The Houma courier. (Houma, La.) 1878-1939, 1901-04-13

"How are you, my dear child?" was
all that she said, for she did not yet
speak very often of the daughter who
had died. -
Il am very well" Eleanor said, and
very busy. read the history of music
and teach children music, and l study
music and practice musIc-just as
usual, dear Mrs. Dale. She smiled, just
a little wistfully, Mrs. Dale thought.
Prompted by the thought, she asked
gently: And are you happy, Eleanor,
dear?"
Eleanor hesitated for an instant, and
then she smiled again and said: Yes
Usually l am. Just at present l am
signing for the Iuxuries of life"
Mrs. Dale was relieved. She knew
that Eleanor was too sensible to sigh
very long for anything. What do
you mean by the luxuries of life,
dear?" she asked.
Now really, Mrs. Dale!" Eleanor
protested brightly, then, with more
color in her face, she added: Just
now they are the eight concerts that
the Beethoven society is going to
give"
Mrs. Dale smiled in sympathy.
They + certainly the greatest Of
l~uXuries to music lovers" she agreed.
And to music teachers who must
spend their money foC-other things"
Eleanor added, with q laugh. please
don'tthink I'm really unhappy because
l can't afford to 60, Mrs. Dale. I'm
not; I'm just croaking a little. It's
such a help to any one to hear good
music-especiaIly to a music teacher
and suchaj But I'm not unhappy
about it; I'm glad l can do other
things. don't feel a bit like croaking
any more since I've seen you!'
You dear child" exclaimed Mrs.
Dale, warmly. She knew that most
of the other things Eleanor did were
done for other persons, and done will
ingly and braveIy. You dear child"
she repeated.
Eleanor pressed her hand closely. II
must fly to my next pupil, Mrs. Dale.
May l come to see you o-morrOw-
perhaps late in the afternoon?" she
whispered.
The quick tears came into Amy's
mothers eyes. Yes, do" she said.
"Good-by, my dear!"
Eleanor sped up the street to her
next pupil, and Mrs. Dale turned to
enter the florists shop and buy the
white roses.
Eleanor is a dear, good child,' she
thought, 80 brave and unselfsh! 1t
is a pity she can't go to those con-
certs. They would give her such
help, and such happiness, too! I
wish l could give her a ticket to them.
Amy would be SO pleased; she
loves Eleanor. If tomorrow were
not Amy's birthday, and l were not
going to get flowers for her, I should
be able to do that for Eleanor. She
wOuIG let me, because / am Amy's
mother. I wonder"
She stood quite stiIl. A pleasant
! ncw feasibility came into her krird.
sic tWraed away from the fogist's
shop. In less than an hour shE was
going home, past the yellow t3e.6.
aud1euaset-rChted trees She had
no frwers with her, but the lhok in
her eyes was less sad and less lone
~ for Amy.
In the last few moments Of day.
light she wrote a little note to Eleanor.
The girl wept tears. half-hapPy, half
sad, as she read:
NV Dear Chud: Tomorrow. as you
know. is Amy's birthday. II Amy were
here should give her something to Cele'
brate 1t. Amy is not here, but you are,
dear; and you are a girl like Amy, and hei
friend. VIII you not take the gift for her
and 60 and listen to the glorious music that
you so love and can so well make helpful
to yourself and others? Come to see nae
soon, and believe me, your warm friend,
AMY SPENCER DALE.
Slipped into the note, Eleanor found
q ticket to the Beethoven sOLiety's con.
certs. Amy's mother had sem it very
happily, but after it had gone she sat
alone in the gathering twilight, wish,
ing that she had just one flower ia
take on the next day to Amy's grave
amy would have liked me to do that
she thought, but stiIl-on her first
birthday"
She did not finish the sentence, for
just at that moment little Marjorie
Williams, who lived next door, came
running in.
90, Mrs. Dale she cried, "I've been
to the woods with father, and I've
brought you some fowers!" She ran
up to Mrs. Dale, and dropped into her
arms a great mass Of glowing golden.
rod and blue autumn daisies. Then
she kissed her and danced away home
Mrs. Dale gathered the goldeurod
and daisies in her AIMS, and pressed
her cheek softly against them. The
next morning she took them and laid
them on Amy's grave. Strangely, her
heart felt lighter than it had felt since
Amy died.
She did not know why, but wher
Eleanor came, later in the day, ant
kissed her again and again, ant
thanked her with wet eyes for the gift
she began to know. Never after die
she cover Amy's grave with costly
q~uick-fading flowers.
Instead, at Christmas and at Eastel
and on Amy's birthday, she did som,
lovely kindness for some other cir