The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1897-01-27

Thls objection also the deacon was
ready to meet.
There's that nice, warm gray
shawl upstairs, jist a-waitin' to be wore.
An here's one o. them white woody
things ladies wears on their heads; so
she don't need any bonnet. Mrs,
Crutbers got it up to town. It's
purtier'n bonnet, anyway
SO the deacon carried his point, and
Ma Purdy went to the concert.
The battered old school-hOuse would
not hold the people that came that
night. They walked, rode and drove
from miles around, and crowded into
the seats, the narrow aises and the
window-ledges, Till every inch Of space
was filed.
The program had been well pre-
pared. There were solos upon violin,
flute and concertina. Deacon Clarke
sang "The Friar of Orders Gray" and
his wife, "John Anderson, my Jo."
Grandma Peters and Aunt Hannah
Dowden gave as duet, Vert Thou
in the Cauld Bast2" A quartet sang
"Tell me, Shepherds, have we seen my
Flora pass this way?" and was an an
them from the old dulcimer.
The music was not fashionable. The
hands that played may have been un-
steady, and the voice that sang some
what thin and quavering; but the
quaint melodies went to the hearts of
the audience, and enthusiastic applause
followed each number.
At last the chairman announced, A
solo, Bonny DOOM by Mrs. James
Purdy."
There was a moment of astonish-
ment, even more breathless than when
Jake Peckham had carried his frail and
helpless burden into the schoolhouse
and placed her in an armchair in the
aisle. The deacon himself, who had
been in only half the secret, looked
dazed now as Jake and the minister, at
word from Mrs. Reed, carried her
gently to the platform and set her on
the chair at the melodeon. Some pres
ent had seen the same woman, as q
straight, slender girl, seat herself in
the same place to sing the same song
two-score years ago. She had brought
tears to their eyes then by the strange
pathos of her young voice; now
She turned little to one side and
succeeded painfully in getting one foot,
the left, on the pedal. Then she laid
her hands, those stiffened, twisted
hands that could not carry food to her
own lips, upon the keyboard. They
could not draw forth the harmony of a
single chord; but one or two fingers
played a few bars of the melody. Then
with brave smile, trying to hide the
pitiless pain which was the price of her
effort, Ma Purdy began to sing, in q
fine, tremulous voice,
eye banks,and braes O. Bonny Doom"
Every note was distinct in the still
ness of the crowded room. The deacon
was crying, and great Jumps rose in the
throats of many undemonstrative men
and women, as they looked at that bent
and crippled form and listened to that
plaintive voice.
At the close of the song such vol
ume of applause burst forth as had
never before been heard in the old
school-house. 1t seemed as if it would
never cease; and when the delicate,
patient old face turned round with the
same brave smile, the clapping and
shouting were redoubled.
The minister leaned forward and
whispered:
"It's an encore. They:want you to
sing again."
After moment the poor aching
hands were again laid on the keys, and
a sudden silence fell upon the crowd.
In the hush a voice spoke out clearly:
cit amt that 1 think l can sing so
well. but I'll do nv bestD
Then softly, slowly, sweetly came:
Pm wearin' ava, Jean,
Like shaw. wreaths in thaw, Jean,
I'm wearin' ava
To the land o. the leal."
But the heroic spirit had overtasked
the spent body. At the beginning of
the second verse the tortured hands
ceased to obey. The quavering voice
tried twice for the note and failed. The
thin, white face turned appealingly to
the minister and Jake Peckham, who
came quickly and carried Ma Purdy
from the platform.
There was no applause this time.
People were sobbing aloud all over the
room.
81 guess / better 60 home," the
WEARY NoiCC WhiopCiCo, q IL COluo
when he sees you take me out"
"You hadn't ought-a done it, Ma"
said Sarah, when they were all at home
again; cam you helpless all these
years"
"No, 1 hadn't ought-a," said Ma
Purdy, with tears of disappointment
and humiliation trucking from her
eyes; " l hadn't ought-a. l meant to
help 'em; but l spoilt it all. No, 1
hadn't ought-a done it,"
- The pain was cruel, relentless, all
that night and the next day.
The girls heard in the village that
the entertainment had brought in a
little more that seventy dollars. The
new hall seemed as far away as ever.
That afternoon "old man Hopkins -
came up the Back Hill Road.
81 allus said WANT goin' to give
none o. my money to buildin' Temp
rance balls an SIGH foolishness," he
said to Ma Purdy; "an' | amt. But |