The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1882-02-16
Vancouver Independent.
"HOME, SWEET HONE"

"Thats right, my dear; keep close,
keep close"
II was only gathering one of those
wild roses, father. They are so beauti-
full"
AYE, aye, my child. 1 dare say they
are very beautiful, but these eyes can't
see them. Let me touch it, my dear; let
me smell it. Aye, it is the very sweet,
but it is not so sweet as my Rose. Not
half so sweet. Come along, my pet, and
keep very close"
The speakers were proceeding along
q country road in the evening of what
had been boiling July day. One was
pretty, dark-haired, dark-eyed maiden of
some ten summers, the other was man
of about fifty years of age. Both were
very poorly clad-indeed, they were al
most in tatters. The man carried in his left
hand bag which contained violin and
q bow. In his right was small bundle,
while upon his breast was card, upon
which was written the word "Blind."
Both of them had evidently travelled far
that day, for they were dust covered, and
looked thoroughly worn out. The child
now obeyed her fathers request, and
kept close by him. Slowly they walked
along the road, until at last the man
stopped and, opening his bundle, handed
the child half biscuit.
Here, Rose" said he, "this is all you
can have at present. Eat that slowly, it
will ease your hunger.
Ibid you say we should come to
village before long, father?"
"Yes, my dear, l did. Look ahead
and see if you can see the spire OF
church in the distance"
The girl shaded her eyes with her
hands and looked ahead.
"My father" she replied. 81 do just
see spire rising out of the trees, but it
seems great way off"
mo, it is not very far. Come, Rose,
take my hand, and we shall soon be
there"
The poor child heaved little sigh,
and taking his hand, they once more pro-
ceeded.
Before long they came to the village
of Staunton, and the blind fiddler, for
such he was, entered the Plough inn and
asked the landlord whether he could play
him q tune in return for some refresh
ments.
'And my little Rose shall sing you
song" said he.
The landlord, big, burly fellow, for
whom music had no charms whatever, re-
piled that he had no time to pay attention
to such thing; but his wife, catching
sight of pretty, dark-eyed Rose pulled
her husband roughly by the arm, saying:
sect out with you the child shall sing
a song" And the host of farm lsborers
muttered their approval.
"Here," cried one of them, taking
Rose in his arms and hosting her on to
an enormous beer barrel. Stand thee
there, lass, and let us hear thee sing a
song, and do thee sing well, and we will
give thee a copper" And again the men
signifed their approval.
Blind Bob Barnet, he whom before he
went blind, had good position in the
provincial orchestra, raised his violin to
his shoulder and soon the beautiful notes
of 1.-The Last Rose of Summer" rang
through the old building. Blind Bob
was a capital player, and even the hard
hearted landlord stared in establishment.
But he stared considerably more when
little Rose commenced to sing. She had
q very pretty voice, and knew we'll how
to use it. Her audience listened very
attentively until it was finished, then Q
collection was made up and Rose had
several coppers placed in her lap.
IT say, lass, said one of the men, can
the sing Home, Sweet Homer"
Eyes, sir" replied Rose, "if my father
will play it. But he don't like me to
sing that because"
"Hist, child r. whispered Blind Bob,
I'VE have nothing TO get lodging, sing
it, Rose" And once more Bob raised
his violin to his shoulder, and this time
struck up the plaintive air of Home,
Sweet Home" Then Rose commenced
to sing; but NO sooner did she get TO the
line, BE it ever 20 humble, there's no
place like home," then Blind Bob let the
bow glide of his instrument, and sinking
on . stool burst into tears..
"Oh, don't father" cried Rose, leap
ing from the barrel and placing her little
arms about his neck: II will not sing
any more
'Whst ais thee, man ?" asked one Of
the laborers.
"Oh, sir, he never sings that" said
Rose, "because IL puts him in mind Of
mamma. That was mamma song before
she died, oh, sver 20 longr'
Poor little thingr' murmured the
laudlady, handing the child few more
eoPgsn.
father and sat this"-placing plate OF
meat in her hands-"snd you viii b re-
freshsd."
Both father and daughter we're very