Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1883-11-26
After the Storm.
.Hark ! what is that ?'

efore which they were standing the
ound was repeated.
The speaker Ioosened his grasp
With sigh of relief.
why, bless you! it's Lita.' he
aid. 'sWhat music the little organ
$ making tonight
ssPoor, little, blind girl! How
much comfort she takes with it, re-
marked his companion.
Eyes. When these miners bought
hat little music-box they made a
good Investment. Listen''
The music had begun again. At
Efst it came stealing out with such a
low, plaintive sound, one might easily
have fancied that it was only the
night wind creeping softly round the
walls Of the little cabin; then it
swelled into something louder, deep
er, and more solemn but there was
a subtle, yet indefnable, something
in its nature which caused the listen
ers to thrill with exnItation and grow
cold with dread. 1t seemed as though
a spirit, more than mortal, had taken
possession OF the little instrument,
and through Its deep voice was
breathing out a prophecy of approach
ing disaster.
Leyton felt a sudden breeze against
his cheek and noticed, with alarm,
that a dark storm cloud had arisen in
the west. There had been one storm
since his arrival from the east, and
he dreaded to.see another A heavy
sigh at his elbow caused both men to
turn in that direction. Lame Joe
had come up noiselessly behind them
and stood leaning against a rock.
He, too, was listening and wiping an
occasional tear from his eye; for the
music had grown sad and dirge-like
as funeral hymn, with lingering,
a quivering anguish echoing through
it which betokened that the soul of
the musician was speaking through
her music.
But, even as they listened, the
character of the melody slowly under
went complete transformation, and
from the depths of sorrow and de-
spair it burst forth in glad exultant
strain-a wild, free, flood of music.
1t was like the triumphant song of
some captive bird which has beaten
long its weary wings against the iron
bars of a cruel prison-house, but,
finding itself at liberty again, breaks
forth into song as it wings its way
toward heaven, above the clouds and
storms.
That was the end.
Leyton and Mark Spencer passed
on. The little girls present mood
seemed to them too sacred for intru-
sion; but lame Joe stopped for the
goodnight kiss which the child was
accustomed to bestow upon him.
Poor, old Joe ! he was very lame.
One leg had been left upon the bat
tlefield of Fredericksburg, and its
substitute was rude, W OGDEN stump
but, such as it was, he would gladly
have worn it to splinters at Lita
Cohen's service had the child per-
mitted it.
In spite of his affiiction Joe Minion
was a genial, old man with kind
word and helping hand for everybody !;
yet half the miners in that little camp
could have told of time when there
was not more Incorporate man OIL
harder character among them than he
That was before the death of his
wife, tidings of which had been g
terrible blow; like a thunder bolt, il
had sundered the barriers of pride
and selfshness. and penetrated his
iron heart.
Lita was comforter then. It was
she who took him in hand, and pet
ted and talked with him until his
companions began to notice with won
der that he was growing into very
different man-for sorrow had made
the child sympathetic, and her strong
influence over old Joe was a great
measure due to this fact.
When John Cohen was killed BY
the falling Of boulder, Lita, little
more than q babe then, had become
the adopted child of the camp
Later, when an accident shut out foI.
ever the light from her beautiful eyes.
she seemed suddenly to have grown
nearer and dearer to each one and te
become the object of especial care
yet, in spite of their kindness, there
were times when she grew sad an6
lonesome. She used then to fly fol
consolation to her dear friend, the
little organ, and draw from its bosom
a melodious response to her mood.
In strong contrast with the gray
and faded old woman who was hel
attendant, or the bronzed, weather
beaten men about her, was this child
of seven years. Like a rare, sweet
blossom she was growing up in that
wild place with halo of beauty and
purity about her young life that COM
manded almost alteration from the
few, rough, yet kind-hearted people.
Nature was kindly, too. The sur
never kissed her soft little checks toe
roughly, and its most scorching ray
only added a brighter tint to the long,
fair hair which hung in waves below
hox. L. Il