Morning journal and courier., 1894-06-23
TALES OF TEN rnAvELEns,
TcoNc1UDED FROM rrRsr pAar.l

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TcoNcIUDED FROM FIRST PAGE
ongingly back, far back across the dark
waters which divided them, and sing 70
i'm, for him, these lines as the song and
he cry of her heart; would sing them an
he song of her lips and life; and that they
hould be to them both sacred tie until
he years and the tide should realistically
weep them again together.
Then long embrace; and then: 7
Mi dearis Dubbleskyi" (for the dear
Lords sakeD from the old grinder Lijshi
Boswell, as the startled lovers saw his erst
merry, but now angry eyes peeTtng through
The parted branches Of the hedge above
hem. -
s'Mi dearie Dubbleskyr' grinder Utah
repeated in horror and dismay. Loretta,
,hildl Ye'n break q our hearts VII thisl''
She sprang from Matthew toward the
good old grinder. She thrust her round,
little fist close into his kindly face. Then
she Kissed at him, while the clenohed hand
trembled:
elijah Boswelll-Liiahl-hif ye newer
tells on me, Hru kill ye! So Hi Wilt Hi
'asn't forgot Him Romsny-nor Romany
woman, neitherl Go ye back T. camp.
HILL be yon afore yeW
cob, an wat Loretta. racklie!" whis-
pered kind-hearted Lijah, as he passed her
q few moments later and shook his shaggy
old head, as she demurely received the
anxious questionings and loving greetings
of the querulous women of the camp.
In an hour more the camp was dis
banded and the last paintings with gypsy
down over the old stone bridge of Ilkley;
up beyond the ancient Church of All
Saints among whose near graves many Q
gipsy chauvie (child) was resting; and
then over the breezy Yorkshire hills, and
on, on, to the seaport town, had sped
the departing tribe.
Back in the deserted camp prone upon
the ground where Loretta's tent had stood,
his hands clutching his battered tinker'e
wheel, Jay Matthew.
The throstles sang sweetly in the hedge;
the Whsrfe, as for aye, flowed softly on
ward to the sea; but the broken life left
utterly desolste was as one dead to the ra
diant sweetness of that fair May morning,
and could only moan: ...
"Loretts, racklie-oh, Lorettsl"
Then the weary tramp began. Weary
load and dreary life!
"Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle!"
A merry tune this from the tinker'e
merry bell. But who shell know of the
heart-ache hid beneath every song that
ever was sun9s
"Tinkle, tinkle. tinklel"
Over highway and byeway; over stile
and meadow; through village and hamlet
"Tinkle, tinkle, tinklel"
A sorry looking tinker that indeed
Move him on, clustering English "bob
biel" spurn him one and ALL Heart of {
true heart, soul of q martyr, life of
saint, may be; but form and face of al
accursed and outcast race!
"rinkle, tinkle, tinklel" Ginning eve
on the air; but always aud ever, Will
Days will pass with long hours dreary,
Nights all sleepless, starless grow"
rises the hopeless cry in the tinker's heart
Loretta, rackliel-oh, Loretts!"
II.
lessor Poppett was old or young. Othe
professors in the theRter orchestra wher
he literally played SECOND fiddle" ha,
long despaired of conclusion whether b
should bs despised or revered. Whateve
came, no complaint ever escaped the lip
of Professor Poppett. He had never bee
known to live anywhere. The director
was silent az to his lodgings. No hums
outside of the thester had been seen wit
him. The most curious had found no ke
to his nature.
He eeemed to have but the one object L
life of existing In an atmosphere of music
Study him as they might his fellows dis
covered only this: Sometimes in tende
passages of the play, or when, In opera
pathos or passion spoke from the speech
less instruments, tear might be see
coursiDg down beneath his glasses. Blu
this was quickly brushed away with tn
| end Of his bow, no note bsing lost; for b
was too conscientious for that.
just this, and strange, yearning loo
| der his chair, tuggsd at the frayed ends Q
| ter's eyes, expressed mute joy in the melc
dies, we're ali that were seen and know
| of his inner life.
But Nose, the dog, more than human
this, always understood the professor.
1t had even been hintsd that they wei
both tramps. But, all told, the two live
! only for and with each other, and the
| were not an unhappy couple.
Professor Poppett was an Interpreter {
| music. Nose had soul for music. Eacl
in his way, worshiped. Perhaps this
what held them so closely together.
By and by the curtain rang down fc
the last time upon the Grand Star Comb
| nation Theater. Then the professor an
Nose knew the misery of beggary in
| great city. At last there was nothing b.
| hind; there sesmed nothing beyond; g
they took to the road together.
Professor Poppett' voice was melanche
ly at best. The old violin was tuned
more and more mournful cadences. B
pleasant Maine farm-houses; at the soot
doors of musical cross roads emithiet
near groups of sturdy ploughmen, draw
from the fields to the roadside; in bris
and pretty hamlets; at busy stage stations
the professor sang and played, while help
full Nose bravely presented the ragged hat
But there had grown to be that hating i
Poppett's manner, that trembling hesitan
cy in his singing and, more than all tina
lesssning faith in himself, which SO voice
in ballad and instrument, that, though al
grinningly listened, only few rewarded
One autumn evening, penniless, supper
less, hopeless, the two had been hoote
out Of lovely, lesfy Maine village, q fes
miles to the north of old Portland by tn
sea. Reaching forest-edge, we'll beyon
pursuit, poor, simple Poppett fell anon
the leaves exhausted and straightwsy bura
into tears.
Faithful Nose, true and helpful to tn
last, crept up beside him, pushed his fac
against his masters, kissed it in his do
fashion and whined eomfortinely. Afte
little time the professor pstted the brut
tenderly, but could only say,
''Mose, Mosel You miserable, lovin
dog! We're in hard, hard luokl oh
Mose2"
Nose could not deny 1t.
Suddenly Nose bristled up, listened
moment, and then snapped out quick
sharp growl of alarm.
The professor quieted him, looked tim
orously away through the night to the ia
lights of the distant town, and, with q bill
ter Sigh of encouragement, said to hi
loyal companion:
"God only knows where to, Nose; bu
come along!"
Nose seemed to insist that somebody G
something re quiring looking into was nea
/ them; but they crossed near little stream
followed an unused road up hill, an
were presently confronted by an old ra
gate standing half open.
Here Poppett looked In vain for som
sign of human habitation beyond, BIT
| could descry only the dark face of dee
woods, and, above them, the yellow hor
| of an autumn moon.
He sank drearily upon a fallen log b,
eide the gate, succeeding only In bringin
Nose to his side by a sharp word of CON
mand-he seldom spoke to the dog in thi
wsy-and then leaned against the fenc,
giving himself up to the direst foreb,
| dings, which were quickly succeeded b
the stupor of utter exhaustion.
Was he dreaminga
There came to him in reality, or dream
the voice of maiden in song:
"Days will pass with long hours dreary;
Nfphta a sleonlasu ctnrlocu