The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1884-11-20

Robbie away from those flower beds. he
seems bent on destroying them"
When Robbie was brought back to
the breakfast room, riding triumphantly
on his fathers shoulder, Marguerite fol-
lowed, her white apron filled. with fra
grant blossoms Robbie's mischievous
hands had picked.
Really" said Mrs. Blanding, s'what
can we do with these f1owersP The
vases are already filed. Here, Mar
guerite, take them up to the hospital in
the next block. No, Robbie, you can
| not go'-the child was clinging to Mar
guerite's apron-sthere might be danger
of infection"
"Nonsense!" said Mr.. Blanding. go
to the accident ward, Marguerite. I
suppose a broken leg is scarcely eonta-
gious. I only wish the houses where
people live were half as well disinfectel
and as thoroughly ventilated. Let Rob-
bic go, we may want to make a surgeon
of him yet"
Robbie, who, in his fond fathers i'm
agination, had already been invested
with a bishops robe, sat on the judicial
bench, and filled a professors chair in o
medical college, trotted along with Mar
| SuCIlUC, anu, WuCu UuO nOSnlOdl was
reached gazed delighted down the long
hall in the convalescents' ward, with its
rows of clean white beds on each side-
He walked down the room between the
matron and his nurse, who carried the
freshly-cut fragrant flowers. The mat
ron paused before a bed, whose occu-
pant lay with his face to the wall,
asleep. "Here," she said, sis a poor
fellow who was hurt the day he reached
the city. He has been here for months,
and amuses himself when the pain is
not too bad by carving on bits of wood
that the surgeons bring him. Lay q
few flowers on his pillow and PASS on"
But Robbie's keen eyes had spied a
little carved box half under the pillow,
and, with his usual boldness, seized
hold of it. AS he did so the clearest,
sweetest melody was heard, a prelude
like the first faint twitter of forest birds
at dawn, and Marguerite, her face ir-
radiated, listened a moment, then fell
on her knees beside the bed and elapsed
the unconscious sleeper in her arms.
81 see the valley once MORE" she
sobbed, land the vineyard with clusters
purple in the autumn sun; the fountain,
fiecked with shifting shadows; and the
dancers at the grape festival. 1t is, o,
God be thanked! it is Francois at last!
o, Francois, my heart is breaking for
the mountains, the dear ones at home,
and for Jacques! Let us go back to
them soon, my Francois!"
And they did. Francois ~convalesced
rapidly, and, with orders enough to
keep him employed for a year, they re-
turned to Vaud, and rejoiced the hearts
of their parents, to say nothing of
Jacques, whose good, faithful heart had
been heavy since Marguerite's depar-
ture, or Lisette, whose bold, sorrowful
eyes had often been dimmed with tears
for the absent Francois.
All this happened some years since.
Old Antoine and his wife Jeanne sleep
in the parish church-yard, but in the
little chalet on the mountain live
Jacques Godin and Marguerite, his
wife, and sometimes, when Francois
and Lisette come with their children to
visit them, Jacques relates to the little
group the story of Marguerite's music.
box.
"And is it not well then to have a
~talentp" cries sturdy little Francois
Beauvert, turning upon his Uncle
Jacques his bold, black eyes, so like
those of Lisette, his mother, sand to be
a great genius and admired by every.
body"
81 dare not say that it is not,"n an.
swers Jacques, in the old, slow fashion,
looking admiringly. at Francois, the
elder, who has still the reputation Of
being the most skillful wood-carverin the
canton; s'that I do not know, but this
om crra of tbot Cod comotimas 1aavae
his best work to be done by those who
are only loving and good.-Jutia Mill
Dunn, in Frank Leslie's Illustrated