Centre Democrat. [volume] (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1848-1989, 1883-09-27
THE 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 sabot and rough PEASANTS
clothes, hat in hand, and under one
arm the precious possession of his life
"a little old black fiddle.
The child's face was what puzzled
the burgomaster more than the simple
question of what he should do. When
the boy looked up with his eager,
earnest eyes, it somehow seemed to
him strangely familiar.
Where had he seen it all before:
There was no fear in his manner;
only restless movement of the hand
holding the cap, showed him to be i'll
at ease. The week before he had come
into town with his little old fiddle
and strange accent, and until to-day
had been unmolested.
Now. for what reason he could not
guess, he had been seized upon sud
denly by the town authorities and
brought before the burgomaster. 4
part only could he make out Of what
was said. for his own language sound
ed queer on those strange tongues:
and as to the explanations offered.
they had seemed a perfect jargon to
the towns people; therefore the burgo-
master being learned man and yersed
in the patois spoken in various sec
tions of the country, the lad was
brought to him. Their duty, at all
events, had been accomplished They
had explained how day after day the
child pursued no calling attempted
no trade-but sat on bench or by the
road, with the children clustering
about, playing his fiddle, content, If in
return they sometimes shared with
him their huge slices Of bread.
1t was n yagrant life, and would
teach their own little ones bad habits.
therefore must be stopped Either he
must leave the place, or go among the
town people and learn an honest trade.
The burgomaster. a stout, red-faced
man, had long ago done with sentl-
therefore small leniency was to
be looked for from him.
So Carl was brought, and now all
alone, stood before the magistrate.
What had he done, or what was to be
done with him, he did not know.
After a silence. seeing the burgo-
master looking Mt him, Carl came n
step forward, and. with his impetuous
manner, exclaimed:
what is il have done? Naught
but play upon my fiddle to the chill
dren. It did no harm. and they liked
it. Is it an offense to make music? In
other places, | and my fiddle have
made friends with the towns folks"
The shaggy brows knit closer. and
away down in the burgomasters 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
sound Of that patois, 50 strange TO the
ignorant townspeople, there came to
him visions Of his youth. and long
holiday in the far-off sunny hamlet
where this dialect to him had grown
the sweetest music in the world as Il
fell in liquid. cultural notes from the
lips of young peasant maid.
So well the memory came-so fresh,
it seemed but yesterday-when, over
worked with studies, he had gone from
home to gain health and strength, and
leave learning for awhile TO its own
devices. Well had his fathers injunc-
tions been carried out in all save the
last, and that truly had been through
no spirit of disoLedience. 1t was no
lore gained from books; IL sprang up
in his heart, and not until the lesson