Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1879-03-19
The Singing Girl Of Elsenach.

nt blOWn ouont CnuICh III ISlotndCn ~
very old. Luther preached in it three CEN
turtles ago, and it was old then, so that three
centuries have not changed it much. I
should like TO describe it to you, for those
old cities over the sea have many curious
things in them which we never see in our
land; but my story has not so much to do
with the church itself, as with something
that once happened there. If you had stood
in its porch on a Sunday morning, some
years ago, you might have seen, among the
crowd of men, women and children in their
best clothes and with their Sunday faces, a
little child stealing in, keeping timidly to
one side, as if afraid that she had no right
to be there. Her faded frock was patched,
and her head had no other covering than
the long hair that might have been pretty
If mothers hand had brushed and curled
the struggling waves that fell over her face (;
but Margaret was an orphan. She was too
little to work, but she sang ballads in the
streets Of Eisenach, and sometimes work
ingman or a good-natured woman would
give her kreutzer; of the great people
she was always afraid
On Sundays she did not sing in the streets,
and could go where she pleased, so she went
to the brown church ever since the day when
blind Arthur took her to lead him up and
down the stone steps. Albert did not go
often, but Margaret was there every Sunday.
Behind one of the pillars there was little
nook Just large enough to hold a child, and
here she sat quite hidden by the column at
the first sound of the organ she would shut
her eyes and listen. Indeed, it was the or.
gan that brought Margaret to the church.
One winter evening-it was the sacris-
tan's day for sweeping the church-Rein-
hold the organist, came with his music to
practice. He had opened the organ before
he saw a little child's figure sitting on the
floor fast asleep, with her head leaning on a
bench. Reinhold looked at her, looked at
the old, thin dress, and the feet almost bare,
and said to himself, "She must be half
frozen" He stopped and picked her up
she was very light for seven years old--and
she walked with a start, aud struggled to get
out of his arms.
"Oh please don't hurt me; didn't
mean to do any harm"
Reinhold soothed her, and when she
looked into his face, she was no longer afraid
that he would hurt her.
"And what were you doing here, when
you fell asleep in the cold ?" he asked.
al came to hear the angel sing" said
Margaret.
"The angel What do you mean, little
one ?"
"The angel that sings every Sunday. He
stays in here. Blind Albert told me So"
"When did YOU hear him ?" asked Rein
hold, with a smile.
al come to hear him on Sunday when
the people come to church, and | saw the
doors open to-day, so | came on tip-toe;
thought, maybe, he would come out if no
body was here"
ado you believe that he is inside ?"
"Albert told me so."
"Albert must have been playing with
you; there is no living thing here this is a
musical instrument"
"What is that ?" asked Margaret
Reinhold nodded to her to look at his
hands, and began to play. Then he told
her to put her little fingers OH the key
and see that she could make sounds, anC
Margaret wondered more and more, unit
at last the organist set up his music anC
began to practice; then she slipped dowr
beside him, and sat there listening.
The last winter sunlight faded, and the
church was growing dark.
Now" said Reinhold, "tell me where
you live, and | will take you home" Bu
Margaret began to cry bitterly.
! "Theresa will beat me" she sobbed
"Who is Theresa ?" asked Reinhold.
"The woman that live with; and | go
only two kreutzers this morning, and sh'
sent me out after dinner, and told me no
10 come home without ten, and haven
one. Oh, dear oh, dear
" Is Theresa your mother y
"No."
"Your aunt 2"
"No; live with her. She says she i
very good to take care of me, but if don
get money she beats me-"
"Can you tell me where you live ?"
"Away off, far"
Reinhold seemed to be thinking.
"And you say she beats you 7" He spok
in questioning tone, and the child though
that he did not believe her; she hung dow
her head for a moment, but suddenly look
ing up with quick, bright smile that mad
the little thin face look pretty through tn
struggling hair, she pushed up her sleeve
the shoulder and held up her arm, smilin
all the while it was bruised in places an
striped with purple marks, some faint, q
though they had been there long Will,
others quite fresh. Reinhold understood
all, and though he was great, strong maj
he could not keep back the tears when b
looked from the bright, eager face to tn
little bruised arm, aud he thought :" ho'
many beating this child must have ha
when she can smile at the proofs of
marked on her tender flesh"
He looked into her blue eyes, and though
of another pair that used to look up in ju.
that way aud grow brighter at his coming
but it was more than year since they ha
looked into his, and there was nothing LEI
like them except the blue speedwell that
the summer time grew on little Madchen
, grave. But these eyes were like hers.
He stopped and softly kissed the scars.
: "You shall go home with me to-nigh
} Do you want to ?"
40 yes" and Margaret jumped up an
put her hand in his but Reinhold lifte
her tenderly in his arms, and went out frol
e the church, leaving his music behind hin
l In the organist's home there was a warn
bright fire, and a little supper table wit
e plates and cups for two before an arm-cha
P ready for the "good man." and low sto
: where woman sat knitting. She had
e pleasant face-one that could smile, thoug
S beyond the smile was soft shadow thi
q told she had wept also; but the face WI
y the better for it, as the moonlight is soft,
> than the day, and the twilight than Il
sunrise.
The knitting needles clicked with Il
8 ticking of the clock till step came up Il
e stair, and a hand on the latch, and 81
I stopped to lift the kettle from the fire.
e "You are late, good man, and it is bi
a ter night"
J. "A bitter night, good wife, but see VIII
" have brought with me !" and he put Ma
e garet down before the fire, only half awak
The walk was long, and with cold and I