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

W WORSHIP every OunQay, anu mere -
with a sudden blush-.is the birds nest
that was built in the cliff, and that
Jacques risked his neck to get for me,
because Ithoughtlessly expressed a wish
for it. 1t is h%alf-hidden with lichens and
eidelweiss, but I 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
yer heard, and only those who have
heard a certain composition of Schu-
mans can have any idea of its ripping
sweetness.
81 can hear the BIRDS" she cried,
''singing in the v~ine-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 l 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. l
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"
tsWell," said the mother, smiling, s'if
Francois is the artist of the family, Mar
guerite is certainly the poet, for no one
but a 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. sit is
Francois who is the gifted one, my
father is the skilful artisan who has
wrought his inspiration into harmony,
and Lwelll am but a girl, who can
only love you all and work for your
happiness"
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 a 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 ftfu pufs
down the mountain. Francois and Mar
guerite sat outside the cottage, on a
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, 81 am going to America"
America! To that far-of 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 vineyard lies on the sun
niest slope in all the ne~ighborhood, and
we are growing poorer each year.
Something must be done, and who is
there to do it but meP 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 go to a 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 a glass of milk, or to engage
Francois to act as guide in their wander
ings about the neighborhood.
From this time Francois grew silent,
pre-occupied. He thought over the
project of going to America until the
dream became an absorbing passion.
He no longer sang and whistled over
his ~wood-carving the impromptu
snatches of melody that woye themselves
half-unconsciously into measures and
cadences in his brain, but sat over his
work, silent and morose. His mother,
who dotted upon her son with the unrea-
soning fondness of one whose mind was
weakened by long suffering, became
querulous and exacting through sym.
pathy with a trouble she could not rl-
derstand, and required more of Mar.
guerite's attention than ever-nay, she
even went so far as to upbraid Francois
himself. "Alas! that the good God
should SO afiict one," she would muir
muir. Poverty, sickness, and now the
estrangement of my son, who no longei
loves me. But he must be- in iove-yes,
that it is without doubt, and who, then,
should it be but that black-eyed Lisette.
A girl who has had all the young men
in the parish for lovers, and who must
now charm away from me my Fran
coli During those days of trouble
and despair it was Marguerite who
cheered and upheld the family. She
soothed and pacifed her mother, was
most fond and atfectlonate to her feeble
old father, and INDUCED Francois by
listening to his wild schemes when nc
one else was by to hear.
"What will become of mep" was the
question she often asked in utter de.
spair. "If 1 could only do something
but then, there is nothing 1 can do. L
l were only a genius now, like Fran.
co.'s"
Often she would be awakened at nigh
by hearing Francois, after his parent!
were asleep, steal quietly outdoors tt
stride madly up and down the mountain
side, and listening to the sound of hi
footsteps and the mingled rush and roal
of wind and waterfall, would fall asleeI
upon a pillow hat was wet with tears
One day when Francois went to thu
market town to sell his w~ood-carvings
he accidentally found an American gen
tleman at the shop where he usually
S01d hiS waraS Uho horoht oil tho niaoo,