The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1884-11-20

wild with delight.
''See, dear mother" she said, with
childish rapture, as she turned it over
and over, there 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
scarcely make them ont: this is the
tower of the little chapel where we 90
to worship every Sunday, and here
with a sudden blush-s.is the birds nest
that was built in the cliff, and that
Jacques risked his neck TO get for me.
because Ithoughtlessly expressed wish
for it. 1t is half-hidden with lichens and
eidelweiss. but should know that nest
anywhere"
But YOU have not heard it play vet, :"
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 tihkling melody with
delight. 1t was like nothing she had
ever heard, and only those who have
heard certain composition of Schu-
mans 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 iato 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,
their feet beating time to the music. |
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"
''Weil," said the mother smiling. ''if
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.
NO. indeed" she protested. at 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 a 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. \ faint mist rose
and curled up from the meadow in the
valley below; now and then night-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 fitful pulfS
down the mountain. Francois and Mar
gUeTite sat outside the cottage, on q
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-
abied her to knit almost As well in the
dark rs in the daylight.
Marguerite. said Francois, sud-
denly, Il am going to America
TO America. To that far-of coun-
try? 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-
our vineyard lies on the sun
NEST slope in all the neighborhoOd. and
we are growing poorer each year.
must be done, and who is
there to do it but ne? In that country
where they make fortunes so quickly
and so easily, | can find plenty of en-
ployment, and the people will not only
my work. but they also pay
like princes. it Is said"
Marguerite tears flowed fast. She
could not imagine what life would be
without Francois; besides, how could |
one bear to leave such beautiful cOun- |
try as this and go 20 a barbarouS land |
like America, wr..re the rulers of the !
country were fierce red men, who !
thought nothing o!. scalping their sub
ectS for no offen.e whatever. She lad |
read all about it II a little book that |
jacques had lent her To be sure. the
people were not sack as Lisette Godin |
declared. for she had sometimes seen |
hem, tourists, Whit had called at the |
chalet for glass O: milk. or to engage |
Francois to act rs gdide in their wander
ngS about the neig hhOrhood.
From this time I .ancois grew silent,
He thought over the
project of going to America until the
lream became an absorbing passion.
He no longer sang and whistled over
lis wood-carving the impromptu
matches ofme lody that wove themselves
lalf-unconsciously into measures and
'adenceS in his brain. but sat over his
work, silent and moroSe. His mother,
Who dotted upon her son with the unreal
oning fOndneSS of one whose mind was
by long suffering, became
luerulouS and exacting through SYM
,athy with trouble she could not I'M
lerStand, and required more of Mar
-uerite's attention than ever-nay. she
ven went so far as to upbraid Francois
himself. ALAS! that the good God
houid so afflict one" she would mar
nur. Poverty, sickness, and now the
of my son. who no longer
owes me. But he must be in love-yes,
hat it is without doubt, and who, then,
Lould it be but that black-eyed Lisette
girl who has had all the young men
n the parish for lovers, and who must
Ow charm away from me my Fran (
ois." During those days of trouble
nd despair it WAS Marguerite who