The record-union., 1896-12-06
MULBERRY BENDS TANAGRA.

ulUuUullll UulNUU 1Alt0uld.
No one in the, tenement knew the val
ue of the dainty, dirty Tanagra; least OF
all old Marco Fuzori, the fishmonger
whose children made doll of it. The
tiny figure turned up in a forgotten
box one day just in time to charm into
busy silence a troublesome child, and
that was all the Italian and his wife
knew or cared about it. Thereafter the
beautiful lady of ancient Greece owed
her preservation to her capacity for
dress. She stood straight, and as her
own carved clothing clung close to her
tall form, any amount of bright rags
and gorgeous handkerchiefs could be
put upon her. The varicolored, many
shaped garments successive FuZorl
children chose for her became neither
her character nor the style OF her
beauty, but the quantity of them saved
her delicate figure from destruction In
this, the period which, of all the ages
she had survived, was fraught with the
greatest dangers.
For several years and three FuZor1
babies the little terracotta statuette
did duty as a doll. 1t was carried about
in the streets, went to church, sat in
the doorsteps of Mulberry Bend, or was
left asleep for hours together among
the fish on Marcos stand. That it was
the belle among dolls in the Bend.
where bottles and sticks were babies
babies, goes without saying. But that
was small glory for such ancient no.
bility.
At last Maria, Marcos youngest child,
got to be too old to play all the time.
She was sent to school, and when she
was at home she had to help her
mother or mind the fish stand while
her father was away. The Tanagra
dame was laid upon shelf in her rags
like a mummy, and was never moved
except on dusting days. Then Maria
handled her with no more interest than
she bestowed upon any other useless
object in her way. The light-hearted
girl could not foresee that the crisis OF
her life was bound up in that soiled and
ugly bundle.
One Saturday morning, when Maria
was about 16 years old, she was stop
ped in her work, with arms and dustef'
raised, by a sudden music. 1t rose out
of the din of the dirty street like a
spirit No organ grinding that, with
IrishAmerican airs. These the girl
found beautiful, but they were COM
| mon. This music was: human A
mans, a DEVILS voice sang strong and
sure a song of Italy, of Naples.
And such a wicked song! It was not
the words were bad: they spoke of love
and life and joy. But the air-it was
satanic. 1t started the impulse to do,
and to do anything. good or bad, no
matter what for love and pleasure.
Maria hardened breathless in her
spell bound pose. Then she laughed
cruel, wanton, wicked laugh.
She was a gentle, graceful child, more
meek than merry. Always soft OF voice
and quiet in motion, she was a very
Madonna of modesty, innocence and
pretty tenderness. But when she walk
ed to the window now to see the man
who sang she strode like a man.
There stood the singer in the middle
of the street between the puSh-carts.
Hat off, head thrown back, and arms
extended, he poured forth his song to
the crowd of marketers. His face was
dark and handsome. The brown eyes
laughed with the smile around his
mouth and in his gesture were mock
cry, challenge and invitation. Big.
strong, and bad, "Oh, what a mani"
sighed Maria as she looked and list
ened.
An old man thrummed mechanically
| the accompaniment on the jangling
guitar. His attention was riven upon
| the pennies as they fell at his feet.
| The young man cared nothing for the
| showers of coppers. He Ogled as he
sang the women in the windows and
on the sidewalks. Those especially who
were with men he delighted to make
| blush. Otherwise he showed no par
| TALLY, and Maria, though she caught
| his glances, got no more than her
neighbors.
When the song was ended the old
man picked up the pennies he had
spotted, mumbling the while to him
self. The singer kicked one or two
coins towards his companion, to whom
| he chatted gaily. He was making in
| Suiting comments on the people about
| him, and was well on towards a street
| brawl when the guitar player struck
up a waltz-song. The singer took the
melody with a careless shrug Of his
| shoulders At first he sang disinter-
estedly, but as the cadence moved him
| his voice rose and his feet stepped off
| the time.
The true dance spirit was soon echo
| ing in the tenement-houses. Out Of
them came the children, eager to tread
| the measure Sing1y by stealth, in
gleeful twos and threeS, in romping
groups, at last the whole troops of all
sizes clattered out upon the asphalt
| and gathering close around the singer
danced. He, ready for the fun of it.
| seized two small hands, which reached
| for more, till there was a ring. And
so together they waltZed merry
| chorus of motion.
Maria had run down with the others
| but something new in her checked her
| at the doorway She stood there keep
! ing time with her feet, hips and head
| and watched the singer.
.'Oh, what a mani she sighed.
Before the song was over the young
man saw Maria His idle glance set
| tied into such a steady stare that the
waltz went out of his singing He
| sang on. but the melody was lifeless
and the sensitive ring of children felt
| the difference and broke. Maria, too
| felt the change It gave her start OF
| pleasure mingled with alarm, and she
| felt like running away. What could
it mean? Why should he look at her?
| But he did? His eyes did not meet
hers. They seemed to be fixed on her
hand Dropping her eye she saw that
she held the doll, it's handkerchief and
rags hanging loose. In the other hand
was the duster with which she had been
@l.x.1 l.x<, rs%I~ 1T
song.