The Newtown bee. (Newtown, Conn.) 1877-current, 1879-10-08
Mrs. MarCheIPs Bound Gill

81 think I'll take Mot one" said Mrs
Marius Marehell. pointing with the eud oi
her finger in one particular direction.
1t was quite little lirr-pictur1 the ro.y
of eager-eyed girls, standing i'll th= stuliy
little reception-room of the oruhnn uoy uu
at Bloomington, each one clad in h-r ,i,a :,
gray stuff gown, with a green giIghau lib
apron, and hair cut close to the hetd II;
style of coifIure which gave an undue pre-
dominance to tile eals, and would Ilav
made the divine Venus Iii Milo herself loci
like female pick ocket just bshiht
them stood the matron a fat old woman
with a crumpled white cap, und three dis
tinct layers of chin, and hungry dog
peeping i'll at the half open door, complcteo
the tableau. - -....
Deborah Dove, stu,hpy girl of4hirteen
with empurpled fingers nnd IL blunt nos y.
sighed deeply; Sarah Jacssou's fr ckiuo
-countenance fell. The others look-d st"l
idly about them, Indifferent as to Mrs. Ma -
chell's preference or neglect; aud 1t Httt
gray-eyed lassie at the end Of tie line, wh'
had been balancing nersclf unrnaily ON o.
foot, like a crane, started forNarJ with d
half-stiAed cry of delight.
"Phabe Lockett. y cried the lnatrom.
"Phmbe Locltett, if That, her naiue.
said Mrs. Marchell d5cdsdly. I
"Why, she's the smallest of the lot, III ,
the matron.
"She1l grow " said Mrs, MnrthcL.
"And the ugliest," add d the n'..rrou.
And at her uuconsid rcd words poo,
little Phoebe WINGED tnd hung down her
head, as if some rude hand had struck l. r.
Handsome is that handsom4 does, T.
turned Mrs March4ll, didneticitily. Pu,
up her things, please, Mrs. Jen;s, and IL
the lady direetress know that [ nave d.
cided.".
AS Phoebe Lockett rode away in the ope
farm wagon, sitting beside Mrs. MHrclrlr'
ample figure, the farmers wife looked
down, and caught the clear eyes looking
timidly up into hers, like wells of gray
water"
"Come," said Mrs, 3Iarchen, brusquely,
"what are you thinking about?"
"Please, ma'an," said. Phoebe, 81 was
wondering why on earth you chose me,
when Caroline Purple was SO much prettier
and Deborah Dove great deal taller anG
stronger"
"Humph!" said Mrs. Marchell. 81
chose you because 1 liked your looks
You're little but you're wiry; you aren'
pretty as some of those simpering girls bu
you've an honest look in your face. That
why / chose you"
THANK you, ina'am, said Phoebe, sim
ply.
And she rejoiced fervently in her limo
cent little heart, in that she had escape,
from the iron rule, scanty fare and distaste
full drudgery of the Bloomington Orphan
Asylum at last.
| Mr.. Marchell, a stout, good -humorec
farmer. with shining bald head and
pair of iron-gray English side-whiskers
welcomed the little girl with a kindly pa
OH the head, and au admonition to "b
sure and do her duty, and it would alway
be done by her.
And Charley Marchell, the only son, ant
heir of the red brick farmhouse with it
acres of golden wheat and emerald stretche
of pasture-hlnd, nicknaned her Mis-
Midget" Oh the spot.
'Because you are such stuntedlittle af
fair" said he.
Phoebe Lockett had not been ''bount
| girl" at the Marchen farm-h house for NOR
than few months when, one day, Mrs
Marchell came into the great, airy "keep
ting-room," with perturbcd expression O
her countenance.
81 thought heard fiddle somewhere,
said she.
- Just what you did hear, (" said Charley
y" It's Phoebe, up in the garret."
"Phmbe?" CALCULATED Mrs Marchell
"Aud where on earth did she get a fiddle !?
! Borrowed it from old Mr. Findley,
said Charley, lnughing You never sa,
creature SO bewitched after a fiddle a
she is"
Nonsense, " said Mrs Marchell sharp
ly. "What business has bound girl wit
a fiddle, or with any sort of music, for tha
ulatter?"
\ ''Its no harm, wife--no HARM" said til
farmer. indulgently.
"But it is harm," said Mrs Marchel
"And l mean to put stop to it,"
And Phoebe Lockett, seated Turk-faslio
ON the floor of the old garret, with ta
tered shawl wrapped around her shoulder,
and the red, level light of the winter sunst
weaving itself around her short, aubur
curls, was interrupted in her musical re-
cries by tile abrupt entrance Of Mrs Ma
chell.
!. Give me that fiddle !" said Mrs Ma
! clell.
b. Ma'am?" said Phoebe, dropping I'll
bow, III her amazement.
"It's silly waste Of time,n said Mr.
Marchell, ''besides being sinful"
4 But, pleaded Phnbs, I've done a
my work I"
No matter whether you have or not,
said Mrs Marchell There's always you
patchwork to do, and Blair's Sermons Il
read, beside the weekly paper. Give M
that fiddle, say"
Poor Phoebe gave it up, trying bard f
choke down the tears and sobs.
! Old Moses Findley, the village violinist
who oficiated at dances, weddings ans
merry -makings in general, and filled up tb,
linterstices Of his time with the making aus
mending of shoes, looked fairly astoundes
when Mrs. Marchell bounced into hisseven
by-nine shop, aud flung the musical instru
ment on the work bench.