The morning times., 1895-07-07
p Bunch Of DaffOdilS.

Where are you going to spend your
Easter vacation" Little Mita made her
way between property boxes and scenic
shrubbery TO where the contralto was
waiting.
AT home, dear; spend all my vacations
at home with the children Poor little
things, it is so seldom they see their
father and mother that we never let an
opportunity go by for being together" The
coutralto's sentences. like some Of her
strong notes, were long, but they were
as pure in thought as the notes were in ex-
preston.
so you're going home for Easter?' Miss
Jewell's step was light and they had not
| heard her approach. The breadth of car
pet spread from her dressine-room to the
stage TO spare her dainty gowns and white
shoes deadened the sound of her footsteps
Her question was an idle one, asked solely
for the sake of saying something to the
contralto, whom she liked
Yes, / was saying to Mita that the
children hardly know they have a father
and mother. 1t always seems a pity to ire
that parents and children should be parted,
! though of course it is necessary some
| times"
JEWELS lips as she came from her dress
ing-room. She knew the audience was
anXiously waiting for her to make her
appearance; she knew just how the ap-
plause would ring out when the curtain
went down. and bow an usher would come
down the aisle bearing Il bouquet OF her
favorite roses, or perhaps basket heaped
with purple and white violets. She loved
the iIoWers, she was proud of the ap-
plause, and she had a child's fondness
Tor the color and light that was always
about her
Where viii you spend your holiday.
Miss Jewell?'
1t was Mita's question. One always for
gave Mita for asking questions on matters
that could not possibly interest her; she
was such childish creature.
Il have not made my arrangements; l
shall probably stay in town" A rather
thoughtful expression came to Miss Jew
ellis face, for she remembered a letter she
had received only that morning from a
little town among the hills.
My daughter" the letter ran, your
father and would like to see you. hope
we may soon"
Who bTt a mother could write like that?
She had folded up the note and put it
away in her desk. 1t would be impossible
for her to go to Dale for the short
vacation Easter week, and she knew it
would be almost impossible to get away
from Dale after stay of only day or two
And then the Aliens had asked her to ac-
| company them to Old Point, and she had
| made up her mind if they insisted she would
| go.
1t had been long time since Alice Jewell
| had paid visit to Dale. Last summer she
| had been in the West: ore weeks vacation
last winter had been spent in New York
shopping; summer before last she had
been yachting with the Bainbridge- Glad
| stones In ole way and another it had been
! three years since she bad felt the clasp of
home hands and received the warm kiss of
| those who loved her best and whose pride
she was To be sure, papers with notices
were always sent home; each birthday and
holiday was marked by appropriate gifts:
the father had warm coat for Christmas
and the mother a she'll comb and The other
trifles that mothers love, but the daughters
presence had been lacking.
The audience was waiting for the fair
singers appearance. The basSo and con-
tralto had sung their song and little Mita
had added her bit of color to the scene: then
the gracious, beautiful singer came softly on
in her creamy robes and was singing her song
as the lark sings as he rises up and up from
a marshy meadow in the earliest morning
Triumphant in its strength, her voice rang
out and when the curtain rang down the ap-
plauSe arose, sounding to those behind the
scenes like the swapping of brisk fire in
underbrush.
The curtain slowly rolled up and an usher
glided down the aisle, as she knew he would.
and the leader leaned forward with her
bouquet in his hand. Then as the applause
continued the leader tapped the stand with
his baton and the first violin took up the
air of the song she had sung and She repeated
the refrain. and the curtain went down gain,
with her standing there with the flowers in
her arms. They were not roses this time nor
violets fresh as if rain washed, but great
yellow daffodils, creamy at the tips of the
petals and deepening to the richest yellow
in their cup-like hearts and eXAaliBg an
odor like nothing else upon this earti-a
combination Of springtimc Scents, a sugges-
ton of cowslips and springing grass blades,
of damp moss in the woods. Holding the
flowers in her arms, she passed back TO her
dressing room.
She pushed aside the articles on the
shelf under her mirror and laid the flowers
there. 1t had been her Wont to fasten