Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1903-04-09
THE EASTER GENUS
A Seasanable Story Written for
the Reporter.
By
Laura
Mae
WhitroCk.

latest composition on the wonderful
new pipe organ which was his gift to
the cathedral OF St. Mary's.
There was a confused stir, stretch
ing of necks a suppressed murmur
when he entered, taking his place
quietly in the front pew.
The minister took his seat in the
pulpit, the clock chimed the half hour,
but still the Organist had not appeared.
The choir began to get impatient, and
wondered among themselves that
Margaret, usually So prompt, should
be late on this auspiciouS morning.
Presently the door swung to, and
Margaret appeared, moving rapidly
down the aisle. She had walked
quickly and her usually pale cheeks
were flushed pink. She was beauti
fully gowned in gray, but with that
quiet good taste aud elegance that
seemed a part Of her: a bewitching
Easter hat was perched on her fluffy
brown hair, from which rebellious
curlS escaped and clustered round her
ears. She noted the unusual crowd,
the altar banked with the fragrant
Easter lilies. Removing her gloves
she took her seat at the great new
organ, and commenced the opening
hymn. She played badly, her hands
trembled, and she felt nervous and
frightened. AS she struck the final
notes, she glanced up in the mirror
which hung above the music sheet,
and she caught sight of BousSart's
face therein reflected. A heavy
froWn had settled between his browS
as if the discordant notes had offended
his soul OF harmony. A cold wave
swept over her, followed by hot
surge OF Indignation and Stinging
humiliation. She Strengthened her
shoulders, and hogan to play again.
She knew that it was time to
reIinquiSh her seat for him 70 play the
composition that all Kingston was
waiting to hear; but his attitude cut
her like knife, and with a sense of
sudden power, she began some Of the
old hymns she knew so well. ."Safe
in the Rock Of AgeS''-the music
rolled and swelled through the vast
church; Nearer my God to Thee"
stirred the simple folk to sense OF
wonder at the beauty of the hymn;
''Beautiful Valley of Eden," so soft,
SO mellow. that you had but to shut
your eyes to realize that ''Swcet was
its noontide calm" Hymn followed
hymn. and the choir and minister
stared at each other in amaZement,
but the organist still played on.
The sudden joyous burst of music
followed louder, with grandeur
that made the rafters riDg-BOusSart
rose in his seat-she was playing his
"La Gloria" playing it with power,
a beauty, Il sweetness, that he himself
had never acquired. He marVelled at
this for he supposed the music known
to none but himself-where had she
obtained it?-but there was no mis-
taking: it was his composition. He
leaned forward to drink in every note
of the grand triumphant strains.
Old D'ArmillO graSped his sleeve-"I
always Sed it was in here muzeek"
he whispered. The music rang out
like a challenge. The girl, all uncon-
SciOuS of her surroundings. played on:
her slender fingers seemed to have
gained a strength that mastered the
mighty organ, and drew from it the
voluptuousneSS OfintoXicating refrain
The "grand amen shook the very
church on its foundations. and the
vast congregation, who had listened
with bated breath, settled back in
their seats with sigh. BouSSart'S S
eyes glistened; his hand gripped the
seat for support: his whole soul seemed
to go out tC the slender figure, who as
if unaware of time or place, played on
and on.
She was playing softer now-the
tones fell liquid like the soft patter Of
gentle summer rain; the SplaShing of
dripping water, the gurgling Of run
ming pools. the mOnOtOnOuS fall OF
steady rain is followed by that omin-
Gus rumbled that tore tells the coming
storm: the clouds grow darker: the
winds rise with a cry like the wailing
tones of violin; the thunder rolls,
the tightening flashes, and with a
mighty crash, the storm breaks The
rain comes down in a steady sheet,
with the rumbling Of distant thunder.
the pitch darkness of deep night, with
the winds shrieking like lost souls in
boundlesS space: the fury Of elements
at war, the rage of the heavens makes
the blood run cold.
Wonder, aStO3iShment. inquiry was
pictured on the faces Of the listeners;
| they vaguely realized that the quiet
! little Organist was more than they
had ever imagined her-a genius of
music heretofore unreyealed; they
saw that she played without heed: her
head thrown back, her eyes shut: yet
| fingered the KEYS with the confidence
and ease that spoke Of inward inSpira-
tiOn. She did not seem to tire, but
oblivious of the fact that there has
! been no sermon, no Offering, no hymns.
oUliviouS of time 0r place, she played
on and on
She was impr0viSing again and she
played her thoughts First the happy
days of early chidh0od all merry
sunshine and gleeful laughter: the
| little red school house with the old
bell: the happy shouts of children at
play: then her first grief, the passing
of her father to the other side, with
| the pail of grim, dark death: then the
good old days of sweet sixteen: she
plays a finger exercise with the
mechanical precision of those days
then the sweet days Of courtship-She
touches the keys lovingly as if hel
heart was stirred by some fonC
memory; then the music grows louder
she is living over their quarrel again
and the passion and emotion fairly
shake the instrument, as if rackeC
with torture; the notes die down: he
has gone away. and softly, slowly
sweetly, with mellow rich tones, "Foi
Auld Lang Syne" floats out upon the
air: softer still. more softly. family
they almost die away: then the past
few yearS-thump. thumP-alI mono
tOny-thump. thump-SeVen years
no change-,all duh ash-gray. 10 ST reat