The National tribune., 1883-04-26
"And do you ever playa" continued her

"And do you ever play?" continued her
questioner.
Sometimes" said Floy. "When the girls
are away mamma lets me practice all / want
TO. i can play q waltz / learned all by my
SELF" she added, with an air of amusing conf
dence.
81 love music too. Won't you play your
waltz for me?" he asked coaxingly.
Though naturally timid, Floys reserve had
vanished in the genial presence of the stranger,
and so she played and he listened. and even
persuaded her to sing for him one of her quaint
little songs. The sweet voice warbled like a
bird, and then sank into mournful strain,
from which it rose earolling again, until the
gentleman clapped his hands in delight.
You viii make q great singer yet, little
one," he remarked to the astonished child,
stroking her eurls. Just keep on singing,
and some day the world will hear of you
And since you have played for me, 1 will play
for you''
He seated himself at the instrument and ran
his fingers over the keys 1t seemed to Floy
that he touched them without knowing what
he did, and yet there burst forth such food
of melodies that the child could scarcely be-
Heve her senses, and crept close beside him to
watch his hands as they flew with such won
derful rapidity over the white ivory. And
then he sang song after song, until the tears
sprang into the great brown eyes; such tender
harmonies, such angelic music, she had never
listened to before in her short life.
When he had finished he turned and looked
into the upturned face. What! tears +" he
exclaimed.
"oh it is all so grand, so beautiful" was
the reply.
He caught her hands in his and laughed
merry, ringing laugh, and told her those little
hands would some day play much better than
his clumsy ones had done. Then going to the
door, and finding the storm had ceased, ne put
on his coat, which was nearly dry by this time,
and tying handkerchief over his head, told
his little hostess he must be going. He thanked
her for her kindness, and babe her adieu, leav-
ing in her hand card. She took it to the
light, and read thereon, :" Carl Fraulander"
Mrs. Bisbee returned soon after, and heard
with delight Floy's story. Then they sat
quietly by the fire, and waited until sorry
looking group put in an appearance few hours
later, cold and tired and cross.
The girls told Of their Disappointment; how
the Professor had been prevented by q railroad
accident from reaching the city, what per
fectly horrid time they had had and what
a bore it is TO live in the country anyway"
But what was their chagrin when they
learned that patient selfsaerifeing little Floy
had been the great musicians sole audience,
and that he had sung for her some of his
choicest produetiOnsI There was no help for
it, however, and they bore it with as good q
grace as could be expected.
Ten years have passed away. Again it is
September, mild and mellow and golden, with
fruitage ripening everywhere, and hazy glory
hanging over lake and mountain.
The farm house upon the hill is a trife
grayer than of yore, and the vines Chamber
more wildly over its porches, while the trees
cast denser shadows than they did when first
we made the acquaintance of the Bisbee
! family. Let US peep within these walls again,
for it is evening now and the lamps are lighted.
| Beside the window in his great easy-chair the
| father reclines. His usually active limbs are
| quiet now but the doctor says his disease is
not as yet dangerous; only he mast have the
| best of nursing and perfect rest. The mother
| moves quietly about, but her step is slower,
and her black hair is threaded with silver.
| "Hark didn't l hear footstep? Has she
Gomez" the invalid asks, eagerly.
at is only the breeze father"
| But listen! What sound is that we hear?
| Is it not some one singing? The sick man
| hears it too, for the dropping head is quickly
raised, and he bends forward to listen. In at
the open window it floats, a snatch of Home,
| Sweet Home" low and soft and sweet, yet
eclear as the notes of silver lutte. 1t seems to
/ electrify the eager listener, who starts from his
seat, forgetful of his weak limbs, but is gently
drawn back by his wife.
| WAIT moment, Robert, she says. Listen
again"
But there is no mistaking that bird-like
| voice as it trills and guavers on the willing
| air, only it is richer and fuller and more com
plete, and holds the old couple as if spell-bound
for moment.
| But it is only for a moment, and then the
| singer is in their midst. 1t is Floy, who has
returned from the school of art and music,
where she has won high honors, to gladden. the
dear home with her sweet presence, and waken
the echoes with her joyous songs.
| The offer of salaried position in the gay
city has been declined, because home duties
rank first in her warm little heart And
mothers eyes grow moist, and fathers hand
rests long and lovingly on the young head, as
| they welcome her home again.
| Perhaps the Professors words that the world
will hear of her may be realized some day, but
just now Floy is the support of old age and the
| comforter in its lonely hours. In the years to
come the sweet songs and ballads that she sings
! for the little audience at home may be heard
in concert halls, and delight hundreds of lis
| teners; for the Professor says that Floy has
only to study a little while longer, when she
will more than realize all that he ever pro-
| phesied of her.-Harper's Young People.