The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1881-05-25
MRS. MaRcnEnu-s nousD GIRL


the end of her finger in one partieu-
lar direction.
1t was quite a little life-picture-
The row of eager-eyed girls, standing
in the stuify little reception room OF
the orphans asylum at blooming
ton. each one clad in her dingy gray
stuff gown. with a green glngham
bib-apron, and hair cut clese to the
head style Of coiifnre which gave
am undue predom;nance TO the ears,
and would have made the divine
Venus di Milo herself look like a ie-
male pickpociet. Just behind them
stood the matron. II, old woman.
with a crumbled white cap. and
three distinct LAYERS of chin. and 2
hungry dog, peeping in at the halt
open door. completed the tabieaGx.
Deborah Dove, a stnmpy girl oi
thirteen, with cmpurpled fingers and
2 fllunt nose sighed deeply; Sarah
Jackson's freckled countenance teli.
The Others looked stolidly about
them. Indifferent as TO Mrs Mar
chell's preference or neglect; and a
little eray-eyed lassie at the end OF
the line who had been balancing
herself uneasily on one foot. like a
crane, started forward with half
stified cry of delight
"PhGbe Locketw cried the mat
ron.
sPhobe Lockel, if that is her
name" said Mrs. Marchell, decid-
edly.
%Why, she's the smallest Of the
lot" said the matron.
And at her unconsidered words,
poor little Phoebe WINGED and hung
down her head, as if some rude hand
had struck her
Handsome is that handsome
does. returned Mr. MarcheI, dldac-
ticallv. Put up her things, please,
Mrs. jerks and let the lady direct
ress know that | have decided" "
As phgbe Locket rode away III
the open farm wagon, sitting beside
Mrs. Marchell's simple figure, the
farmers wife looked down and
caught the clear eyes looking timid-
ly up into hers, like wells OF gray
water.
Come" Mrs. Marcheil said,
brasquely, what are you thinking
about?"
"Please, ma'am," said Ph@be, Il
was wondering why on earth YOU
chose me when Carolina Purple was
so much prettier, and Deborah Dove
a great deal taller and stronger"
"Humph," said Mrs Marchell.. q
chose YOU because | like your looks
You're little but yon're wiry; you
aren't pretty as some Of those sim
pering 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 he,
innocent little heart, in that she had
escaped from the iron rule, scanty
fare and distasteful drudgery of the
Bloomington Orphan Asylum al
last.
Mr.. Marchell, a stout, gooa-hu-
mored farmer, with a shining bald
head and pair of iron-gray English
de-whiskers, welcomed the it'll,
girl with 4 kindly pat on the head
and an admonition to "be sure anC
do her duty, and ii would always bC
done by her"
And Charley Marchell, the only
son, and heir of the red-brick farm
house, with Its acres Of golden wheat
and emerald stretches of pasture.
land, nicknamed her Miss Midget
on the spot.
Because you are such a stunteC
little affair, " said he.
Phoebe Locket had not beer
bound girl" at the Marehell farm
house for more than few months
when one day, Mrs. Marchell cam,
into the great airy excepting room,
with 1 perturbed expression on hel
countenance.
Il thought / heard a fiddle some
where" said she.
Just what you did hear" saiC
Charley, Its Phoebe, up in the gar
ret.n
"Phebe p calculated Mrs. Mar
chell. And where on earth did
she get fiddle? ?'
Borrowed ii from old Nh. Find
ley" said Charley, laughing. "loG
never saw such a creature so be
witched after fiddle as she is.
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Marchell
sharply. "What business has Z
bound girl with a fiddle, or with
any sort of music, for that matter 2
'It's no harm, wife-no harm
said the farmer, indulgently.
"But it is HARM" said Mrs. Mar
chell. and | mean to put stoI
to it."
And Phoebe Locket, seated Turk
fashion on the floor of the old gar
ret. with tattered shawl wrapped
around her shoulders, and the red
level light of the winter sunset
weaving itself around her short au
burn curls. was interrupted in hel
musical reveries by the abru6t en-
trance of Mrs. Marchell.
Give me that fiddle" said Mrs
Marchell.
"Ma'am?7 said Phoebe dropping
the bow in her amazenent
Its silly waste of time, saiC
Mrs. Marchell, besides being sin
full"
but" pleaded Phoebe, "I've dom
all my work !"
mo matter whether YOU have o.
not" said Mrs. Marched. There
always your patchwork TO do, am
'Blair's Sermons to read, beside tn
weekly paper. Give me that fiddle
! say"
Poor PhGbe gave it up, tryin
hard TO choke down the tears ani
sobs.
Old Moses Findley, the villag
violinist. who oiiiciated at dances
weddings and merry-makings il
general, and filled up the inteTstice
OF his time with the making ant
amending of shoes, looked fairly as
founded when Mrs. Marchell bound
ed into his seven-by-nine shop, anI
a,pc, sj.a ,,,,,e;,.o1 met r,,pao,,f p,, I,