The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1885-09-02


Suddenly there stepped into the
opening an elderly man, grey-haired
and dark-eyed, and dressed in city-cut
attire.
$50 you would smash your violin?"
he said "You had better sell it, or,
better still, play on it. Was it you
heard playing as / came through the
woods?"
eyes. 1 was bidding my violin
farewell"
"H'm! Play again for me-"
Gladly Reuben lifted his violin and
drew the bow across it.
II will play you the Carnival of the
Birds,'" he said; and there rose upon
the air such twittering chorus-here a
saucy trill, there busy chirp, then a
roulade, till the very air seemed alive
with songsters, while under all sweet
melody throbbed and melted into soft
est strains.
"This is the Brooks Hymn, >" Reu-
ben said, and the ripping stream was
Knocked and echoed in faint, fantastic
music.
"Who wrote these?" the stranger
asked.
"They were never written. They
came from my heart" was the quiet
reply. 81 will play you some written
music"
And again the violin obeyed the bow,
as the works Reuben had studied from
his fathers music rose upon the sum-
mer air.
"And you were about to break your
violin?" the stranger said.
Vac. fn- nn,, rauar ha n 70 =,
while my brain is full of music" was
the sad reply.
"Ahl You want to be farmer, then?
Would you not rather be musician"
Reuben's eyes glistened. Long he
and the stranger talked, and the sun
was setting when he turned his face
homeward.
Uncle JOSIAH" he said, when all
the chores were done and the farmer
rested on the moon-lit porch, {" if in a
year can bring you proof that l can
support Daisy, will you give herto me?"
az WILL" was the hearty reply.
Have you broken your fiddle, Reu-
benz"
emo, and l am going to leave you
tomorrow. 1 have been offered work
in the city,"
''Work in the city! Well, lad, it may
be you are too peaked for farm work
and will find it easier there. But re-
member, if you fail there's always
home for you here, Reuben"
Reuben grasped the hand stretched
out to him in his long, slender fingers,
and his sobbing, God bless you, SIR"
came from his very heart.
Not even to Daisy did he tell his new
hopes, but babe her be faithful and,
whether he succeeded or failed, he would
return at the end of the year.
When he took his place in the stage
coach for the railway station his new
friend he met in the fairy ring was by
his side.
Little Daisy kept her heart true.
Every market day, when the farmer
came from town with his great wagon
empty, he took from his pocket letter
from Reuben for Daisy, and every one
was hopeful. His work was pleasant
and was paying him well. Some of the
letters were dated New York, some
Boston, some Philadelphia; and when
winter came Reuben wrote from all
the great cities, even New Orleans,
and Daisy's heart throbbed high with
loving delight to feel sure his love was
true amid the gay scenes he described,
the new friends he met.
Winter sped away, spring blossoms
doomed and fell and the end of the
year was drawing near. A letter came
to Uncle Josiah:
Will you bring Daisy to New York"
Reuben wrote, "and judge for your
self of my prospects,"
And Uncle Josiah, after long con-
sultation with Aunt Polly, concluded to
go. Daisy had new dress of soft
white muslin made and bought dainty
straw hat in the village. Then Uncle
Josiah wrote to Reuben by what train
to expect him and the journey COM
menced.
Reuben was not at the depot, but in
his place was courteous gentleman,
who explained to Uncle Josiah that his
nephew was detained by business, took
the travellers to hotel, where their
rooms were engaged, and waited while
they had supper. Then telling them
he would take them to Reuben, he put
them into carriage and drove rapidly
to white building, whose wide hall
was piillidutly lliuIulIldlcu. here we'll
dressed men and ladies in full evening
toilets were entering in crowds. Reu-
ben's friend led Uncle Josiah and
Daisy to seat in the brilliant hall near
the platform and told them Reuben
would come soon.
In Daisy's hand he put programme,
and she wonderingly read of the must
cal treat in store for her, only vaguely
comprehending it all. On every side
the buzz of conversation bore the name
of the great l., the famous violinist,
whose Cremona seemed gifted with
speech under the touch of his inspired
fingers.
1t was like dream. A white-robed
lady came upon the platform and sang,
a gentleman played solo upon the
piano. Then there was a great noise
of people clapping their hands and
stamping their feet, fairly bewildering
poor country-bred Daisy.
A great hush, and softly, familiar as
amother's voice, there fell upon Daisy's
ear the notes of violin, bearing out
upon the air the melody of Reuben's
"Carnival of the Birds.H
She looked up then and met the soft,
dark eyes of her lover watching her
face as he drew his bow across the
strings. Not sound but the music of