Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1882-06-04
A FAIRY GODMOTHER.

Madame Dupont, wrapped in loose
robe of some gray material, faded
cashmere shawl partly covering her, lay
on the lounge before the bay-window
that formed almost the entire front of
her tiny cottage. Her large black
eyes, their brightness somewhat dimmed
by her long sickness, dwelt with dreamy
pleasure ON the landscape spread before
her.
It was very common landscape, such
as can be seen in any country place on
any summer day-only broad field,
white with daisies, among which two OF
three brown COWS patiently sought for
tender blades of grass, with one tall,
stout tree standing midway, solitary
and alone, and a background of dense,
tangled brushwood. To careless eyes,
scarce worth a careless glance; but to
hers, so long shut out from sight of
earth and sky, scene most beautiful.
The slender, white, wrinkled hands
folded upon her breast were yet too
weak to hold even one of her beloved
books, and the small feet still lacked
sufficient strength to sustain the frail
body. But-thank Heaven-the cruel
pain had gone, and in its stead had come
blissful rest.
All through the tickle months of
spring, taking no heed whether they
smiled or wept, she had never raised
her weary head from the pillow. And
the snow-drops and crocuses and scille
and hyacinths and tulips had grown and
budded and bloomed in her little gar
den, and she, who had hoped to watch
them grow from the first green leaf to
the perfect blossom, had only seen the
few Viola had plucked and brought to
her bedside, where, seen through cloud
of suffering, q shadow had fallen upon
their beauty.
And now it was the heart of June and
the roses, gay in every shade of pink,
climbing about the window, looked in,
and entreated her to come out. But
no she could not hope to walk again
among her flowers until the roses
had faded and the lilies had begun to
reign. And perhaps even this hope
would not have been hers had it not been
for the love and care and cheering words
of Viola, the eldest daughter of the
many daughters at the big farm house.
Kate, the strong, rough, IRISH servant
maid, was kind and faithful in her way
but hers was money service, and, left to
it alone, she might have died but Viola
served for love (she had loved the pretty
old madame since first they metz, ana
love brings faith and hope and patience,
and many other beautiful things.
For weeks the young girl came morn,
Moan arI oro IN how 90 oh fip,o
and her visits were the only CLEANS of
brightness that lighted that dark room.
And many the wee loaf Of whitest bread,
and golden pat of butter an drink Of
sweet rich milk, and fresh-laid, pink
tinted egg, she brought to tempt the
languid appetite; and many the song
she sang, soft and low, to WOO for the
sick woman the angel of sleep. And
yet not only we're they neither Nth nor
kin, but she knew naught of Madame
Dupont save that she had built the four.
roomed cottage the preceding spring,
and had lived there since the last July
il the humblest way.
There was large family at the farm
house, and much work to be done-hard,
unlovely work, the very thought of
which often made the young girl, wax
ing in the gray morning from pleasant
dreams, clasp her hands and cry out,
"Is this to be my life forever 2? And
had it not been for the glimpse OF beauty
she caught about her home-the farof
river cleaning in the sunlight or moon
light, the orchard trees white with bios
SONS in spring, and laden with fruit In
summer and autumn, the shady woods
where countless shy wild flowers hid
from the glare of the world, the songs
of the happy birds, and the grand sun
set behind the distant hills-she would
have been heart-weary indeed. For she
loved everything beautiful. And es-
pecially did she love music with all the
tenderness Of creator, as Madame dis
covered one day-the day they first saw
each other, in fact, when Viola, coming
on an errand to the cottage, stopped en-
tranced on the threshold of the door to
listen to the plaintive melody in a minor
key, feeble but beautifully played on
the old-fashioned upright piano.
"You love music?" said madame,
turning slowly and confronting her.
"With all my heart" answered the
girl, the vivid blush that was ever ready
to appear flushing her sweet young face.
"You play?"
GA little-a very little; but I have
had no piano for three years-since my
own mother died"
"Let me hear you"
"Oh, madame, I dare not try after
you"
But the old lady rose and gently led
her to the instrument. There we're two
or three keys entirely dumb, and the
rest were not in perfect tune; but the
spirit of music so guided the long slen
der fingers that they reproduced the
minor melody madame had played, SO
daintily enwrapped in bird like trills
and ripping runs thas she, in turn,
stood entranced.
"After me, indeedl" she said. as the
girl struck the last chord. 81 had to
learn, but you-it is part of you. And
you nave no piano? An. that IS sad.