The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1895-09-14


The door opened and Il young girl of
about seventeen came timdly into the
room. She advanced IA few steps and
stood bashfully before the great singer
who, somewhat surprised by the sight of
the little country airl, remained silent for
moment.
The short, scant frock she wore scarcely
concealed the heavy boots beneath it, and
the tight-titting old-fashioned brown jacket
showed the rounded curves of her oirlish
figure. \ fur tippet was around her neck,
and on her head broad brimmed felt hat
adorned with a big red bow in front. and
long gray feather that traled partly
around the crown and dangled lImpingly
behind, rcstin" on the mass OF reddish
brown hair hanging about her shoulders.
"What can do for you, my child :"
he asked kindly after a moments pause.
ooh, SIR" she began, shyly raising her
eyes, and neryously clasping and unclasp-
ing her blue mttened hands, please, sir,
I'm Polly Ketcham. from Fairfax, Bergen
county, and IL want to sing
''Want to sing?' he repeated in amaze
ment.
eyes sir. have heard and heard so
much about YOU, and thought if came
to you you would tell me if had voice
worth training.
"Have you sung much ~
''Oh yes, sir!' she answered, gaining
courage from his pleasant voice. 81 always
sing at meeting and at all the concerts
back home, and every one says have a
good voice.
This she ra,;ie,l off glibly enough as
though it werr lesson learnt; but she
hesitated, as her modtsty overcome her
anxiety to appear in the hest light posi-
BILE before she added:
They say, sir, that THAT | do beaut:-
fully
The master hid smile at her frank
assertion.
And what do you sing: he said.
MOSTLY hymn tunes, and 'Suwanee
River and Home, Sweet Home, and'-
well, suppose you sing for me now, =
he interrupted. "Do you play at all %
'I've been taught little on my
mothers old piano. Father says if you
decide l really have voice worth train
ing he will mortgage the farm to give
me lessons from you. Then some day
when am great singer, will pay it all
back
The master hid another smile. Wealthy
people had to sue for instruction from him.
Money without talent could not buy his
time; and innocent little Polly did not
dream of the sum he usually received for
the favor she was asking.
She took off the blue mittens, and
smoothing them carefully out, laid them
on the piano, and sat down on the stool.
She played few bars Of simple accom-
paniment, and then began to sing il
hymn with more fervor than sweetness.
The masters amused smile changed t,
ont vi pltI us sLe S'hS SiaNeiN VII iioih oue
hymn to another.
At last she stopped and glanced timidly
around for some word, either of conden-
nation or praise, from the musical man
sitting at his desk. She was disappointed;
he said not a word but met her face with
kindly smile thar somewhat reassurred
her.
"You see, sir. she began, shyly, cts
like this Hezetiah-he's-he's in love
with me- hanging her head and burying
her dimpled chin in her fur tippet, "and
couldn't promise to marry him until |
found out | really couldn't sing. Hezekah
brought me; he's waiting below in the
to come to you, but | couldn't get up my
courage 1t was so hard to think you
might spy couldn't sing" And the blue
eyes, trimming with tears at the sugges-
ton, showed how great the disappointment
might he.
Sing Home. Sweet Home, he inter
rupted.
She turned Immediately and began sing
ing, if not Soulfully, at least Justify, with
all the power Of her young lungs. She
felt this was the crucial test, either the
beginning or the ending of all her day
dreams. 1t would prove either the found
ing of her fame and fortune, which she
in her innocence believed to be easily won
in the world or else send her back to the
obscure country village to be only lTezc-
kiahs wife.
The master sat quite still, excepting
twice when she tatted over much, and he
WINGED involuntarily. He sat looking at
her, and yet beyond her. He noted her
poor but neat dress, the blue mittens laid
so thriftily by, the roughened hands, the
fresh young face and bright hair. Every
thing about the shabby little figure on the
piano stool appealed to him strangely.
Even the gray feather seemed to bob
pathetically up and down.
How he hated to crush the hopes she had
built up! How he dreaded to see the
brightness die out Of her face!
As thoughts are transmitted from one
mind to another, so Polly felt that which