The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1901-01-19

L
they'll fill with ink and print gray. I'll
I'm leave money in my will to prose.
cute photo-engravers."
"Oh, don't fret" said Miss Bryant.
"Magazine'll look well this week. Big
Toms the greatest Sunday editor that
ever happened; and I've got in some
good stuff, too"
''Of course your obligatoll be all
right" Kitty sighed; butch, those
etchers and Yes. Big Tom'll do;
never see him fretting the art depart
ment, like the editor before last, to
sketch one-column' earthquake curd-
ling cup Of cream"
How could anybody do that?" cried
Helen. II
Just what the artist said"
Miss Bryant looked slightly older
than Helen; in spite of her brusque,
careless sentences, suspected that she
was a girl of some knowledge, vast en-
ergy and strength of will. And sus-
picion grew TO certainty that she and
Reid were lovers.
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, sprnging to her feet.
Rolling up newspaper and seizing
| bit of charcoal from the drawing
table, she beat time with both hands
iaunching 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 OF
brilliant passage. her colorless, ir-
regular face alive with enthusiasm, her
black eyes swapping. IF you don't APP
plaud, how do you expect me to singP
Vos plaudite!"
"Pll applaud when you've surely
stopped" said Kitty Reid, demurelyi
'but before we begin an evening OF
grand opera, l want you to hear the
princess. Helen, you know you prom
ised."
| "Nonsense!" exclaimed Helen, color
ing at the title, II 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 / 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, so 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. Al
one moment, as the flames fiickered
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 inNthe cool
err, grayer, fainter radiance, her per-
| feet grace of classic outline made her
seem a statue-Galatea just coming to
life. more beautiful than the daughters
of men, her great loneliness delicately
spiritualized.
If 1 were beautiful woman, I'd
learn to play mandolin.
"Sing, Helen begged Kitty in Q
whisper.
In voice that began TREMENDOUSLY
| low and faltering, and slowly gained
courage, she sang the ballad she had
| been playing. 1t was easy to see tina
she was not 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 breathless. Reid sat in the
dark. still as statue; 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. l don't know whether l was
very happy or very miserable. would
have died to hear that voice again. 1t
is the truth!
With a sudden sob and shifting that
told of tears unashamed, Miss Bryant
found frivolous words to veil our emo
ton.
Ladies and gentlemen" she quov-
cred, "this is a 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; "Tve
got to look up story in the morning"
"Wait minute" said Reid, his long,
delicately-shaped fingers trembling.
"Eet me recover on something"
Picking up Kitty's banjo, he smote
the strings uncertainty and half sang,
half declaimed:
with my Hya! Heeyai Heeya! Huliah!
Haul
deck! M
Are you sick OF towns and men? You must
sign and sail again,
For it's Johnny Bowlegs. pack your kit
n