The Osceola times., 1880-04-10
MRS. MARCHELL'S BOUND GIRL.


OF her finger in one particular direction.
1t was quite htue hfe-picture-the
row OF eager-eyed girls, standing IN the
siufiy little reception room Of the orphan
asylum at Bloomington, each one clad in
her diugy gray stuff gown, with green
gingLGm 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 a female pick
pocket. Just behind them stood the
matron, Il fat old woman, with a crumpled
white cap, and three distinct layers OF
chin, and hungry dog, peeping III 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. Marchell's preference or neg
lect; and little grey-eyed lassie at the
end OF the line, who had been balancing
herself mcasily on one foot, like a
crane, started forward with half-stfiled
cry of delight.
"phUbe LOckettm cried the matron,
ilbabt iEbA httAs II Nlldl , lltT HRl1lt,
said Mrs. Marchell decidedly.
"Why, she's the smallest of the lot :"
said the n4atron.
Shell grow" said Mrs. Marchell.
And the ugliest," added the matron.
And at her unconsidered words, poor
little Phpbe WINGED 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. jerks, and
let the lady dlrectress know that have
decided"
As Phoebe Lockett rode away in the
open farm wagon, sitting beside Mrs.
Marchells ample figure, the farmers
wife looked down, and caught the clear
eyes looking tinidly up into hers, like
wells Of gray water.
Come said Mrs Marchel, brusque-
ly, "what are you thinking about?"
"Please, ma'am," said Phoebe, 81 was
wondering why on earth you chose me,
when Caroline Purple was 50 much pret-
tier, and Deborah Dove a great deal taller
and stronger
"llumph.' said Mrs. Marchell. 81
chose you because | 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"
Thank you, ma'am," said Phoebe
simply.
And She rejoiced fervently in her in
nOcent little heart, in that she had es-
capped from the iron rule, scanty fare,
and distasiciul drudgerv of the Bloom
ington Orphan Asylum at last
Mr.. Marcholl, a stout, good-humored
farmer. with q shining bald head and Il
pair Of iron-rray English side whiskers,
welcomed t,c little girl with kindly
pat on the head, and an adominition to
'be sure Jl d do her duty, and it would
always be done by her"
And Charley Marchell, the only son,
and heir TO The r,d-bick farmhouse,
with its acre OF golden wheat and en-
erald strct hes OF pasture land, nick
named her Miss Midget" on the spot
Because you are such stunted little
affair sgiu he.
Phoebe Lockct had not been "bound
Wri" at the Alarchcll farmhouse for more
than few months, when, one day, Mrs
Marchcll came into the great, airy keep
ug-room," with pcrturbed expression
on her cuuntenancc.
Il thought | heard fiddle some
where" sad she.
"Jus what you did hear" said Charley.
"It's Phoebe, up in the garrett"
"Pu9uc" CALCULATED Mrs. Mafchall.
And where on earth did she get a fid
AlcG'
Borrowed it from old Mr.. Findley,"
said Charley, laughing. you neversaw
q creature 80 bcwltched after fiddle as
she is
Nonsense" said Mrs. Marchell sharp
ly. "WhJt business has a bound girl
with a fiddle, or with any sort of music,
for that matter!'
It's ue harm, wiie-no HARM" said
the farmer, indulgently.
But It's HARM said Mrs. Marchell.
And mean TO put q stop to IT."
And Phoebe Lockett, seated Turk
fashion ON the floor of the old garret,
with q aucred shawl wrapped around
her shoulders, and the red, level light
of the winter sunset weaving itself
around her short, auburn curls was in
terruptCd in her musical reveries by the
abrupt entrance of Mrs. Marchel.
"GlyC me that fiddler said Mrs. Mar
chell.
"Ma'am?" said Phoebe, dropping the
bow, in her amazement.
"l'sa silly waste of time" said Mrs.
Mucbeil. besides being sinful"
Butt pleaded Phoebe, "Pve done all
my work"
"Nom matter whether you have or not"
said Mrs. Mar,hell. There's always
yOUT UltrlWOrk TO do. and 'Blairs Ser
mons to read, besides the weekly paper.
Give me that fiddle, ! say"
Poor Phwbe gave it up, trying hard to
cnOkc down the tears and sobs.
Old Moses Findley the village violin
ist who oiliciatcd at dances, weddings
and merry-makings in general, and filled
up the intcrstices of his time with the
making and mending OF shoes, looked
fairly astounded when Mrs. Marchell
bounded into his seven-by-nine shop,
and flung the musical instrument on the
workbench.
"EhY" said old Moses, adjusting his
speciacleS on the bridge of his nose.
There's your old fiddle" said Mrs,
Marchell; "and | wish, after this, you'd
be kind enough to keep 1t at home, and
not go putting nonsense into my bound
girls head"
"}ut it amt nonsense. said old Moses.
"She's got a capital idea Of music, Phoebe
has; and"
"Nousensem said Mrs. Marchel.
And very decent voice, if only 1t
was cultivated"
"Pshaw!' cried Mrs. Marchell, and she
fiounccd out OF the shop in rage.