The Opelousas courier., 1903-05-02

INV AASAiSAt AAlCN INV S1aAp III
Why did that stranger child interest
him SO overwhelmingly? he asked him
self grimly. was it because of the pos
sible story it held, or had he touched
the ~glossed-over springs of human
sympathy which had lain dormant SO
long under the stolid Indifference hat
cloaked the hermit of the flats?
1t was a pathetic little story that the
lad had to tell, and he told it in falter-
ing English, with now and then a word
of his Servian mother tongue to offset
it's pathos; Of his immigrant father, a
musician in the old country, who had
been obliged to take work in a factory
to avert starvation, whose death oc-
Cured shortly after through IN explo-
sion Of the factory works; of the subse-
quent wanderings III a strange city.
only friends had lately been Il
gagged to travel with a concert band,
and he was trying to find a country
man who had promised him an insig-
nificant part with his wandering band.
He was quite alone in the world, with
out kindred or friends or money. His
only hope was to obtain work enough
to pay his return passage to Servia.
Haswell asked many questions, but the
lads story never deviated except to
add some pathetic detail which showed
how much toll and privation his young
life had known.
II used to take a great deal Of pleas
tire in music" said Haswell, when the
child had finished his story and drawn
his chair closer to the blazing hearth.
Suppose you play something for me
if you are warm enough to handle your
violin. I want to know what you can
do"
Rhuel tucked his old violin under mis-
chin and frightened the slack strings,
then he dried his bow carefully and
began to play. very softly and deli
cately, a weird little melody unlike
anything Haswell had ever heard, more
more beautiful, and Infinitely
sweeter. There was a lack Of tech
nique and decniteness In his touch
which would bar a successful hearing
with the coldly critical public, but to
Haswell, whose soul was stirred to it's
inmost depths by the spirit Of pure
melody, 1t seemed i~nexpressibly lovely.
brought new pictures to his mind,
of unsupported beauty, Of lives shad-
owed by want and poverty, toilers in
the dark whom such as he, to whom
much had been given, should minister
and cheer. He seated himself
before his desk and began to write,
without conscious effort or WEAKNESS,
the story that the child's music in
The boy played on ~unceasing-
~. glancing now and then at the hand
hurrying across the paper, until at
last Haswell lifted his head and smiled.
"You are tired, I'm sure" he said in
a voice Of singular gentleness. PUT
away your violin and go to bed in my
room, yonder; I want to finish my
work here beside the fire."
. y . . q
A week later, when Haswell took his
story down to Boynton's Office, the lat
ter glanced it over skeptically, read a
few lines of the last page, then began
at the start and went through it, word
for word, with eager attention. When
he had finished he looked up at Has
well with a queer, unaccustomed smile.
IF you can do a thing like that once"
he said, "you can do it again. That's
the sort Of stuff we want. I'll give
you $50 for every story Of that kird
you send me-"
Haswell went back to his hermit Fat
in an exultant frame of mind. He
found his little guest crouching before
the fire with his curly head bowed
over the violin. "Rhuel," he began alb
'you have given me a great
deal Of pleasure with you music. and
to show you I appreciate the kindness
| have decided to send you home. A |
week from to-day you shall have your
passage ticket"
The boy looked up with a start, and
his face grew, If possible, paler. He
rose, laid down his violin, and took a
step toward his benefactor, then
paused and looked at him with glow
ing eyes.
Are you very glade" Haswell asked,
smiling whimsically.
"Yes, Mister, an no, too. I love my
country-but / hat no relative
Perhaps you would rather have the
money!" Haswell suggested rather
Rhuel shook his head. Suddenly he
put out one thin hand and touched
shoulder with an appealing
gesture that thrilled the older man
strangely. Mister, I raider stay wild
.ou," he faltered. 'If you let me, ]
JUS love to stay"
stay with meir' Haswell echoed in.
adequately. Then he laughed and
the thin little hand in his bic
warm grasp.
4 really believe we'd hit it off fine
little lad" he said gayly. I'm not
quite suited with this hermit life. upor
my word I'm not. Suppose we try
doubling up for a time? When yor
grow tired, you can say so, you know.
no, Mister" the boy contradicted
eagerly. Il never grow tired. I love
to stay always.w
Stay, them" said Haswell.
And he did.-New York Times.
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