The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1902-04-18

81 am very WE'LL" Eleanor said, and
very busy. read the history of music
and teach children music, and | study
music and practice music-just as
usual, dear Mrs. Dale. She smiled, just
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: Eyes
usually l am. Just at present am
signing for the luXuries 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 are certainly the greatest of
luXuries to music lovers" she agreed.
And to music teachers who must
spend their money for-other things"
Eleanor added, with laugh. please
don'tthink Pm really unhappy because
1 can't afford to go, Mrs. Dale. I'm
not; Pm just croaking little. It's
such help to any one to hear good
music-especially to music teacher
and such joy! But I'm not unhappy
about it.; I'm glad l can do other
things. l don't feel bit like croaking
any more since I've seen you'll"
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 bravely. you dear child"
she repeated.
Eleanor pressed her hand closely. 81
must fly to my next pupil, Mrs. Dale.
May | come to see you tomorrow
perhaps late in the afternoon" she
whispered.
The quick tears came into Amy's
mothers eyes. "Yes, dol" 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 dear, good child" she
thought, $50 brave and unselfish! 1t
is a pity she can't go to those con-
certs. They would give her such
help, and such happiness, too!
wish 1 could give her ticket to them.
Amy would be SO pleased; she
loves Eleanor. If tomorrow were
not Amy's birthday, and I were not
going to get flowers for her, I should
be able to do that for Eleanor. She
would let me, because I am Amy's
mother. l wonder"
She stood quite still. A pleasant
new possibility came into her mind.
She turned away from the florists
shop. In less than an hour she was
going home, past the yellow fields
and sunset-lighted trees. She had
no flowers with her, but the look in
her eyes was less sad and less lone
ly for Amy.
In the last few moments of day
light she wrote little note to Eleanor.
The girl wept tears, half-happy, half
sad, as she read:
My Dear Child: Tomorrow. as you
know. is Amy's birthday If Amy were
here I should give her something to cele-
brate 1t. Amy is not here, but you are,
dear; and you are girl like Amy, and her
friend. Will you not take the gift for her.
and go and listen to the glorious music that
you so love and can so we'll make helpful
TO rca1f nth 70
soon, and believe me, your warm friend,
AMY SPENCER DALE.
Slipped into the note, Eleanor found
a ticket to the Beethoven society's con-
certs. Amy's mother had sent it very
happily, but after it had gone she sat
alone in the gathering twilight, wish
ing that she had just one flower to
take on the next day to Amy's grave.
"Amy would have liked me to do that"
she thought, "but still-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.
80, Mrs. Dale she cried, give been
to the woods with father, and I've
brought you some fiowers!" 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 goldenrod
and daisies in her arms, 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 when
Eleanor came, later in the day, and
kissed her again and again, and
thanked her with wet eyes for the gift,
she began to know. Never after did
she cover Amy's grave with costly,
quick-fading flowers.
Instead, at Christmas and at Easter
and on Amy's birthday, she did some
| lovely kindness for some other girl
| for Amy's sake. Sometimes it was
small, sometimes it was large; but al
ways it was something that made the
! girl happier and better, and conse-