Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1881-01-30

mark was sarcasm.
"How long out?"
"Four days"
"Hungry
The man rose up, and, walking over to
the lunch counter, fell to work upon
some roast bear, devouring it like any
Wild animal would have done. As meat,
and drink, and warmth began to per-
meate the stranger, he seemed to ex-
pand and Tighten up. His features lost
their pallor, and he grew more and
more content with the idea that he was
not in the grave. As he underwent
these changes, the people about him got
merrier and happier, and threw off the
temporary feeling of depression which
he had laid upon them.
"Do you always have your place dec
grated like this?" he finally asked of
Goskin.
"This is Christmas eve," was the re-
ply.
The stranger was startled.
December twenty-fourth, sure
enough"
"That's the way put ii up, pard."
"When [ was in England I always
kept Christmas. But I had forgotten
that this was the night. I've been wan
dering about the mountains until I've
lost track of the feasts of the church."
Presently his eye fell upon the piano.
Where's the player he asked.
"Never had any," said Goskin, blush
ing at the confession.
81 used to play when was young"
Goskin almost tainted at the admis-
sion.
"Stranger, do tackle it, and give us a
tune! Nary man in this camp ever had
the nerve to wrestle with that music
box" His pulse beat faster, for he
feared that the man would refuse.
"Pll do the best can," he said.
There was no stool, but, Selling a
candle-box, he drew it up and seated
himself before the instrument. It only
required few seconds for hush to
come over the room.
"That old coon is going to give the
thing rattle"
The sight of a man at the piano was
something so unusual that even the faro
dealer, who was about to take In q $50
bet on the tray, paused, and did not
reach for the money. Men stopped
drinking, with the glasses at their lips.
Conversation appeared to have been
struck with sort of paralysis, and cards
were no longer shuffied.
The old man brushed back his long
white locks, looked up to the ceiling,
half closed his eyes, and in mystic sort
of reverie passed his fingers over the
keys. He touched but single note,
yet the sound thrilled the room. TWAS
the key to his improvisation, and as he
wove his chords together the music laid
its spell upon every ear and heart. He
felt his way along the keys, like man
treading uncertain paths but he gained
confidence as he progressed, and pres
emily bent to his work like master.
The instrument was not in exact tune,
but the ears of his audience, through
long disuse, did not detect anything rad
ically wrong. They heard succession
of grand chords, a suggestion of para
disc, melodies here and there, and it was
enough.
"See him counter with his left !" said
an old rough, enraptrred.
"He calls the turn every time Oh the
upper end of the board" responded a
man with stack of chips in his hand.
The player wandered off into the old
ballads they had heard at home. ALI the
sad, and melancholy, and touching songs,
that came up like dreams of childhood,
this unknown player drew from the keys,
His hands kneaded their hearts like
dough, and squeezed out the tears as
from a wet sponge. As the strains flowed
one upon the other, they saw their homes
of the long ago reared again they were
playing once more where the apple bios
SONS sank through the soft air to join the
violets on the green turf of the old New
England States they saw the glories of
the Wisconsin naples and the haze of the
Indian summer blending their hues to-
gether they saw the heather of the
Scottish hills, the white cliffs of Briton,
and heard the sullen roar of the sea, as
it beat upon their memories vaguely.
Then came all the old Christmas carols,
such as they had sung in church thirty
years before the subtle music that
brings up the glimmer of wax tapers,
the solemn shrines, the evergreen, holly,
mistletoe and surpliced choirs. Then
the remorseless performer planted his
final stab in every heart with "Home,
Sweet Home"
When the player ceased, the crowd
skunk from him. There was no more
revelry and devilment left in his audience.
Each man wanted to sneak off to his
cabin and write the old folks letter.
The day was breaking when the last
man left the place, and the player. lay
ing his head down on the piano, fell
asleep.
81 say, pard," said Goskin, "don't
you want little rest?"
'sI feel tired" the old man said.
Perhaps you'll let me rest here for the
matter of day or SO.
He walked behind the bar, where some
old blankets were lying, and stretched
himself upon them.
"I feel pretty sick. I guess I won't
last long. I've got brother down in
the ravine-his names Driscoll. He
don't know Pm here. Can you get him
before morning? I'd like to see his
face before [ de-"
Goskin started up at the mention of
the name. He knew Driscon well.
"He your brother? I'll have him