The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1885-03-25
Selett Storp.
HelenOre.


She belonged to a miserable French
Canadian family that had lived in the
city for many years; but, shiftless and
degraded as they were, ii was evident,
from the young girls account, that they
considered her the black sheep among
them; and her mother, always harsh
with her, for some reason had recently
grown more so, until that morning,
after an unusually cruel beating, Hele-
nore-she said her name was Helenore
Baldeau - had fled from under her
hand, and, shaking off the dust of her
native alley, wandered, she never knew
nor cared whittier, till hunger and ia
tipue led her to seek shelter with us.
Her plain and somewhat heavy face
was swollen and red with weeping,
and there was look of pleading in her
great soft black eyes that was difficult
to resist.
ooh, if you would but try mel" she
said, 4 can do good many things;
and care only for some bread to eat
and place to sleep, and" with shud-
der, "to be hurt no more"
held the door open and looked at
her with compassion stirring my heart.
Poor child? She seemed so young and
vet forlorn, standing there in her drip
ping garments. She could not have
been more than fifteen or sixteen years
old, and she looked up into my face
with an expression of gentle confidence
that l felt it would be cruel to wholly
disappoint.
And then she asked so little-"only a
place to sleep and bread to eat and to be
hurt no more"
simple words required to me, and, yield
ing to sudden impulse, l took her in,
fed her and made her as comfortable as
possible; meanwhile turning it over and
over in my mind what l should do with
her.
At dinner time I had a consultation
with Jack, the nominal head of our fam
lily; / say nominal advisedly, for he in
sists that defer to him only as a matter
of form, after having fully determined
in my own mind upon any course of
action.
Be this as it may, he generally con-
firms my decisions, thus making assur-
anee doubly sure; 80 this time, after
looking over my every latest" as he
mother and negotiate, if he could, for
Helenore's services.
AS result of that interview he found
out for a certainty that Madame Bal
deau was horrible old vixen; but she
readily agreed to let her daughter remain
in our employ if, after a suitable trial, we
so desired.
When Jack came home that night he
found us all together in the sitting
room. l was sewing and Helenore was
sitting near me, playing with little Ned,
our three-year-old boy.
"Well, Helenore," said he, lightly,
81 have seen your mother, and you
can stay with us if you are good
girl"
She turned toward him with look of
unutterable gratitude and tried in vain
to speak; then, with one swift move
ment, she threw herself at my feet, and
fastened her great eyes upon mine with
an expression shall never forget, and
made the sign of the cross upon her fore
head and breast.
We saw her do this afterwards on
several occasions when deeply moved,
and it was as expressive and touching
as characteristic.
We soon became much attached to
her, and her odd, mild ways furnished
us no little amusement. One of her
favorite pastimes was to sit with baby
in the back door and play ON her mu-
sic," as she called it. This was an in
vention of HelenOre's own, and was
only one of her many grotesque but
poetic fancies.
1t was only a large sheet of thick,
stout paper, rolled up into huge trum-
pet shape; and on this queer instru-
ment she would play for hours, bring
ing out the most unearthly, but withal
musical tones, which the neighbors far
and near soon learned to marvel at and
to designate as /" Helenore's music"
Sometimes quite an audience would
gather around her while she played,
and she always received their applause
with much dignity and as matter of
course. But there was one thing about
this instrument very remarkable and
mysterious; it responded to Helenore's
touch and to hers alone. Many others
tried it, but always with poor success.
Even Jack, who has a sort of facility
with dozen instruments, and can play
the whole opera of Patience " on a
tin whistle, after fashion, finally gave
it up in despair, declaring that he be-
lieved that Helenore was a witch; I'M
doubtedly it was the popularity of her
voice that gave to her footing such
wonderful effect
She seldom sang, and when she did
it seemed to be solely for the sake of
giving vent to some powerful emotion
otherwise inexpressible. Her voice was
low, but verv sweet and flexible; she
had no high tones. / think she cOnsid-
cred them too light and frivolous to con-
vey the feeling of her soul.
l once asked her why she never sang
high.
Mine heart is down here" she an
swered, laying her hand upon her heart
and was glad to believe that in those
low, deep tones of hers, so tremulous
and 80 solemnly sweet, the strange poetic
soul of this poor untaught creature fount
full expression and was satisfied.
She sang her own words generally
and they were without connection
p senseless tumble; and yet, as she sans
them, they often possessed weird anC
startling significance. Here is one o.
her songs:
90 happy, happy mel
SO still, so still, white moon
To lee, to love, to die,
All still and white TO die!'
By questioning / found out wha