The news and herald. (Winnsboro, S.C.) 1877-1900, 1881-06-02
Mrs. MarChell's Bound Girl.

81 think I'll take that cne," sld Mrs.
Marine Marchell, pointing with the end of
her finger in one particular direction.
1t was quite little -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 a 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
like female pickpocket. just behind them
stood the matron, fat old woman, with a
crumplcd white cap, and three distinct
layers of chin, and hungry dog, peeping
IN at the half open door, completed the
tableaux.
Deborah Dove, 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 preference or neglect; and lit
tie gray-eycd lassie at the end of the line
who had been balancing herself upeasily on
one foot, like crane, started forward with
a half -stifled cry Of delight.
"PhDbe Lockett!" cried tho matron.
"PhObe 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 struck her.
"Handsome is that handsome does" re-
turned Mrs. B1arohell, didactically. "Put
up her things, please, Mrs. jerks, and let
the lady diractress know that 1 have
decided"
AS Phpbe Lockett rode away III the open
farm-wagon, sitting beside Mrs. Marchell's
SIMPLE figure. the farmers wife looked
down aud caught the clear eyes looking
timidly up into hers, like wells of gray
water.
"Come," Mrs. Alarchell, brusquely,
'twhat are you thinking abouta"
'Please, ma'am," said Phoebe, l was
wondering why on earth you chose me
when Carolina Purple was 30 much prettier,
and Deborah Dove great deal taller and
stronger"
''Humph," said Mrs. Marchcll. "I
chose you because like your looks. You're
little but you're wiry; you aren't pretty as
some OF those simperlng girls, but you've
an honest look IN your face. That's why
chose you."
"lhank you, ma'am," said Phoebe, sim
ply.
And she rejoiccd fervently in her limo.
cent little heart, In that she had escaped
from The iron rule, scanty fare and dis
tasteful drudgery OF the Bloomington Or.
phan Asylum at last.
farmer, with shining bald head and O
En- OF 1I,kto or
welcomed the little girl With a kindly pat
on the head, and an admonitlon to fbe
sure and do her duty, and 1t would always
be done by her."
And Charley Marchell, the only son, and
heir of the red-brlck farmhouse, with its
acres Of golden wheat and emerald stretches
of pasture-land, nicknamed her miss
Midget" on the spot.
Because you are such stuntcd little
affair."" said he.
PhGbc Lockett had not been "bount
g1l" at tho Marchell farmhouse for NOR,
than few months, when one day, Mrs
Marchcll came into the great airy ''kccp
ing-room," with perturbed expression o.
, her countenance.
" II thought heard fiddle somewhere,
SAID Eahe.
"Jusft what you did hear" said Charley
It's 1fb1be, up in the garret.
"PhSGbe2" CALCULATED Mrs. Marchell
And }where On earth did she get fld
"BPrrowcd it from old Mr.. Findley,
said Y'harlcy, laughing. "You never say
cleastnr".ao ha,vitched after q fiddle a
she Ia. ''.'.
Nonsense" SAID Mrs. MAJ, Ao,,
sharply. What business has a bound
girl with fiddle, or with any sort of
music. for that natter"
"It's no harm, wifc--no harm," said the
farmer, ipdulgently.
''But it is harm," said Mrs. Marchell.
"And mean to put stop to it,"
And Phoebe Lockctt, seated Turk. fash
ion on the floor of the old garret, with a
tattcred shawl wrapped around heI
shoulders, and tho red, level light of tho
winter sunset weaving itself around her
short auburn curls, was interrupted in her
musical reveries by the abrupt entrance Of
Mrs. Msrchell.
''Give me that fiddlc2" said Mrs. Mar
chell.
'Nla'ama' said Phoebe dropping the
bow, In her amazcment.
'lt's silly waste of time" said Mrs
Marchell, ''besides being sinful"
but, pleaded Phoebe, 'I've done al
my workl'
''No matter whether you have Or not,
said Mrs. Marchcll. '0rhcre's Away
your patchwork to do, and 'Blair's Ser
mons to read, beside the weekly paper
Give me that fiddle, l say
Poor Phoebe gave 1t up, trying hard t,
choke down the tears and sobs.
Old Moses Findley, the village violinist
who offlciated at dances, weddings an,
morry-maklngs in general, and filed u
the lnterstices of his time with tho makin