The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1890-08-09
THE MUSIC MAN.


school, to-night?n
mo, you can't, and there's an end
ont said Aunt Betsey Blatchford
knitting away as if her needles were
made Of sheet lightning and her elbows
worked by electricity.
Della looked sober enough. She was
a tall, fresh complexioned girl Of II OF
Is, with large brown eyes, a forehead
surmounted by naturally curling rings
of chestnut hair, and sweet red mouth
always ready to break into gracious
smiles.
She had worked hard all day making
soft soap and finishing off the family
ironing, but her labors had been cheered
by the anticipation of the evening "sing-
ing school" that was to come.
1t is more than likely that Aunt Bet
sey knew all this, but she sat there like
determined Fate in brown calico
gown and Huted cap frills. Aunt Betsev
was the autocrat of Redbery farm. She
owned the house and the surrounding
acres and the quartz mill by the river,
and Della, although by courtesy called
her niece, was in reality only distant
relation who, if not taken in and brought
up by old Mrs. Blatchford would have
been turned over to the tender mercies
of the town poor house.
"Delia's good girl enough, said the
old woman, land a spry worker as ever
was. But don't believe in girls larl1ing
around the neighborhood the hull time.
They're deal better off at home, sewin'
on their patch work or cuttin' rags for a
new kitchen carpet"
"But promised the schoolmaster,
Aunt Betsey," said poor Della, her dim
pied face falling like the barometer be-
fore a storm. "Hes to call for me at
half past Il And he will see me safe
home afterward,"
"Well, let him go away again" said
Aunt Betsey.
Della could hardly see the glitter of
the knitting noodles through the tears
that blurred her vision at these cruel
words.
'"Fhere's to be q dance out in the old
barn afterward, +" she ventured to add,
'and ironed my pink calico dress so
neatly, and my laces are all done up!
Oh, Aunt Betsey, I'd work so hard at
the carpet rags all the rest of the week
If you would let me go this once to sing
ing school,"
Aunt Betsey wheeled herself round in
her chair and eyed Della sharply through
the moon like glasses of her big silver
bowed spectacles.
"Well, well, go if you want to-" said
she, tartly, Though all this music is
nothin but clear waste o. time. In my
young days if we could join into the
psalm tunes in church it was all folks
expected Of usl'
Everybody plays and sings nova
days" ventured Della, whose loftiest and
brightest aspiration was for melodeon
or cheap parlor organ of her own.
"Humphf' commented Aunt Betsey.
"They'd deal better play on the wash
board and sing calling home the cowsl
That's the sort o. music that paysl"
Della sighed and abandoned the ques-
ton. Consent to go to singing school,
was sufficient Of victory for the pres
ent time And when Marcus Wayte,
the village pedagogue, called for her at
the specified hour she was all ready, in
the stiff, rustling, pink dress, the freshly
ironed laces and little pair of brown
cotton gloves over frilled ribbon wrist
lets that were entirely new.
"But it's the last time," she sighed.
"Aunt Betsey thinks that music is use
less and nonsensical, and she won't have
me fooling away my time at singing
school, she says"
"Oh, Dela-and those lessons on the
melodeon that have been giving You at
Dr.. Bartlett's."
''rhey will all be of no use" said
Della, with little tremor in her voice,
docs she know that people sometimes
earn their living by the aid of music?
persisted Wayte.
"She don't believe it,"
"And you have such taste for it,
Delial Nay, more than taste-a decided
talent. Oh, we must not let the thing
drop. You must have a melodeon-it
won't cost much to hire one by the quar-
ter-and go ON with your lessonsr"
Della shook her head.
TIT viii be impossible said she,
moplnfully.
arn see about that" said Marcus
Wayte. My cousin is in the business.
III send him to see your aunt"
Della shrugged her pink calico shoul-
ders. All said she, 'you don't know
Aunt Betsey!n
"Well, smiled Marcus, "well see,
Mr.. Ives Wayte listened with the most
earnest interest to the tale of his cousin,
the schoolmaster,
"Got real talent for music, eh?"
said he.
"a most decided one"
"And poor?"
'She is, answered Marcus. "But the
old lady has plenty Of money, if only she
chose to spend it in this way and she
ought to do So"
"Plenty Of money? And plenty Of pre-
judices, ehg'
'rThat is it, exactly" said Marcus,
smiling.
every well. I'll promise to do the best
can-to oblige you, Mark. For" adj
ded Mr.. Ives Wayte, with genial
twinkle of the eye, 81 SEQ your heart is
in the business"
'lt Is frankly confessed Marcus.
"For if Della Grey could be qualified to
giyo music lessons we might be married
and take the Weirsells academy at once
"a day and boarding school, don't you
see? And she is the dearest little thing"
Mr. Ives Wayte laughed. 'Its as
good as done, said he,
1t was a dreary, rainy night toward
the close Of that dreariest month Of all
the year thesad November-whent there
came a knock at Mrs. Blatchford's door.
She was all alone Thomas Bates, the
hired mau had gone to see his brother
OF on the steamer far Flarida- whara-hs