St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1901-02-23

| SouI OOilSdtOu IL De II
right, Kitty sighed; 'but-oh, thos
etchers and Yes. Big Tomll do;
never see him fretting the art depart
ment, like the editor before last, I,
sketch one-column earthquake curd
ling a cup of cream"
How could anybody do that?" erie,
Helen. .Ff5
Just what the artist said" -
| Miss Bryant looked slightly olde,
than Helen; in spite of her brusque
careless sentences, suspected that sh
was girl of some knowledge, vast en-
ergy and strength of will. And sus
picien grew TO certainty that she ant
Reid were lovers. fe
might have read it in his-tone when
IN the course of the evening he asked
her to sing.
Then give me baton" she re
sponded, springingi to her feet.
Roliing up newspaper and seizing
a bit of charcoal; from the drawing
table, she beat time with both hands
launching suddenly into an air which
she rendered with dramatic expression
as rare as her abandon.
Applaud! Applaud" she cried,
clapping her own hands at the end ol
Pa brilliant passage. her colorless, ir.
regular face alive with enthusiasm, her
black eyes swapping. ''If you don't ap-
plaud. how do you expect me to sing?
Vos plaudite!"
"I'll applaud when you've surely
stopped" said Kitty Reid, demurely;
"but before we begin an evening OF
grand opera, I want you to hear the
princess. Helen, you know you prom
ised."
Nonsense! exclaimed Helen, color.
ing at the title, 81 can't sing before
Cadge: but if you like, I'll play for
you. See if I'm not improving in my
tremolo."
Helen did not sing in the old days,
so that 1 was not surprised at her re-
fusal. Taking her mandolin, she
tinkled an air that have often heard
her play, but neither nor anyone else
had ears for it, 20 absorbed was the
sense of sight.
Her long lashes swept her cheeks as
she bent forward in the freight, her
vivid coloring subdued by the soft,
playing glow to an elusive charm. AT
one moment, as the flames f1ickered
into stronger life, her beauty seemed
to grow fuller and TO have an oriental
softness and warmth; the next, the
light would die away, and in the cool
er, grayer, fainter radiance, her per-
feet grace of classic outline made her
seem a statue-Galatea just coming tc
life, more beautiful. than the daughters
of men, her great loneliness delicately
spiritualized.
If 1 were a beautiful woman, I'd
learn to play mandolin.
sSing, Helen," begged Kitty in q
whisper.
In voice that began tremulously,
low and faltering, and slowly gained
courage, she sang the ballad she had
been playing. 1t was easy to see that
she was not a musician; but, as she
forgot her listeners, we forgot every
thing but her.
Miss Bryant put down the compasses
and scale rule she had been restlessly
lingering. and her keen eyes softened
and dilated. Kitty dropped on the
floor at Helen's feet; the hush in the
room was breathiess. Reid sat in the
dark. still as statue; I clenched my
hands and held silence.
The words were as simple as the air.
But the voice, so clear. SO sweet. so
Joyous. like Helen's own loveliness-]
listening to the rarest notes that had
ever fallen on human ears-unless the
tale of the sirens be history.
As the last note died, the fire leaped,
dropped and left us in dusk and silence.
Kitty buried her face against Helen's
dress. MY heart was pounding until in
my own ears it sounded like an anvil
chorus. 1 don't know whether I was
very happy or very miserable. / would
have died to hear that voice again. 1t
is the truth!
With a sudden sob and a shifting that
told of tears unashamed, Miss Bryant
found frivolous words to veil our emo
ton.
Ladies and gentlemen, she quav-
cred, "this is high-class concert;
three dollars each for tickets, please,
Helen. you don't know how to sing
but-don't learn! Come, Pros."-the
big drops ran down her cheeks; "I've
got to look up story in the morning"
.Wait minute" said Reid, his long,
fingers trembling. |
''Let me recover on something"
Picking up Kitty's banjo, he smote |
the strings uncertainty and half sang, |
half declaimed:
;. with my Hya! Heeya. Heeya. Hullah.
Haul!
Oh. the green that thunders aft along the |
decki
Are you sick of towns and men? You must |
sign and sail again.
For it's Johnny Bowlegs. pack your Kit |
and trek"
by Jove! Kipiing's right; nothing
ike a banjo, is there? Now then.
Young Person, I'm with you. Good /