmer, with @ shining bald head and Q pair of iron-gray English side-whiskers welcomed the little girl with a kindly pat on the head, and an admonition to be sure and do her duty, and it would always be done by her" -.. ...--s ..
 And Charley Marchell, the only son, and heir of the red-brick farn-hou>., with it's acres of golden wheat and emerald stretches of pasture-land. nicknamed her Miss Midget" on the spot.
 "Beeause you are such stunted little af- fair" said he.
 Phoebe Lockett had not been ''bound girl" at the MarrheH farm house for more than few months, when, one day, Mrs Marchell came into the great, airy keep ing -room," with perturbed expression on her countenance. .
 II thought heard fiddle somewhere, |" said she. s. Es..
 ''Just what you did hear," said Charley "It's Phoebe. up in the garrett" ..
 "Phoebe ?" ejaculated Mrs. Marchell "And where on earth did shs get fiddle ?" Borrowed it from old Mr.. Findley. |" said Charley, laughing. "You never saw creature so bewitched after fiddle as she is" ~ea. rs-s.- -s.. s-. -..s4
 Nonsense" said Mrs. Marchen, sharp y.I "What business has bound girl with fiddle, or with any sort of music. for that matter?" ts if -la ts-t g
 ''Ifs no harm, wife-no harm," said the farmer, indulgently.
 ''But it is harm," said Mrs. MarcheH. "And mean put -tep Uo t." ST o3 l.
 And Phoebe Lockett seated Turk-fashion on the floor of the old garret, with tat tered shawl wrapped around her shoulders, . and the red, level light of the winter sunset , weaving itself around her short, auburn curls, was interrupted in her musical rev cries by the abrupt entrance of Mrs Mar chell .I Give me that fiddle ?: said Mrs. Mar chel.
 t "Ma'am7" said Phoebe, dropping the bow, in her an,azenent 'zt..' 'lI -H "It's g silly waste of time," said Mrs March"ll. 'besides being. sinfuLn"s - But," pleaded. Plsasse,s sPveA done all No matter whether you have or not. said Mrs. Marchell. '''',rhere's always your patchwork to do, and tBlair's Sermons to read, beside the weekly paper. Give me that fiddle, Isay." .'.
 Poor Phoebe gave it up, trying hard to choke down the tears and sobs.
 Old Moses Findley, the village violinist who oficiated at dances, weddings and merry -makings in general, and filled up the interstices of his time with the making and mending of shoes. looked fairly astounded when Mrs. Marchen bounced into hisseven- by-nine shop, and flung the musical instru- ment on the workbench.
 "Ehf " said old Moses. adjusting his spec tacles on the bridge of his nose
 "There's your old fiddle,a said Mrs. Mar chell; "and I wish, after this, you'd be kind enough to keep it at home, and not go putting nonsense into my bound girls headi"
 "But It ain't nonsense" said old Moses.