San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1896-12-21

|
three runs were essayed before an an
swer was volunteered. Under the touch
of the resined bow the old instrument
gave out right, melodious and some
" hat sweet tones. The hand that played
the strings, too, showed some genius,
and as he noted these facts, the face of
the director wore less veXed look.
Now, mister, I'm er goin' to tell yer
story, tell yer a story. 1t is sumthin'
that happened to me ter day, ter me an
mine an its none O. yer classical either.
Its death, mister; my girls dead" A
great sob welled up in the throat of the
old man and he hesitated a moment.
Then he continued slower than evefS
'She died this mornin'. l got ter
bury her, mister. an I'm here ter make
ther money" Wiping away the tears
from his eyes, the old man took up the
violin and bow.
Deity his hand went back and forth
few times and glad tones broke from
the instrument. Babbling and laugh.
ing brooks, glens in shaded woods, nod
ding flowers and rOmping, gleeful chill
dren were all conjured in the mental
vision. The tones grew louder, more
jubilant, until they were flied with gay
ETY. and life and the wonder of the di-
rector grew apace.
! This was not death; this was life of
the best kind, for it was youth. When
they reached their height, the sounds
began slowly to die out until the bow
scarcely moved. Then all was as still
as death.
"Thet's my CURL, she were young,
then, she were young, them" spoke the
old man, and his eyes plainly told that
his mind was back half a score of years
and had no realization of the present.
She were young an she were merry"
he finally added when the fit of abstrac-
ton had left him.
Then he commenced again. His face
wore look of contentment, of love, of
happiness. 1t was serenely peaceful,
and the vibrating strings echoed his
feelings, his innermost thoughts. There
was complete harmony and everything
good was told-duty of conscience, self
denial and life lived for others. Sor-
row was completely shut out, and to
the mind of the director there involun-
tarily presented itself the face of q
young woman. Her brown locks were
pushed back from her brow and fell
in soft, clinging tendrils about her
temples. Her eyes were large, round
and deep blue, and shone with depth
of soul, with frankness and innocence,
yet fathomless as the ocean. Each sep
arate vein could be traced in the pure,
white brow. The lips were parted with
welcoming smile. But the director
had hardly outlined the picture in his
mind, when the old man spoke again,
rousing him from his reverie.
"Thet's she, she were my angel, she
were always an angel ter me-" He drew
his coat sleeves across his eyes, and
wiped away the tears.
"She were my angel, she were so
good"
The violinist commenced for the
third time. There was no sweetness in
the music. The first note was long
drawn, despairing cry of anguish. a
soul in perdition could not have emitted
one more heart-rending or penetrating
~ inhuman. The face of the player was
transformed, it was ashy-hued and the
eyes were intensely sorTowful in their
expression. Tone after tone followed
the sorrow and misery depicted increas-
ing each instant. Anguish gave way
to bitterness. Then, when the climax
had been reached, the music changed.
1t was now soft and low again, COM
Ing from afar off, the very sweetest
that could be brought from the strings
by mortal hands. 1t became sweet, then
soothing, quieting, and finally broke
forth in chords of happiness from
above. The player was using muted
strings. and the story he told was of
the heart. He looked up as he played,
and his face was radiant with pleas
ure, with fathers love; it shone with
happiness.
"She were my angel" he murmured,
softly.
Strings told of the supreme pleasure
beyond the earth, while the eyes of the
player began to wear that dimness of
the passing time, when earth is behind
and Heaven is before. Director Blatz
noted this and sprang to catch the man.
With a weird, sobbing, eXulting strain,
the old instrument fell from Dole's
hands, and he was prone on the floor
/ before he could be reached. The di-
rector clasped the head in his hands
and raised it up, that respiration might
be the easier.
The faded eyesopened.
"See her, see her; she were my
angel" he whispered, softly, IAN see
um now. l love her."
They were his last words. In his
pocket they found the address, and they
bore him to the poorer section of the
city. On the one poor excuse for bed
they found her, and they laid his mani
mate form beside here. On the face
of the one shone peace, purity and in
nocence, and on the face of the other
the divine imprint of ccatentment in