The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1898-12-10
S&lett Storp.
'TILDA'S CHRISTMAS.
BY MARY ANGELA DICKENS.

1t began in the summer time, one even
ing in August, when Tilda, on her knees,
scrubbing out the dirty little kitchen, was
feeling as though she could bear life no
longer.
Quite suddenly she paused in her work
and raised her grimy, tear stained face.
Outside in the street a voice had uplitted
itself, not as the voice of the dwellerS in
George Street were apt to do, but in song.
Through the open door and windows the
voice foated; with her scrubbing brush
suspended, 'Tilda listened, spell bound =.
1t was tenor voice-one Of those voices
which carry conviction TO far harder hearts
than 'Tilda' S. 1t was startlingly ly beau
tiful voice for street singer, even though
it was worn and roughened with hard
usage.
'Tilda could neither analyze nor criti-
else. But she could feel. The song was
THE Devout Lover" and the words
passed over her head as though they had
no meaning. But the tender rhythm of
the music seemed to sweep round her and
wrap her away from all her trouble into ii
very heaven. The song went on. Til
da's white lips parted in smile of posi-
tive ecstasy, and she scarcely breathed
Her great blue eyes shone. She had
heard no music such as this in all her life
1t seemed to her something too beautiful
to belong to this world.
The song drew to its end; the last long
lingering notes died away; and then, for
'Tilda, silence fell upon the world. She
did,not hear the noises of George Street as
they reasserted themselves She had for
gotten her work She knelt on, motion
less, gazing away into space and seeing
nothing.
Such proceedings were not to be indulged
in with impunity in the house Of Gilkes,
and torrent of language and a box on the
ears reused Tilda from her dream. But
she fell asleep that night with the voice
ringing in her ears. All the next day she
listened and longed. Would the singer
come back? Should she ever hear the
song again? Seven days had gone by,
and she was dragging YEARLY up and down
George Street late in the afternoon with
Billy Gilkes, the baby, in her arms, when
she started SO violently as almost to drop
her burden, and wave of burning color
flooded her face. Away behind her at the
end of the street the voice was rising again.
The dirty, un-parched street disap-
peared from before her eyes. Billy was
no longer heavy, She was no longer tired.
She turned involuntarily and moved, drawn
by those long sweet notes, up the street
toward the singer.
He was tall man, gaunt and thin.
His face was pale, and there were hard
and bitter lines about it; lines of degrade
ton, too. His features were we'll and
strongly cut; he had grey eyes which even
sullenness and cynicism could not wholly
mar; and his rough hair fell over the true
musician forehead. Tilda, standing
close beside him, with Billy clasped to her,
and her eyes fixed rapturously on his face,
saw nothing Of this Every sense but that
of hearing was in trance. When the
song ended, sigh of exquisite regret and
satisfaction came from her, and he turned
and saw her. He looked at her for mo-
ment in silence, and when he spoke it
seemed to Tilda inevitable that the lips
from which such sounds issued should smile
kindly. There was something in his eyes,
too, which struck her vaguely as being
just right
s'You liked that p he said
'Tilda nodded He looked at her for
an instant longer, and then he began to
sing again. 'Tilda was crying, when he
stopped, tears of pure happiness. This
time he spoke to her roughly.
"You little fool p he said. whats
that for?
'Tilda wiped her eyes on Billy's torn
frock
II don't know" she said falteringly.
Haven't you anything real to cry for?'
he said, scanning her attentively.
Tilda' answer was written in her eyes
and on her quivering lips.
Poor little girl p he muttered under
his breath "Poor devils, all of us p
And with an indescribably bitter twist of
his thin lips he suddenly broke into THE
Devout Lover
A little crowd had collected by the time
he had finished, and sundry halfpence were
bestowed upon the singer. 'Tilda had not
a halfpenny in the world, and she would not
have dared to offer it had she had one.
But he looked at her again before he moved
away, with sudden smile of farewell,
which brought faint, uncertain reflection
of itself to 'Tilda wan face.
After this there came for 'Tilda nearly
a fortnight during which she lived in
yeritable seventh heaven. Almost every
day the singer came, and always during
that time in the late afternoon which was
devoted to the airing of Billy. This was
SO wonderfully lucky 'Tilda told herself,
in almost awestruck surprise at her own
good fortune. She was almost always able
to be in waiting at the corner. Or if she
chanced to be so far away as the other end
of the street, the first sweet, penetrating
notes reached her instantly. Once or twice
the whole afternoon and evening wore it
self away in blank silence. He did not
come. On the afternoons following these
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