Juniata sentinel and Republican. [volume] (Mifflintown, Juniata County, Pa.) 1873-1955, 1881-05-18
MIS-. Marehell's Bound Girl.

81 think III take that Cne," SAID Mrs
Marine Marchell, pointing with the end of
her finger in one particular direction.
1t was quite little life-picture-the row
of eager-eyed girls, standing IN the stuffy
little reception-room of the orphan asylum
at Bloomington, each one clad in her dingy
gray stuff gown, with green gingham bib
apron, and hair cut close to the head-a
style of coiffure which gave an undue pre-
dominance to the ears, and would have
made the divine Venus di Milo herself look
ike female pickpocket. Just behind them
stood the matron, fat old woman, with a
crumpled white cap, and three distinct
layers of chin, and hungry dog, peeping
IN at the half open doer, completed the
tableaux.
Deborah Dove, a stumpy girl of thirteen,
with empurpled fingers and blunt nose
sighed deeply; Sarah Jackson's freckled
countenance fell. The others looked stol-
idly about them, indifferent as to Mrs.
Marchell's 6 preference or neglect: and lit
lie gray-eyed lassie at the end of the line
who had been balancing herself upeasiiy on
one foot, like crane, started forward with
Il half-st flied cry of delight.
"Phebe Locketti" cried the matron.
''Phebe Lockett, If that's her name, "
said Mrs. Marchell, decidedly.
''Why, she's the smallest of the lot
said the matron.
And at her unconsidered words, poor lit
tie Phoebe WINGED and hung down her
head, as if some rude hand had STUCK her.
Handsome is that handsome does" re-
turned Mrs. Marchell, didactically. ''Put
up her things, please, Mrs. jerks, and let
the lady directress know that | have
decided"
As Phoebe Lockett rode away IN the open
farm-wagon, sitting beside Mrs. Marchelr:
simple figure. the farmers wife looked
down and caught the clear eyes looking
timidly up into hers, like wells of gray
water.
''Come," Mrs Marchell, brusquelY,
''what are you thinking abouti"
'.Please, ma'am," said Phoebe, l wa,
wondering why on earth you chose M,
when Carolina Purple was so much prettler
and Deborah Dove a great deal taller anC
stronger"
"Humph,n said Mrs. Marchell. g.
chose you because | like your looks Your,
little but you're wiry; you aren't pretty a
some OF those simperng girls, but you'v'
an honest look IN your face. That's VIII
L chose you.
ssrhank you, ma'am," said Phoebe, sim
ply.
And she rejoiced fervently in her limo
cent little heart, IL that she had escaped
from the iron rule, scanty fare and dis
tasteful drudgery OF the Bloomington Or
phan Asylum at last.
Mr. Marchell, a stout, good-humorct
farmer, with a shining bald head and ;
pair of iron-gray English side-whiskers
welcomed the little girl with kindly pa
on the head, and an admonitIon to 'b
sure and do her duty, ana 1t would alway
be done by her"
And Charley Marchell, the only son, an'
heir of the red-br-ck farmhouse, with it
acres of golden wheat and emerald stretche
of pasture-land, nicknamed her mis-
Midget" on the spot.
Because you are such a stunted littl
affair."" said he.
Phoebe Lockett had not been ''boun'
girln at the Marchell farmhouse for NOR
than few months, when one day, Mrs
Marchell came into the great airy keep
ing-room," with perturbed expression o.
her countenance.
Il thought heard fiddle somewhere,
said she.
'Just what you did hear,' said Charley
"It's Phoebe, up in the garret.
'sPhebel" calculated Mrs Marchen
s'And where on earth did she get fid
dlel'
Borrowed it from old Mr.. Findley,
said Charley, laughing. ''You never say
a creature SO bewitched after fiddle a
she is.
" Nonsense" SAID Mrs. Marchell
sharply. What business has boun
girl with a fiddle, or with any sort Q
music, for that natter"
Its no harm, wife-no harm, y said th
farmer, indulgently.
But it is harm," said Mrs. Marchell
''And mean TO put stop to ii.
And Phoebe Lockett, seated Turk fash
ion on the floor of the old garret, with
tattered shawl wrapped around he
shoulders, and the red, level light OF th
winter sunset weaving itself around he
short auburn curls, was interrupted In he
musical reveries by the abrupt entrance
Mrs. Marchell.
Give me that fiddlei" said Mrs. Mai
chell.
'sMa'am7' said Phoebe dropping th
bow, in her amazement.
'.lt's a silly waste of time, said Mr
Marchell, .'besides being sinful.
But" pleaded Phoebe, 1--WE done a
my work!''
'sNo matter whether you have or not
said Mrs. Marchell. ''There's alwal
your patchwork to do, and 'Blalrs De
mons to read, beside the weekly pape
Give me that fiddle, l say y
Poor Phoebe gave it up. trying hard
choke down the tears and sobs-
Old Moses tindley, the village vloilnls
who officiated at dances, weddings af
merry -maklngs in general, and filed !
the mterstices of his time with the maKif
and mending of shoes, looked falriy a
founded when Mrs. Marchell bounded In
his seven-by-ni shop, and flung the mus
cal instrument on the workbench.
s.Ehl'' said old Moses adjusting his spe
tacles on the bridge of his nose.
sThere's your old fiddle" said MI
Marchell, land l wish, after this, you,a
kind enough to keep it at home, and n
go putting nonsense into my bound 81
heai."
.sBut il amt nonsense, said old Moss