Waterbury evening Democrat., 1903-11-11
CHAPTER XI. THE RIDDLE OF THE SONG.

fSYY1N lonesome Swiss village aAh \ met a crippled youth, the son 1@<@S@S of an Alpine guide, and he
 could sing remarkably well. His repertory was not large, but it in- Gicated good taste and an unhappy disposition, both of which are supposed Co be necessary clements of the artistic temperament.
 One day heard the singer exercising his voice upon something exceptionally weird, minor and melancholy, and when asked him what 1t was he re- piled that be had dreamed it the pre- vious night. It was musically incom- plete. and he had supplied only one line of words, which may be translated thus: ''The path was straight and neither long nor steep" Ali the rest was tra-la-la, as he sang it.
 At my request he spoke the single line, so that might catch 1t exactly.
 "The path was a ray of light from her,window," he added in explanation. 'sThe woman he loved, you under stand"
 .Well?' said I in an encouraging fashion. s
 "That path" he continued, twas sup ported upon little snow wreaths'-and he waved his hand with gentle, undu- lating motion, as if indicating the un- substantial arches of the drifting storm. Tt led straight to her"-and here he paused and looked up into my face over a chasm as deep as the world"
 He drew his hand sharply across in eront of him, as if his fingers had been the blade of a magic knife to carve the impossible rift of his dream to the very heart of the globe.
 "The man saw the way, but could not go," he hastened to say, afraid, as an artist always is at such a moment that his pearls might have been cast before swine.
 Seeing that had net failed to com prehend, he settled back upon his bench and glanced downward with a shiver at his helpless and distorted legs.
 A month or more afterward in Berlin put this air into form that made a song of it, though the finished compost ton was sadly inferior to the frag- ment. I was fully aware of this, but had to do it. There was 70 other way to get the thing out of my head. .aRo I wrote some verses which sound Id like those familiar English trans lations oe classical German songs made py a pefson ignorant of both languages and of the art of poetry. Yet patient and discerning listener might gather from my lines the gist of the poor young Switzers notion.
 This little story. is necessary to the telling of a strange thing that hap pened on Mrs. Witherspoon's lake. Ii may have been four or five days later than the incidents described in the last chapter, and meanwhile I had been making most egregious donkey of myself from purely altruistic motives I had devoted myself to Miss Jones taking her away from Trask whenever could-and, singularly enough, that did not seem to be very difficult. Such cznall artihces as am master of fire 1uently suficed to divide the sketchtnG party under the north tree into two groups. thus giving me an opportunity to talk with but one listener-some Eimes without any at all, dare say saoking back upon it now.
 Gy amiable intention was to give Trask chance to learn the truth of his own heart. I had changed my mind about telling him to go away, and had decided that he was really in love with Miss Witherspoon and didn't know it That she loved him was beyond ques. tion, and 1t seemed no more than fair that she should be seen for herself and not hidden in the light of another girls beauty.
 have mentioned the report that Miss Jones was an heiress, rumor which in the singular conditions prevailing, was not able to verify. She certainly had the way of one accustomed to everything that money can buy. But never really charged Trask with mer- cenary motives. believed that he was dazxled. that. he was. under the spell 0S