The river press. [volume] (Fort Benton, Mont.) 1880-current, 1908-02-26

way again. The director told me to
come again neXt week and he would
hear me-that if | could sing in half
thn whole souled way l cried | ought
to make good. You ought to be ashan-
ed to laugh ut me" rcp~roachfully. III
never have the courage to go again.
and I'll always be afraid to sing in
public now. My voice might act that
way again, and l wanted so to make
my living by singing"
lie leaned toward her and spoke ear
nestly.
You must go again, mademoiselle.
In my country we always drive Il horse
back and make him look at the object
that has given him the fright. 1t Is so
with this nervous terror of yours, Pc
title. 1t will grow larger day by day
until you will be SO sensitive you can
not do the solos in the church or the
concert. VIII you try it again next
weekY"
Il feel that l couldn't-positively
couldn't" she gasped, trembling at the
thought Of a second fasco.
The professor got his hat and coat
to walk down the street with her to
her boarding house.
Il go with you next week, mademoi-
selle. I play your accompaniment for
you. You must forget yourself, and
when he hears you sing the place as
soloist at St. Johns is yours for the
accepting. Monsieur the director will
implore you to accept"
The next week an elated girl entered
the professors studio. She was not
alone. The professor himself threw
the roll Of music on the piano, with a
little whoop of enthusiasm.
"Never have you sung so we'll, and
do you not feel glad that the horse that
baked was led back to try again?"
II don't mind being called a horse a
bit, I'm so happy" she exclaimed.
"You couldn't offend me even If you
called me a donkey. And it's you-you
who have done it all. I found out
yesterday that you have been teaching
me for practically nothing when your
other pupils are paying outrageous
prices. 1t was good-so good-of you,"
and she held out her hands impulsively.
The professor took them in his, and
the blueness of his eyes sparkled into
hers.
ut was not goodness, petite-it was
happiness"
He led her to the chair by the fire
place and stood looking down at her.
II have been here SO long, petite, in
a country where I have not the home
feeling. There are five years that I
have taught, at first to few, then to
many, much; yet, petite, I have not the
home feeling. And your voice l loved
first, and then you. l wanted to make
you succeed so you would not despair
and go back to the country before !
had the time to try to make you care.
Petite, may l go to your country home
tomorrow and ask the honor of your
hand from madam, your mother?"
The girl laughed softly. "That is
not the American style. If you want
to settle in America for life, don't you
think it would be well for you to con-
form to- customs?"
And will You tell me the best way?"
he pleaded.
. suppose you should go-not by your
self, but with me-to see my mother,
and then
eyes, yes, and then, petiteY'
"You might say, Il love your daugh-
ter and-and your daughter loves me
SO she has brought me to see my new
mother" she said, keeping her gaze
on the fire.
He knelt beside her and turned her
face gently toward him.
THE beautiful home Well have-and
your beautiful voice will be with me
always. We go on the early train, the
most early train, to see madam, the
new mother, mon ange."