The Brookhaven leader., 1883-10-04

you're gittjn' spiritual notions. To-
day It's music that nobody else can
hear. an yesterday YOU Smcllcd ru>eS,
and there amt one in blossom this time
q year, and all the time you're talkin'
about dyin'. Fer my part, | don't see
why you amt as likely to Eve rs | am.
You re uncommon hearty on v,ttles.
You ate pretty good dinner 10 day for
a dyin' person"
81 didn't say was goin' to die re-
piled Priscilla. meckly; the two sisters
seemed suddenly to have changed ma
lures. AN I'll try not TO talk so, if il
plaques you | told you wouldn' { this
mornin', but the music kir err took me
by surprise like, an | thought mayl be
YOU an Miss Moore could hear it. | can
list hear it little bit now, like the dy-
in away of bell"
There you go agin'' cried the other,
sharply. "Do, for mcrcy'S sake, stop,
Priscilla. There amt no music
"Well, won't talk any more about
it, she answered, patiently; and she
rose and began setting the table for tea,
while Mary sat down and resumed her
sewing, drawing the thread through the
cloth with quick, uneven jerks.
That night the pretty girl neighbor
was aroused from her first sleep by a
distressed voice at her bedroom win
dow, crying, "Miss Moore! Miss
Moore"
She spoke to her husband, who opened
the window. Whats wanted?" he
asked, peering out into the darkness.
"Priscilla's sick" moaned the dis
tressed voice; lawful sick She's
! foi,4o1 NJ I oon't h,-incr hor m 10
for the doctOr-quick! quick! quick. '
The voice ended in shrek on the last
word, and the speaker turned and ran
back to the cottage, where. on the bed,
lay pale, gaunt woman. who had not
stirred since she left it. Immovable
through all her sisters agony, she lay
there, her features shaping themselves
out more and more from the shadows,
the bed-clothes that covered her limbs
taking on an awful rigidity.
"She must have died in her Sleep"
the doctor said, when he came, "with-
out a struggle"
When Mary Brown really understood
that her sister was dead, she left her to
the kindly ministrations of the good
women who are always ready in such
times in country place, and went and
sat by the kitchen window in the chair
which her sister had occupied that after
noon.
There the women found her when the
last offices mad been done for the dead.
Come home with me tonight" one
said; "Miss Green will stay with her,
with turn of her head toward the OPP
posite room, and an emphasis on the
pronoun which distinguished it at once
from one applied to living person.
No" said Mary Brown; I'm
a-goin' to set here an listen.n She had
the window wide open. leaning her head
out into the chilly night air.
The women looked at each other; one
tapped her head, another nodded hers.
Poor thing said third.
"You see," went on Mary Brown,
still speaking with her head leaned out
of the window, q was cross with her
this afternoon because she talked about
| hearin' music. 1 was cross, an spoke
up sharp to her, because | loved her,
but don't think she knew. I didn't
want to think she was goin' to die, but
she was. An she heard the music. 1t
was true. An now I'm a-goin' to set
here an listen till l hear it, too, an
then I'll know she 'ain,t laid up what |
said agin me, an that I'm a-goin to die,
/ too.
They found it impossible to reason
with her; there she sat till morning.
with a pitying woman beside her, listen
ing all in vain for unearthly melody.
Next day they sent for widowed
niece of the sisters, who came at once,
bringing her little boy with her. She
was a kindly young woman, and took
up her abode in the little cottage, and
did the best she could for her poor aunt,
who, it soon became evident, would
never be quite herself again. There
she would sit at the kitchen window
and listen day after day. She took
great fancy to her niece'S little boy, and
sat there. Once in a while she would
ask him if he heard any music. IAN
innocent little thing like him might hear
quicker than a hard unbeievin' old
woman like me-" she told his mother
once.
She lived so for nearly year after
her sister died 1t was evident that she
had failed gradually and surely. though
there was no apparent disease. 1t
seemed to trouble her exceedingly that
she never heard the music she listened
for. She had an idea that she could not
die unless she did. and her whole soul
seemed filed with longing to Join her
beloved twin sister and be assured of
her forgiveness. This sister-love was all
she had ever felt, besides her love of
God. in any strong degree; all the pas
sion of devotion of which this hOmelv,
commonplace woman was capable was
conferred in that, and the unsatistied
strength of it was killing her The
weaker she grew the more earnestly
she listened She was too feeble to sit
up, but she would not consent to lie in
bed, and made them bolster her up with
pillows in a rocking-chair by the win
dow. At last she died, in the spring, a
week or two before her sister had the
year before. The season was little
more advanced this year, and the apple
trees were bloSsOmed out further than
they were then. She died about ten
o clock in the morning. The day before
her niece had been called into the room
by shrill cry of rapture from her.
1--WE heard it! I've heard it! " she
cried: "A faint sound O music, like the
dyin' away of a bell. Mary Il. VII
kins, in Harper'S Bazaar.
Considerable BOarders.