The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1917-06-13
Mother S
= Emerald
Above Story.
By AGNES C. BROGAN
A Love Story. .

When father first spoke Of bringing
the student to board was glad. An!
new cOmpaniOnship seemed promising
But when l considered that the stu
dent, being musical, might also be tn
possessor Of an uncertain temperament
my troubles appeared to be increasing
One like father was bad enough in any
family, flying off on the slightest provo
cation into a fit Of temper or, in hi
better moods, listening apparently
with an appreciative smile as one re
lated some personal incident, only tt
find at its conclusion that his mind
had been engaged with some beloved
"score." Nora, the cook, was my only
comfort, and Nora had not what one
might call an understanding" mind.
Father told me his plan one evening
with his customary hardness. The stu
dent was to arrive at 8 o'clock and
the south room to be prepared for his
disposal. He was coming free" upon
condition of exchanging secretary
work for lessons. This alone was q
recommendation to the students mn
steal ability. Father would receive nc
pupil without promise Of skill. FIX
citedly he named the young man as
''his discovery" Eric Knowlsons fu-
ture, he said, was assured. So went
to mothers picture about it. I have
q way Of going to mothers picture III
all my joys and perplexities to receive
advice from its soft eyes. You see
mother left this world as entered
slipping out very silently before even
my baby arms could reach her.
Mother" sighed, III we must have
another man In this house, oh, let US
hope that he may be a sane one" MY
experience with men ended with ia
Their, and fancied them all like him
Nora encouraged me in this belief
"They're all the very old devil" she
said. And with her remark in my ears
I ran into the music room and incl
dentally also into the student. The
sudden encounter surprised him as
much as it did me. He had been re-
moving his violin from its case, wits
Ting softly. Y His whistle stopped
abruptly. Then after we had stared
at each other awhile he bowed. =
Eric Knowlson," he explained.
"Mercy!:. exclaimed rudely, II
should never have guessed it. Not tn
violinist?"
"The same" he replied, 'long hail
and soulful eyes missing perhaps" he
smiled. Bound to be failure, then
None of the essentials" 49,
II am Professor Ludlow's daugh'
ter" 1 stiffly reproved him, land will
show you to your ROOM" ,.."G@
1T is my turn to say Mercy! 1nev'
er should have guessed It," the young
man remarked pleasantly. "Your f.
Their has always spoken Of you as my
daughter, the housekeeper.' Naturally
I imagined staid, sensible appearing
sort of person. Again, none Of the es
sentials."
Suddenly my smile answered his
"You shall see," l challenged. So
with free and merry chatter, we found
ourselves In the short space before
dinner upon astonishingly friendly
terms. It was fathers forbidding pres
ence which cast formality over the
meal. Afterward, upon the top step OF
the stairs, listened to their music
father at the piano, the student with
his violin. And the sweet strains Of
the instrument at his charmed touch
caused even me; surfeited with music,
to linger:-J Into the Spring Song
came a dominant, personal note, that
was suddenly clear, compelling call
Slowly I moyed in answer down the
stairs, .then,paused perplexedly In the
doorway The student smiled. M~1f
II called you" he said daringly, "and
I knew that you would come"
So our love began, abruptly, mex.
plicably.
One day Eric told me the story Of
his life. Uneventful it had been, yet
one Of sacrifice. His father, violin
list, had deserted Eric and his mother
Just as the lad was beginning to realize
his inherited musical gift. After that
he had quietly laid his ambition aside
with his violin and turned to care for
his mother And now she was dead,
now only had he dared to indulge bis
dreams, and father in a measure had
made this possible. For himself money
had not mattered, he said. There had
been but one thing be coveted--a white
marble stone for his mothers gra7e.
This he must have. "And now there's
you, Nancer he cried. II must have
you" Then he caught up my hand to
look ut my rings-mothers emerald and
its tiny guard.
y. "Dear," he said, "at first feared
this costly ring might be significant"
ooh, not" I told him. ut has been
the betrothal ring Of our family, hand
ed down for generations. Fathers
mother placed it upon my own dear
mothers finger, and now that she is
gone father trusts it in my keeping"
1T is,of great value" Eric said, his
eyes suddenly aglow as he bent over
the wondrous stone; then with his first
sign Of Impotence my lover turned