The Benton weekly record. [volume] (Benton, Mont.) 1880-1885, 1880-03-19


gers and cold, weary limbs could not wliol
ly destroy: while the girl, with a sweet
though very sad voice, accompanied hin
with appropriate words. But their at
tempts were miseraBly unproductiye. Il
such bitter weather few who could help
would stay away from their warm tiresides
and those whom stern necessity kept on
Of doors seemed only bent on dispaJchin;
their several task7 and to have no time o
thought to expend Oh u couple of wander
ing tramps singing BY the roadside. .
! Still thcv toiled on, every now ana theI
making a stop at some likely corner, only
too often ordered to ''move on By some
stern policeman. As they drew nearer tc
the city and the hours grew later, the pass
ers-by grew fewer and farther between
ana the poor wanderers thoughtthat it wa
idle even to seek for charity in those de-
serted streets. Atlength the old man stop,
ped and &roaned aloud.
/ "}Fhat is it, grandfather, dear? Dom
give up now when we have come 50 far
Lean on me-do; I'm hardly tired 1T all
and dare say we shall DO better to-snor-
row.
'.To-molrow !" said the Old man, bitter
tly. Tomorrow will be too late. | don't
mind hunger and don't mind cold, but the
shame Of it, the disgrace-after struggling
against it all these years-t0 come to the
wolkhous6 ut last! It isn't for myself /
nlind-beggals mustn't be efloosers; and,
| dare say better mesa than have slept in
a casual ward; but you, my tender little
Lily The thought breaks my heart-it
kills met And the old man sobbed aloud.
'Dear grandfather, you are always think
ing Of me, and never Of yourself What
does it matter airer aIIs2 It's only the name
of file thing. I'msura don't mind 1t one
Bit" The shuG,ler Of horror which passed
over the girls fE9:,se gave the lie to her
piouS falsehood IL dare say it's not so
bad; and, aftes ALL something may happen
to prevent it even now"
"Whar can happen, short Of d miracle,
in these deserted streets?" ... -..-......
"Wcl1, let ,ls hope for the miracle, then,
dear. God never quite deserted us i'll our
deepest troubles, and l don't believe that
Tic Will foIsalSe lls now"
As she spoke she drew her thin shawl
closely around her, shiyering III spite Of
herself under the cold blast, which seemed
TO receive no check from her scanty cover
ngs.
Again the pair crept on, and, passing be
meath the lofty wall of ST. Winfred' church,
stood beneath it for r temporary shelter
from the driving wind and snow. While
80 standing they caught the sound Of the
organ family pealing within.
"Noble music, exelalmedthe old man, ;s
the final chords died away; noble music,
and a soul in the playing. That man,
whoever he may be, should have Il gen
erolts heart.
Hush, grandfather, said the girl, che
is beginning TO play again."
Scarcely had the music commenced,
however, than the pair glanced at each
other in breathIess surprise,
Chilly, darling, do you bear what he is
playing?" said the old man in an excited
whisper.
"A strange coincidence" the girl re-
piled.
STRANGE Itisnore than strange dall-
ing, who plays that song?''
hemelody came to an end, and all was
silence. There wasa moments pause, and
then, is if bya common impulse, the. old
man drew his bow across the strings, and
the girls sweet voice caroled forth the SEC
ond verse of the song.
Scarcely had they ended, When tlls door
opened at the foot Of the church tower jnst
beside them, ana Michael Fray, bare
headed, with his scanty locks blown about
by the wind, stood before them. He
hurried forward, and then stood SILL,
shamefaced, bewiIdered. The song had
called MP the vision Of 4 gallant young
sailor, full Of health, ID Michael had seen
his brother for the last time on the day
when he sailed on his fatal voyage. He
had hurried forth forgetting the years that
had passed, full Of tender memories of
happy, boyish days, to find, alas! only 2
couple of wandering beggars singing for
bread.
II beg your pardon. he said, striving
vainly 70 master his emotions; s'yon sang
a song just now whieh-Whicla-a song.
which WAS favorite Of = dear friend Of
mine many years ago. VIII you-will You
tell me where sou got it?"
ssBy the best Of Ill titles, sir, the Old
fiddler answered drawing himself lid aith
touch Of artistic pride; ~ wrote IT ny
self, words and music both.
stNay, sit. #aid Michael stelnly, tYola
rob the dead. a dearly loved brother ofnine
wrote thar song some forty years ago,
sWell, upon piy ysord.'' said the otl
fiddler, waxing wiotl, s.thell Eollr b,otilel.
must have stolen it from me. What might
this precious l3Fother'shanie be, pray.
IAN honest name name aR pros5ti
to speak, sail Michael, firing NJ il lis
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