The Montgomery advertiser., 1907-03-30
HER EASTER JOY.
By rasther joyce.

Copyrighted 1907. by Mary McKeon.
 Miss Amy Carter leaned back in the dull shadows of the boarding house parlor and watched the girl at the plano.
 The girl had true but quite un- trained voice, and she sang in common place. soulless fashion the air Of fourpart sacred song.
 sswasnst 1t shivery and grand where the bass took up the tuner .
 The girls hands camW down on the keys with crash. She had not dreamed that Miss Amy had come into the room Most of the boarders did z not come down stafrs until the tea bell had rung. Miss Amy was almost as startled as the girl. She had not been in the house five weeks and never exchanged a word with any one save the 1andlady.
 awere you at St. Augustin's this afternoong' inquired the girl, swinging around on the piano. stool
 "oh, yes," replied Miss Amy. simply, rive been there every Sunday since heard you sang there in the choir.
 I'm sure 1t is awfully kind of you to say so. eI don't do much, you know, just one of the chorus, but it's $1.50 per, and you meet real nice people. too. I'd have joined the Musical League, too, only you've got to report for every rehearsal 6r lose your tickets for the last concert
 Miss Amy sat like one entrauced. Here was a girl who did not simply buy admission tickets and listen to others She was in it all. in the world of music, from which Miss Amy had always been excluded by the iron key, marked Duty
 How. do you manage to get into a chofr--or league or anything or that sort?'
 The girl felt flattered as she looked into Miss Amy's kihdling face
 Hoh, they're always looking for good sight readers with fresh. clear voices in the big choirs. Sometimes you get paid. sometimes you don't. didn't get any thing last year. C But the easiest way to get in is to take les sons from the choir master. Then MT. weston will put you in the choir to jolly you along. whether you can sing or not. You're new to New York, and you wouldn't believe the graft--
 The clang of the supper bell drowned the latter part of the sentence, and the girl rose abruptly Miss Amy fol- lowed her down to the dining room, . but scarcely knew what was spread before them { What mattered food or drink or sordid landladies or gossiping boar,iersy when she found the key to her har4dise at last? Perhaps it was graft-perhaps the girl spoke thought lessly.
 The next morning very early Miss Amy went shopping. She told the miflinerg she wanted a brown hat to match her suit 'No. not toque like she described quite accurately the hat which thel girl had worn to church the afternoon before.
 I'll wear this" she said, and you can send the old one home"
 Next she went to the nearest drug store and studied the directory. "weston, Albert, singing teacher, 421 West ----street."
 As she left the drug store she spied florists window, and she stopped for a bouquet of violets. Then again she hesitated. The crisis of this, her new life. was at hand. She allowed three, cars to pass, and then with firm lv compressed lips she signaled for a. hanson, At the boarding house every one said that in New York one must keep up appearances Perhaps if he thoughtsBhe could afford to ride in hansons he would overlook her vocal deficiencies.
 Albert Weston, worn by his strug- gles with an indifferent pupil, was standing at the window of his studio when the hanson drew up before the building and the brown, wrenlike fig ure stepped cautiously from the ve- hicle and shot a questioning glance up the brownstone front.
 I'm glad I took the hansom," com7s Fnented Miss Amy as she mounted the steps This was life! An absurd thrill swept over her and brought a delicate and most becoming blush to- her face
 Mir Weston studied her curiously, hands deep in his pockets. when she asked almost timidly the privilege of studying with him. Prices, hours, everything seemed secondary to the fear that he might not accept her as a pupil He tried her voice, paced the room a few moments and then said gravely:
 "Yes, I will take you as a pupil, but want to be quite frank with you. You will never be a great singer. You have a sweet, harmless, drawing room voice, but I don't want you to go into the work with any idea of being grand opera singer in time. You have begun-too late for that"
 Again the delicate flush mounted to her face.
 T understand all that--it is just for my own pleasure. I-I could not study sooner. It Is just for the joy of being able to sing for myself"
 He stopped short in his nervous walk and looked at her. Such sim plicity, such humility, such lack of ann bition, almost staggered him.
 Perhaps some time-when my voice is little stronger--you might. that is, if it would be quite right, you might, aszz.Ezaallazznsnzzzsnu1uz