Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-07-20


other, as the twilight deepened into dusk
| And Maisrie was less reluctant now-she
almost took this little concert deux as 6
matter of course. For one thing, the
stranger, whoever he or she might be, did
not seem in any way anxious to push the
acquaintance any further; no one ever ap.
peared at that open window; nor had she
| ever encountered anyone coming out as she
stood on the doorstep waiting for her grand.
| father. As for him, he still maintained that
| the new occupant Of those rooms must be q
wom2n-perhaps some shy creature, willing
to think that she had friendly neighbors,
and yet afraid to show herself. Be
sides, the music that came in
response to Maisrie's Scotch airs
was hardly what a man would have
| chosen. The stranger over there seemed
chiefly fond of Mendelssohn, Chopin and
Mozart; though occasionally there was an
excursion into the Volkslieder domain-"Zu
StraSsJurg dIf der Schdnz," "Es ritten drei
Reiter yum 7hore hindus." "Von meinem
Bergli mass { Scheiden," or something of
that kind: whereas, if it had been a man
who occupied these rooms, surely they would
have heard-during the day, for example
fine bold dittv like "Simon the Cellarer, %
1.-THE Bay of Biscay," or ''The Friar of
Orders Gray" with strident voice out
roaring the accompaniment? Maisrie an
swered nothing to these arguments; but in
spite of herself, when she had to cross the
room for something or other, her eyes would
seek that mysterious vacant window, with
however rapid and circumspect a glance.
And always in vain. Moreover, the piano
was never touched during the day; the
stranger invariably waited for the twilight
before seeking to resume that subtle link of
communication.
OF course this state of things could not
go on for ever-unless the person over there
possessed the gift of invisibility. One
morning as Maisrie and her grandfather
were going out as usual for a stroll in the
park she went down stairs first, and along
the lobby and opened the door to wait for
him. At the very same instant the door
opposite was opened, and there, suddenly
presented to her view, was young man.
He was looking straight across-she was
looking straight across-their eyes met
without the slightest chance of equivoca-
ton or denial; and each knew that this was
recognition. They regarded each other but
for swift second; but as plainly as possible
he had said to her: "Do you guess? Are
you angry? No, do not be angry" and
then his glance was averted; he shut the
door behind him and slowly proceeded on
his way. Was she surprised? No. Per-
haps she was startled by the unexpected
ness of the meeting; perhaps her heart was
beating little more quickly than usual,
but profound instinct had already told
her that it was no woman who had spoken to
her in those dusky twIlights, evening after
evening. A woman would not have wrapped
herself up in that mysterious secrecy. A
woman who wished to make friends with her
neighbors over the way would have come to
al, L.. Ia L
made some excuse for calling. Maisrie did
not ostensibly look after the young man
but she could see him all the same, until re
turned the corner. She was vaguely
troubled. The brief glance she had met had
in it kind of appeal. And she wished to
say in return that she was not offended; that,
being strangers, they must remain strangers;
but that she had not taken his boldness ill.
She wished to say-she did not know what.
Then her grandfather came down; and they
went away together; but she uttered not q
syllable as to what had just occurred. 1t
was all a bewilderment to her-that left her
a little breathless when she tried to think
of it.
That night, when the customary time ar
rived, she refused to take up her violin; and
when her grandfather demonstrated, she had
no definite excuse. She hesitated and stam-
mered-said they had not played chess for
ever SO long-or would he rather have a
game of draughts?-auything but the vio-
lin.
"Are you forgetting your goodnatured
neighbor over there?" her grandfather asked.
1t will be quite disappointment for her.
Poor thing, it appears to be the only society
she has; we never hear a sound otherwise;
there seems to be no one ever come to talk to
her during the day. or we should hear
voice now and again"
"Yes, but, grandfather" said Maisrie,
who seemed much embarrassed, "don't you
think it little imprudent-to encourage
this kind of-of answering each other-with-
out knowing who the other person is?''
"Why, what could be more harmlessi" he
protested, cheerfullE and then he vent on:
'More harmless than music? - nothing.
nothing! Song is the solace of human life;
in joy it is the natural expression of our
bappiness-in times of trouble it refreshes
the heart with other and brighter DAYS. A
light heart-a heart that can sing to itself
that is the thing to carry you through life,
Maisrier' And he himself, as he crossed
The room to fetch box of matches, was
rolling gayly, with fine bravura execu-
lion
The boat rocks at the pier o. Leith,
Fu' loud the wind blows frae the ferry;
And maun leave my bonnie Mary,
Go fetch to me pint o. wine,
And fill 1t in a silver tassie, |
That may drink before l go |
A service to my bonnie lassie.
But it's not the roar o. sea or shore
Would make me longer wish to tarry,
NJ xuar hot sc hoa I'd for
It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.
Maisrie was not to be moved; but she ap-
'eared down-hearted a little. As time |
vent on the silence in the little street |
eemed somehow to accost her; she knew she |
Tas responsible. She was playing draughts |
With her grandfather, in a periunctory sort |
f way. She remembered that glance of |
ppeal-she could not forget it-and this
lad been her answer. Then all of sudden
Ter hand that hovered over the board
rembled, and she had almost dropped the
'Iece that was in her fingers; for there had |
prang into the stiffness a haIf-hushed
ound-it was an air she knew we'll enough
she could almost recognize the words
Nachtigan, ich hor' dich singer;
S'Herz thut mir i'm Lcibe springer,
komm nur bald und sag mfrs wohl,
Vie ich mich verhalten soil.
Her grandfather stopped the game to
isten; and when the soft-toned melody had
eased, he said -
'There, now, Maisrie, that is an invita-
ion; you must answer"
mo, no, grandfather" sshe said, almost
4 distress. 81 would rather not-you don't
now-you must find out something about
bout whoever it is that plays. am sure it
ill be better. OF course it is quite harm
ess, as you say-oh, yes, quite harmless
ut | should like you to get to know first