The Concordia eagle. [volume] (Vidalia, La.) 1873-1890, 1881-02-05

| prettler, ana deborah Dove was great
deal taller and stronger"
"Humphl" said Mrs. Marchell, 81
chose you because l liked your looks.
You're little but you're wiry; you arn't
as pretty as some of those simpering
girls, but have an honest look. That's
why chose you"
THANK you, ma'am," said Phebe,
simply.
| And she rejoiced fervently in her inno-
cent little heart. in that she had escaped
| from the iron rule and distasteiul druid
gerry of the Bloomington orphan asylum
at last.
Mr.. Marchell. stout, good-humored
farmer, with shining bald head, and q
pair of English iron gray whiskers,
welcomed the little girl with a kindly
pat on the head, and an admonition to
be sure and do her duty, and it would
always be done by her."
And Charley Marchell, the only son.
and heir of the red brick farmhouse,
with its acres of golden wheat and
emerald stretches of pasture land, nick
named her ''Miss Midget" on the spot.
because you are such a stunted little
affair."" said he.
Phebe Locket had not been bound
girl" at the Marchell house for more
than few months when, one day, Mrs.
Marchell came into the great airy
keeping room" with a perturbed ex-
preston on her eountenance.
az thought 1 heard fiddle some
where" said she.
"Just what you did hear" said
Charley. Its Phebe, in the garrett"
"PhebeP" calculated Mrs. Marchell.
"And where on earth did she get a fid-
dleP"
Borrowed it from old Mr.. Findley."
said Charley, laughing. You never
saw creature so bewitched after fid-
die as she is"
Nonsense" said Mrs. Marchell,
sharply. what business has bound
girl with fiddle, or with any sort Of
music, for that matter"
Its no harm, wife-no HARM" said
the farmer, indulgently.
But it is HARM" said Mrs. Mar
shell, "end / mean to put a stop to it,
And Phebe Locket, seated Turk
fashion on the floor of the old garnet,
with tattered shawl wrapped around
her shoulders, and the red level light OF
the winter sunset weaving itself around
her short auburn curls, was interrupted
in her musical reveries by the abrupt
entrance of Mrs. Marchell.
"Give me that fiddle" said Mrs.
Msrchell.
"Ma'amP" said Phebe, dropping her
bow in amazement.
cts silly waste of time" said Mrs.
Marchell, besides being sinful"
"But," pleaded Phebe, "I've done all
my work"
mo matter whether you have or
not" said Mrs. Marchell; there's al
ways your patchwork to do, and Blair's
sermons, to read, besides the weekly
paper. Give me that fiddle, sayr'
Poor Phebe gave it up, trying hard
to choke down the tears and sobs.
Old Nose Findley, the village violin
list, who OBLIGATED at dances, weddings
and merry markings in general, and fill
ing up the interstices of his time with
the making and mending OF shoes.
looked fairly astounded when Mrs,
Marchell bounced into his seven-by-
nine shop and flung the musical instru-
ment on the workbench.
"Ehp" said old Moses, adjusting his
spectacles on the bridge of his nose.
"There's your old fiddle" said Mrs.
Marchen; and wish after this you'd
be kind enough to keep it at home and
not go putting nonsense into my bound
girls head"
But it isn't nonsense" said old
Moses. "She's got a capital idea OF
music, Phebe has, and"
; Nonsense" said Mrs. Marchell.
"And very decent voice, if only it
was cultivated"
"Pshawr said Mrs. Marchell, and
she flounced out of tn shop in rage.
But if Mrs. Marchell was the child's
temporal mi stress, music was her
spiritual one. Phebe Locket went
quietly about her work in the years that
followed, but she could not forget the
divine strains which the well rosined
bow had drawn from the antique violin,
m the red glow of the winter sunset,
that January afternoon in the garrett.
Mrs. Msrchell had done up her front
hair in papers, assumed her gray flannel
dressing gown, when CHANGING to look
out OF the north kitchen window, she
saw, or thought she saw, the glimmer
of a light in the top window of the
barn.
II can't have been mistaken" said