The Russellville Democrat., 1880-04-08

l mas; ana
 "Nonsensel" said Mrs. Marchell
 And very decent voice, if only il was cultivated"
 "PshawP cried Mrs. Marchell, and she founced out of the shop in rage.
 But if Mrs. Marchell was the child's temporal mistress, music was her spirit ual one. Phoebe Lockett went quietly about her work, in the years that fol lowed, but she could not forget the di- vine strains which the well-rosined bow had drawn out of the antique violin, in the red glow of the winter sunset that January afternoon, in the garret.
 Mrs. Marchell had done up her front hair in papers, assumed hergray flannel dresslng-gown, when, chancing to look out of the north kitchen window, she saw, or thought she saw, the glimmer of light in the top window of the barn.
 Il can't have been mistaken" said Mrs. Marchell; Git ain't the time O year for fire-fies, and will-o'- -the-wisps don't go dancing and twinkling around our barn. It's tramps-that's what it is."
 "Fiddlesticks!" said Mir Marchell, sieepily, from the exact centre of dow ny feather pillow.
 There were two men asked for a drink of milk, at the buttery door, just about dusk" added the lady, land I didn't much like their looks at the time."
 Its all right, dare say" yawned Mir. Marchell.
 Well" cried the farmeress, energeti- cally, If you don't go to look into it, will"
 And flinging her husbands shaggy oyercoat around her, and taking the lan- tern in one hand, she started for the barn.
 She was right. There was dim tal- low candle burning in the barn chamber, and by its fiickering light Phoebe Lock- cit was busy practicing on the violin, from some sheets of torn and we'll thumbed music.
 She started up with cry at the appari- tion of Mrs. Marehell in the doorway an averaging spectre, with shaggy over coat and dark lantern.
 "Ungrateful girll' tragically cried out Mrs. Marchell; "how dared ,u to diso- bey mel"
 Il meant no harm," faltered poor Phoebe. "I hired the violin from the village music store with the dollar MT. Marchell gave me TOT finding his gold spectacles, and Mrs. Mustard gave me the music; and 1 came out here of night so that the noise should not disturb you"
 Phoebe" said Mrs. Marchell, "what goose you are! Why don't you stick to your needle, and your rolling pin, and your scrubbing brush, as other girls do? How do you ever expect to find bread in the strings of a fiddler"
 Phoebe hung down her head, and said nothing in roply.
 "We'may as well break the charm at once," said Mrs. Marchcll "I'll take you to the concert at Bloomington tomorrow night. They tell me there's to be girl violinist there as plays like playing; and If tbat don't cure you of your silly am- bition, don't know what will"
 Phoebe Lockett crimsoned to the very roots of her hair.
 "I-I'can't go!" she said. "That is, not with you. promised Mrs. Mustard to go to her house; but perhaps she will take me.
 ''It don't matter how you go," said Mrs. Marcheh, nor with who, so long as you see real excellence and learn the folly of your silly separations"
 But" faltered Phoebe, "why shouldn't be a good player some time, too?'
 "Why shouldn't the sky fall, and we all catch larks? contemptuously retorted Mrs. Marchell. "As for you, the best thing you can do is to go into the house and go to bed as fast as possible"
 And crestfallen Phoebe obeyed.
 Mrs. Marchell dressed herself in her best black silk, to go to the Bloomington concert, the next evening.
 "For suppose it will be something very fine," she said. "Where's my eye glasses, Charley? I must take them along, if l expect to see anything, for I do declare Pm getting binder every day"
 ''I expect, mother" Charley answered, with little laugh, 'you'll see lot of things to surprise you.'
 The concert had proved an unusually great attraction in the neighborhood, and the hall was crowded when the Marchell party arrived, so that Mrs. Marchell was forced to be content with camp p-stool at the very back of the room.
 Dear, dear! how provoking this isl" said the old lady. And Charley didn't find the glasses after all. I shan't see thing"
 But you can hear," said Charley.
 "Hush-sh-sh" said the mother. Isn't that the violinist--a pretty, hght-com- plexioned girl, in white, with roses in her hair? Now, do hope Phoebe Lockett is here to see this,"
 The violinist was greeted with shouts of applause, which died away into si- lence as the delicious music rose upon the air, floating upwards like tho halos' we see in ancient pictures.
 It was a short capriccio, and, when it ended, Mrs. Marchell was in tears.
 T never thought before that I cared SO much for music" said she to Charley. But such music as haU Do you know, Charley, it seemed to me exactly as if my little baby that died twenty years ago was whispering in my earl Oh, if Phoebe could only hear this" The female violinist was certainly the feature of the night. And at the close of the concert she was again and again called before the curtain to receive the rapturous plaudits of the Bloomington public.
 "Where's Phebe?" said Mrs. Marchell, standing on one of the benches to look around her. Has any one seen our Phoebe here?"
 q have," said Charley, dryly. Shall take you to her?-here, in the little room adjoining the stage?"
 But what is she doing here?" said Mrs. Marchell, perplexedly,
 Counting her bouquets, l suppose" Charley said, with the same odd little laugh.
 And, without further ceremony; Mrs. Marchell was ushered into the presence