The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1884-03-01

couiu see at glance-whc bowed |
politely and begged to be allowed
shelter until the storm was over.
1.-The wind carried my hat away."I
he explained, passing his fingers
through his, wet curly locks. He
stepped into the hall at Flows invita-
tatlon, and removed his water-soaked
| overcoat.
nave been quite unfortunate" he
continued, noticing the shy look with
which the little girl regarded him. 81
expected to reach c. tonight, but
owing to the railroad accident / was
obllged to stop at the first station above
mere and hire a conveyance to the CITY.
1t Is almost impossible to keep the road,
with the rain and lightning binding
one so.
His gentlemanly manner. and that
nameless something which comes from
contact with good society, put our little
heroine at ease Id moment. and plac-
ing an easy chair for him, she spread
bis drenched coat before the fire to dry.
and proffered him her fathers slippers
and dresslng-gown. They were accept
ed with charming bow and 'thank
you that quite won her heart,
'You are not keeping house alone this
stormy evening, are you, my little lady?"
asked the gentleman, with strong
flavor of foreign accent.
FIoy informed him that papa and the
twins had gone to the Fraulander CON
cert, that mamma was visiting a sick
friend, and baby was asleep.
Why lid you not 60 to the concert
too 2, he asked, pulling at the corner of
his black moustache.
I've couldn't all co." replied Floy.
"Dora and Cora are the oldest, and of
course thy couldn't stay at home lust
for a little girl like me. It's going to
be perfectly splendid, too, Dora said:
and Cora said wouldn't appreciate it,
anyhow" she added, with slight culver
IN her voice, IS she thought how at that
very moment they were sitting in the
blaze of the gaslight, listening to those
rapturous melodies she longed to hear.
The gentleman's eyes twinkled mer-
rlly as he asked, do You like music ?"
"Oh, SO much !" was the reply, with
a glance at the elegant piano, she was
seldom allowed to touch les. she leave
fingermarks.
"And do you ever play ?" continued
the questioner.
Sometimes" said Floy. "When
the girls are away mamma lets me prac-
| tice all l want to. 1 can play a waltz /
learned all by myself" she added, with
an air of amusing confidence
&c love music, too. Won't you play
your waltz for me9' he added. coax
ingly.
Though naturally timid, Floys re-
serve had vanished In the genial pres
ence of the stranger, and SO she played
and he listened, and even persu AIDED her
to sing for him one of her quaint little
songs. The sweet voice warbled like
bird, and then sank into mournful
strain, from which it rose caroling
again, until the gentleman clapped his
hands with delight.
"You will make great singer yet,
little one, " he remarked to the astonished
child. Gust keep on singing, and
some day the world will hear of you.
And since you have played for me will
play for you"
He seated himself at the instrument
and ran his fingers over the keys. 1t
seemed to FIoy that he touched them
without knowing what he did, and vet
there burst forth such food of melodies
that the child could scarcely believe her
senses, and crept close beside him to
watch his hands as they flew with such
wonderful rapidity over the white ivory.
And then he sang song after song, until
the tears sprang to the great brown eyes;
such tender harmonIes, such angelic
music she had never listened to before In
her short life.
When he had finished he turned and
looked into the upturned face. "What
tears?' he exclaimed.
ooh, it's ali 80 grand, 30 beautiful"
was the reply.
He caught her hands in his, and
laughed merry, ringing laugh, end told
her those little hands would some day
play much better than his clumsy ones
had done. Then going to the door and
finding the storm had ceased, he put on
his coat, which was nearly dry by this
time. and tying handkerchief over his
head told his little hostess he must be
going. He thanked her for her kindness
and babe her adieu, leaving in her hand
card. She took it to the light and read
thereon, 'fCarl Fraulander."
Mrs. Bisbee returned soon after, and
heard with delight Floy's story. Then
they sat quietly by the fire and waited
until sorry looking group put in an APP
: pearance o few hours later, cold, tired
, and cross.
The girls told of their disappointment;
, how the professor had been prevented
by railroad accident from reaching the
city; what a "perfectly horrid time
they had; "what bore it Is to live in
l the country any way"
But what was their chagrir when they
r found that patient, self sacrificing little
2 Floy had been the great musician's sole
| audience, and that he had sung for her
4 some of his choicest productions There
, was no help for it, however, and they
bore it with as good grace as could be
} expected.
Ten years have passed away. Again
1t is September, mild and mellow and
golden, with fruitage upening every
where, and hazy glory hanging over
lake and mountain.
} The farm house upon the hill is trihe
, gayer than of yore, and the vines clam
| Der more wildly over its porches, while
! the trees cast denser shadows than they
/ did when first we made the acquaint-
: ance of the Bisbee family Let us
, peep within those walls again, for it Is
evening now, and the lamps are lighted.
| Beside the window, In his easy chair, the
father recIines. His usual active limbs
are quiet now; but the doctor says his
/, illness is not as yet dangerous; only he
must have the best of nursing and per-
!, feet rest. The mother moves quietly
about, but her step is slower, and her
black hair is threaded with silver.
Hark Didn't l hear footstep,
Has she Gomez" the invalid asks, ca
gerly.
sit is only the breeze, father"
But listen Is it not some one sing
ing? The sick man hears it, too, for the
dropping head is quickly raised, and he
bends forward to listen. In at the open
window it floats, snatch of "Home,
Sweet Home" low soft and sweet, yet
clear as the notes of a silver Lutte. 1t
seems to electrify the eager listener,