The Pickens sentinel. [volume] (Pickens, S.C.) 1871-1903, 1883-09-27
1T is My Heart -
THE BuRaoMAsTER's ADOPTED SON.


The burgomaster frowned, and knit
his heavy broWs; he was perplexed as
to what should be done with the little
figure before him. There he stood in
his wooden sabots and rough peasants
clothes, hat in hand, and under one arm
the precious possession of his life--a lit.
tie black fiddle.
The child's face was what puzzled the
burgomaster more than the simple
question of what he should do. Whom
the boy looked up with his eager, earn
est eyes, it somehow seemed to him
strangely familiar.
Where had he seen it before?
There was no fear in his manner, only
restless movement of the hand holding
the cap showed him to be ill at ease.
The week before he had come into town
with his little old fiddle and strange ac-
cent, and until to-day had been un-
molested.
Now, for what reason he could not
guess, he had been seized upon sudden
ly by the town authorities and brought
before the burgomaster. A part ONLY
could he make out of what was said. for
his own language sounded queer OH
these strange tongues; and as to the ex-
plantations offered, they had seemed
perfect jargon to the townspeople there
fore the burgomaster, being learned
man and versed in the patOis spoken in
various sections of the country. the lad
was brought to him.
Their duty, at all events, had been nc
complished. They had explained how
day after day the child pursued no call
lng-attempted no trade-but sat on q
bench or by the road, with the children
clustering about, playing his fiddle,
content II in return they sometimes
shared with him their huge slices of
bread.
1t was q vagrant life, and would
teach their own little ones bad habits
therefore must be stopped. Either he
must leave the place, or 90 among the
town poor people and learn an honest
trade. The burgomaster, stout, red
faced man, had long ago done with sen.
timent- therefore small leniency was to
be looked for from him.
SO Carl was brought, and now. all
alone, stood before the magistrate
What he had done or what was to be
done with him, he did not know.
After silence, seeing the burgomaster
looking Mt him, Carl came step for.
ward, and, with his impetuous manner
exclaimed
"What is it I have done? Nauobt
put play upon my fiddle to the children.
1t did no harm, and they liked it. Ia #
an offense to make music? In otber
places, and my fiddle have made friends
with the townsfolk."
The shaggy brows knit closer. and
away down in the burgomastcr's heart
stirred chord that for long years had
lain SO quiet its existence had we'll nigh
been forgotten.
Understand what the boy said ? AT
the sound OF that pafois, so strange to
the Ignorant townspeople, there came to
him visions OF his youth, and a long hol-
iday in the far-off sunny hamlet where
this dialect to him had grown the sweet
est music in the world as it fell in liuuid
cultural notes from the lips of Young
peasant maid.
>, 80 well the memory came-so fresh.
1t seemed but yestcrday-when. oy ~.
worked with studies, he had gone from
home to gain health and strength, and
leave learning for awhile to its own de-
vices. Well had his fathers Injunction
been carried out in all save the last,
and that truly had been through no spirit
of disobedience. It was no lore gained
from books; it sprang up in his heart,
and not until the Lesson had been learned
too thoroughly ever to forget, did he
even guess of its existence.
"Come, lad" he says kindly, and at
the sound the boys heart rejoices, for
he hears his own tongue, little strange
from disuse, yet perfectly intelligible.
they say thou must give up thy fiddle
If ever thou wouldst thrive.''
"Ah, nein, nein-it is my heart r.
clasping it closer.
"Thy heart? Then, lad, it shall not
go; yet first let's hear what thou canst
bring from'it.
For moment Carl looks thoughtfully
INTO the burgomaster's face; then says:
"Thou shalt hear what the corn sings
when 1t is growing, and the trees whis
per when the breeze touches them al
night. In the times when I have lain
upon the hillsides, watching sheep, nv
fiddle and l heard it over and over"
The lads quaint imaginings touch the
burgomaster's heart, and smiling, he
mods his head to the boy. Slowly the
old fiddle is taken out, the strings tight
ened; then, resting his chin upon it.
lightly he draws tho bow across. The
burgomaster starts; he had thought to
near some childish strains; yet these
notes the boy brings forth from the oil
black fiddle have in them all the power
OF master hand.
The picture comes before him If the
qulet, night, the restful sheep hudllcd
together on the hillside, the breeze as il
goes sweeping by moaning through the
trees, the gentle rustic of the distant
gram growing in the darkness, and the
lonely little figure Of the watchful lad
gathering these sounds and beonin%
them no In his heart until they tremble
forth at his touch upon the vibrating
strings. ,- -
Hark The darkness moves awav
, Ia the east the sun comes flushing u1
Aand oil the air is suddenly pulsine with
The singing of the dawn birds.
All, Carl, Carl lad, with thy heaven
IN gft, thou hast won the etern old