The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1884-11-22

in high relief, framed in with a border
of rOsebuds and pansies.
But the best piece of carving that
Francois had yet done was on the case
of a music-box that he and his father
had made for Marguerite's birthday
| present.
She had so few pleasures, her low
ing old father had said, ''let's make her,
Francois, something that will be the
envy of the neighborhood
LET me compose the tune it is to
play" suggested Francois, land then
there will not be another like it in the
whole world
So, for many months they secretly
wrought all their spare moments into it,
and when her eighteenth birthday came,
and Marguerite held the exquisite, dainty
| little box in her hands, she was half
wild with delight.
''See, dear mother" she said, with
childish rapture, as she turned it over
| and over, ''here is a goats head that is
surely that of Bebe, who follows me to
the pasture every day; here are the very
grapes and tendrils that grow in our
vineyard but so tiny that ones eyes can
] oSShiNClN Oul, ILLS Is Vic
tower of the little chapel where we go
to worship every Sunday, and here
with sudden blush-''is the bird S nest
that was built in the cliff, and that
Jacques. Tiskedhis neck to gS (fo1 rle,
because | thoughtlessly expressed a wish
for it. 1t is half-hidden with lichens and
eidelweiss, but should know that nest
anywhere"
But you have not heard it play yet, :"
said her father, and he wound it up and
set it going.
What music! Marguerite thought she
had never heard anything half so sweet.
She held the little box against her ear,
and listened to its tinkling melody with
delight. 1t was like nothing she had
ever heard, and only those who have
heard certain IMPOSITION of Schu-
man can have any idea of its ripping
| sweetness.
Il can hear the birds" she cried,
singing in the vine-branches at early
morning, the tinkling of the goats bells.
the plash of the water-drops when they
drip down the cliffs and fall into the
still, dark pool below. Now it is the
sound of the wind in the pine trees,
mingled with the echo of the distant
torrent, And now all these sounds
mingle into a musical waltz, and | can
almost see the crowd of merry dancers
at the grape-festival. The caves and
waterfalls fade away, and the fountain,
where the sunlight falls upon it in
broken shadows, but there are merry
couples swinging through the dance,
! tbpir foot bnotinO- tiT,n +n tbn ,,,y,S;o
can see Lisette with her crimson bodice
and her black eyes. half-bold, half-sor-
rowful, and hear the notes of the diff
ferent instruments.
'Well," said the mother, smiling, eff
Francois is the artist of the family, Mar
guerite is certainly the poet for no one
but poet could hear all that in one
single tune"
Marguerite blushed with modest
pleasure and surprise 1t was Francois
who usually received all the compli-
ments.
mo, indeed" she protested. cit is
Francois who is the gifted one, my
father is the skilful artisan who has
wrought his inspiration into harmony,
and WE'LL am but girl who can
only love you all and work for your
happiness"
| II.
1t was early evening. Around the
| home of the Beauverts and in the valley
below the twilight shadows were fast
growing into darkness. Off to the north
ward the sunset splendor gilded the far
off tops of the Juras. A faint mist rose
and curled up from the meadow in the
valley below; now and then anight-bird
called drowsily to its mate in the
branches, and the sound of the distant
cataract grew louder and then fainter,
as the night breeze came in ttful puffs
down the mountain. Francois and Mar
| guerlte sat outside the cottage, on
bench together. Marguerite was knit
ting, for though the light had suddenly
become too dim for her to see her work,
long habit and constant practice en-
abled her to knit almost as well in the
dark as in the daylight.
Marguerite" said Francois, sud
denly, Il am going to America"
10 America! To that far-off coun-
tryP Oh, Francois!'
''Marguerite, you must see that our
father is growing older and more feeble
every day. Two years in succession has
the blight fallen on our grapes, notwith-
standing our vineyard lies on the sun
niest slope in all the neighborhood, and
we are growing poorer each year.
Something must be done, and who is
there to do it but me? In that country
where they make fortunes so quickly
and SO easily, | can find plenty of en-
ployment, and the people will not only
appreciate my work, but they also pay
like princes, it is said"
Marguerite's tears flowed fast She
could not imagine what life would be
without Francois; besides, how could
one bear to leave such a beautiful coun-
try as this and 60 to barbarous land
like America, where the rulers of the
country were fierce red men, who
thought nothing of scalping their sub
jects for no offense whatever. She had
read all about it in a little book that
Jacques had lent her. To be sure, the
people were not black as Lisette Godin
declared, for she had sometimes seen
them, tourists, who had called at the
chalet for glass of milk, or to engage
Francois to act as guide in their wander
ings about the neighborhood.
From this time Francois GREW silent.