The Middleburgh post. [volume] (Middleburgh, Snyder Co., Pa.) 1883-1916, 1884-03-27
AFTER THE STORM.
what Is thntpN


Lcyton graspcd the arm Of his friend
MS he spoke. and both paused to listen.
From the low-wallcd hut before which
they were standing the sound was re-
pcatcd. Tho speaker looscncd his
/ grasp with a sigh of relief.
"Why, bless you! it's Lita,' hc said.
'What music the littlc organ is making
tonight"
"Poor little blind girl! How much
comfort she takes with it," remarked
his companion.
"Ycs. When these miners bought
that little music box they made good
investment. Lis,rn!"
Tho music had begun again. At
first II came stealing out with such n
low, plaint;vc sound one might easily
have fancicd that IL was only the night
\ wind creeping softly arouud the walls
of the little cabin; then it swcllcd into
something louder, deeper and more SOL
emn; but there was subtle, yet indc-
Unable something in its nature which
caused the listeners TO thrill with en-
uitation and grow c,ld and dread.
\ 1t seemed as though spirit more than
mortal had taken possession OF the lit
tie instrument, and through its deep
voice was breathing out prophecy ap-
preaching disaster. Leyton felt a sud
den breeze agains, his check, and no.
ticed, with ainrm, that 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 ut his elbow
caused both men TO turn in that dircc-
tion. Lame Joe had como up noise
lcssly behind them and stood leaning
against rock. lie, too, was listening,
and wiping an occasional tear from his
eye.
But even rs they listened the charac-
ter OF the melody slowly underwent a
complete transformation. and from the
depths OF sorrow and despair IL burst
forth in glad, cNultant strain-a wild.
Tree Hood OF music. II was like the tr-
umphant song of some captive bird
that has beaten long its weary wings
against the iron bars of cruel prison.
house, but finding itself at liberty
again, breaks forth into song. That
was the end. Legion and Mark Sprn-
Ger pa''cd on. The little girl's present
mood seemed TO them too sacred for in
trusion; but lame Joe stopped for the
goodnight kiss which the child was
accustomed to bcstow upon him. Poor
old Joe! He was very lame. One leg
had beeH left upon the battlefield of
fredericksburg, and its substitute was
rude wooden stump. but. such as IL
was, he would gladly have worn IL TO
splinters at Lita Cohen's service, had
the child permitted ii. In spite Of his
afliiction Joe Milton was n genial old
man. with kind word and helping
hand for everybody; yet half the miners
In that littlo camp could have told of
time when there was not more intem-
perato man or harder character than
he. That was before the death of his
vile, tidings Of which had been a terri
bio blow.
Lita was comforter then. 1t was she
who took him In hand, and pctted and
talked with him until his companions
began to notice with wonder that he
was growing into very different man;
Tor sorrow had made the child sympa-
thetic, and her strong influence over
Joe was in a great measure due to this
Tact. When John Cohen was killed by
tho falling Of a bowlder, Lita, little
more than n baby then, had become an
adopted child of tho camp Later,
whoh an accident shut out forever tho
light from her beautiful eyes she SEEM
gu suddenly TO have grown nearer and
dearer to each one and to become the
OBJECT OF especial care; yet, In spite of
tnoir Kindness, there was some times
Whcn she became sad and lonesome.
She used then TO tly for consolation TO
ner dear friend. the little organ, and
uraw from its bosom mclodious res
ponse 10 her mood.
IN strong contrast with the gray and
iaued Old wonian who was her at,cnd-
ami, or tho bronxed, wcaiher-bcaten
'nen about her. was TIL, child of seven
years. Like a rare sweet blossom she
wM growing up in that wild place with
sn ma'o oi beauty and purity about hor
sns me that commanded almost
hearted ~copic.