The Russellville Democrat., 1880-04-08
MRS. MARCHELL'S BOUND GIRL.


 q think I'll take Mdt one," said Mrs Marius Marchell, pointing with the end of her finger in one particular direction
 It was quite little hfe-picture-the row of eager-eyed girls, standing Tn the stuhy little reception room of the orphan asylum at Bloomington, each one clad in her dingy gray stuff gown, with green gingham bibapron, and hair cut close to the head-a style of coiffure which gave an undue predominance to the ears, and would have made the divine Venus of Milo herself look like female pick pocket. Just behind them stood the matron, a fat oldwoman, with a crumpled white cap, and three distinct layers of chin, and hungry dog, peeping in at the half open door, completed the tab leau.
 Deborah Dove, stumpy girl of thir. teen with empurpled fingers and blunt nose, sighed deeply; Sarah Jackson's freckled countenance fell. The others looked stolIdly about them, indifferent as to Mrs. MarchelPs preference or neg lect; and little grey-eyed lassie at the end of the line, who had been balancing herself uneasily on one foot, like a crane, started forward with a half-stiffled cry of delight.
 Phoebe Lockettp' cried the matron. "Pheba Lockett, if that's her name," said Mrs. Marchell decidedly.
 "Why she's the smallest of the lot" said the matron.
 shell grow," said Mrs. Marchell.
 And the ugliest," added the matron. And at her unconsidered words, poor little Phoebe winced and hung down her head, as if some rude hand had struck her.
 Handsome is that handsome does" returned Mrs. Marchell, didactically. ''Put up her things, please, Mrs. Jenks, and let the lady directress know that have decided"
 As Phoebe Lockett rode away in the open farm-wagon, sitting beside Mrs. MarchelPs 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. Marchell, brusuue- ly, "what are you thinking about?"
 Please, ma'am," said Phoebe, "I was wondering why on earth you chose me, when Caroline Purple was so much pret- tier, and Deborah Dove great deal taller and stronger"
 "Humphl" said Mrs. Marchell. 'T chose you because 1 liked your looks. You're little, but you're wiry; you aren't as pretty as some of those simpering girls, but you've an honest look in your face. That's why chose you" ."rhank you, ma'am," said Phoebe simply,
 And she rejoiced fervently in her in- nocent little heart, in that she had es. caped from the iron rule, scanty fare, and distastefui drudgery of the Bloom ington Orphan Asylum at last
 MT Marchell, stout, good-humored farmer, with shining bald head and a pair of iron-gray English side- whiskers, welcomed the little girl with kindly pat on the head, and an admonition to be sure and do her duty, and it would always be done by her"
 And Charley Marchell, the only son, and heir to the red-brick farmhouse, with it's acres of golden wheat and em- erald stretches of pasture land, nick named her Miss Midget" on the spot. "Because you are such stunted little affair."" said he,
 Phoebe Locket had not been "bound tprl' at the Marchell farmhouse for more than few months, when, one day, Mrs. Marchell came into the great, airy keep ing-room," with perturbed expression on her countenance.
 "1 thought 1 heard a fiddle some where" sad she.
 Just what you did hear," said Charley. Its Phoebe, up in the garrett"
 "Phoebe?" calculated Mrs. Marchall. And where on earth did she get fid- dle?"
 Borrowed it from old MT. Findley," said Charley, laughing. "You never saw a creature so bewitched after fiddle as she is."
 Nonsense" said Mrs. Marchell sharp ly. What business has bound glrl with fiddle, or with any sort of music, for that matter?"
 Its no harm, wife-no harm," said the farmer, indulgently.
 But it is harm," said Mrs. Marchell. And mean to put stop to It."
 And Phoebe Lockett, seated Turk fashion on the floor of the old garret, with a tattered shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and the red, level light Of the winter sunset weaving itself around her short, auburn curls, was in- corrupted in her musical reveries by tine abrupt entrance of Mrs. Marchell.
 Give me that fiddlep said Mrs. Mar chell
 "Ma'am?" said Phoebe, dropping the bow, in her amazement.
 Its q silly waste of time." said Mrs. Marchell, besides being sinful"
 But" pleaded Phoebe, 'I've done all my work"
 No matter whether you have or not, !" said Mrs. Marchell. There's always your patchwork to do, and 'Blair's Ser. mons to read, besides the weekly paper Give me that fiddle, say"
 Poor PhGbe gave it up, trying hard to cnoke down the tears and sobs.
 Old Moses Findley, the village violin ist, who ohiciated at dances, weddings and merry -makings in general, and filled up the intersticcs of his time with the making and mending of shoes, looked iailly astounded when Mrs. Marchell bounded into his seven-by-nine shop and flung the musical instrument on the workbench.
 "Eh?" said old Moses, adjusting his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. There's your old fiddle" said Mrs Marchell; land wish, after this, youd be kind enough to keep it at home, an6 not go putting nonesense into my bound girls beadW