The free press., 1895-12-05

come, too, and have beautiful shed
and garden all their own!
So she dreamt and dreamt.
At last the journey came to on end.
AS they drove into dismal looking
dark back street, and stopped before
an ugly old stone house, Sylvelin
looked round and shivered-not o
tree, not flower.
Prof. Hanson touched her kindly
on the arm.
"Come, lassie, carry your belong
ings, and follow me-"
They climed up many steep stairs
and were shown into small, dark
room, where the Professors wife
awaited them. She looked serious
and sad. Sylvelin felt frightened of
her, but there was no need for fear,
for she was kind to the lassie, told her
to go and rest in her own little room
and sent her some coffee and bread
and butter. But Sylvelin could not
eat nor rest. She fell stihed in the
small rooms, SO she opened the door,
when she heard the Professor say:
81 tell you 1 have found the right
article this time. We shall make a
fortune out of the little lassie. She
sings like an angel"
81 have heard that tale BEFORE" an
swered his wife. SIT isn't the first
right article you have found that
turned out wrong"
"Sylvelin didn't know what it all
meant. She felt her depression in
crease-it had all begun SO differently
to her dream. 1t was SO dark and
dismal in the big city.
The next day she went with the pro-
fessor to sing in large, hall to be
tried. AS she entered the people all
looked at her and laughed. Tears rose
to her eyes, and as the professor told
her to come and sing, she felt lump
rising in he throat. He sat down at
the piano and began playing the sim
pie tunes she loved SO well,sswith lots
of variations, which SO disigured their
simple charm that Sylvelin's confusion
grew, and she could not find her voice
among all those runs and trills. She
looked around in despair. and as she
saw the mocking face on all sides, she
burst into sob.
A loud laugh rang from every corn
er. The professor got up angrily, but
Sylvelin had fled down the hall and
out of the door. He found her out
side crying bitterly. He tried to soothe
her and promised the next time all
would be we'll. But she said nothing.
Many weary days followed when
she was made to practise scales and
other queer, ugly things she did not
understand.
Her little face looked worn and
white; the roses had long fled. She
thought of grannie, and of her goats,
but most of oil she thought OF Jorgen.
Then Sylvelin began ailing, and he1
voice seemed gone, SO they had to
send her home.
As she drew near the farm the sun
was setting, and she saw grannle on
the other side of the slope, driving
the COWS home.
Somehow, there was someone else
she longed to meet first someone
whom she knew would soon be COM
ing to milk the COWS, and whilst wait
ing she went to the cow-house, and
prepared for the milking.
There stirred such soft feeling of
thanksgiving in her heart, that she
felt she must give it vent in song, so
she sang. During the song Jorgen
entered. She neither saw nor heard
him. He stood still, listening, his
heart beating. He could not believe
his eyes nor his ears, for there was
pathos in Sylvelin's voice he had never
heard there before, it almost brought
the tears to his eyes.
When she had finished he hardly
dared approach the lassie. He only
whispered her name softly:
"Sylvelin!" !"
Gay! l be come back home, ye
see, Jorgen.
cit be grannie ye wearied for, may
be, lassie. s."
"Well, yes-that is, it was no exact
ly grannie, neither"
GAY, maybe as it was the goats p
''No, Jorgen, it was ma exactly the