The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1917-12-10
EVENING STORY
Listening Ears.
(By Dorothy Douglas.)

oval face like FURNISHED braid OF OLD
gold. Her eyes were wistful and her
song dropped. like a tiny bird that
f1utters wea rily home to the nest.
Sometimes the quaint airs that Mil
dred sang were light and happy; then
again they told of a heavy heart that
longed for -ests> and vet again there
was tremendous grandeur in her song,
as if some great emotion held her in
its grip.
Mildred could not have repeated the
quaint airs that her heart fashioned
in her brain They were little
snatches of expression in song that
were as spontaneous as they were
tuneful She did not realize that her
notes were herding themselves to-
gether in dainty compositions that
were full of sentiment and harmony.
To the white-haired musician that
sat by his window in the room below
Mildred the little snatches of song
were a daily tonic. He drank them
into his music-tuned soul as thirst
ing animal laps the sparkling water
from a mountain brook.
The notes dubbed and laughed at
times, and it was then that the old
man smiled and his eyes were bright.
And when the voice dropped and the
notes fell heavily on the air, then did
his heart beat DULY with an ache that
hurt.
And in the hours that the song
bird was away from her room and
down at the office where she worked,
the old man sat at his desk and
transposed the notes of her songs
from his brain to the stated paper
on his desk.
He dotted in notes here and three,
making changes, adding a hint of
technique here and a sense of rhythm
III J, = fr-CF
his pen held a dainty score of music
notes that a generation to come
would still be singing They were ex-
quisite bits of melody, some for the
voice anu others Tor the violin.
The old man ponaered hour upon
hour as to the identity of the girl
whose voice gave to his listening ears
those wonderful notes.
In his own lifetime he had COM
posed songs that would live and live
and re-live, and now he was weary.
He had drained his own cup of in
girl in the room above had flung into
mis- soul >snatches of melody that it
was crime to have lost
He wondered from whom she had
inherited that gift of original herding
of notes.
There has been music somewhere,
everyW here about her, and yet 1 hard
ly think she is conscious that she has
composed a score or more of wonder
full songs"
And because David Ward was a ro-
mantle old man, with a soul filled to
the brim with fantasy, ne pondered on
picturesque way in which to ac-
quaint the girl with her own gift He
had the songs for the voice bound in
one dainty volume, and those for the
violin in another.
And while the old man pondered,
Mildred, too, was worrying her brain
and becoming wistful-eyed and trou-
bled.
Il just can't stand it any longer"
she told herself, tearfuIly Il must
make some money. Everyone else is
helping the soldiers, and / don't even
have five dollars extra a month to
help with"
That evening her song was sad: so
sad ehat David Ward swept moisture
from his eyes as the notes stopped
abruptly in the room above
Something told him that sobs had
choked >the songbird's notes.
An hour later, when the sad little
melody was down on paper, David s
aoor was flung open and his big
nephew bounded in, a wonderful smile
on his face and his shoulders erect
He was wearing khaki.
Inc old man gasped, turned a hit
white. then, like the soldier that he
too was at heart, he cIasped the great
boy in his arms.
Got my commission today" an
nounced the boy proudly, and then
for a second was silent Finally he
said with a catch in his voice: my
violin, uncle, I want you to keen it
for me. l couldn't trust if To an11-
one else"
"Pn treasure it. my boy" David
told him softly. You're giving up a
great career-the world is beginning
to listen to your fiddle" He put his
arm across the khaki shoulders. But
you have taken a greater career,
brave soldier"
Young David laughed off the mo-
ment of emotion that threatened his
recently acquired manhood, and
picked up his violin. David had but
lately passed twenty-one.
He played something rollicking and
happy to sweep away the tears, and
when his uncle was smiling he
smiled.
My boy" said the old composer,
'tjust run over those gems in that
grey book. l want you to hear Them
The young soldier picked up the
book and glanced quickly thru it,
They were the snatches of melody cap
tured from the throat of the songbird
upstairs.
David breathed heavily while he
drew his bow over those quaint notes,
and his cheeks became flushed and
his eyes brilliant. He was the tenn
peramental musical genius while he
] played. His soul was fluttering among
| the poets. breathing their breath,
gripping their emotions. Yet his body
! was clothed in khaki.
"Uncle!" he demanded GREATNESS
~, where did they come from? Are
| they your own? They're gems
! gems polished by spirit breath 1
have never played anything more hui
man. more divine" He was finger
| ing the pages lovingly while he spoke.
| At that moment Mildred rose from
| the bed on which she had thrown
/ herself in misery She shook back
| her shoulders and held herself in
scorn for having given way to so
| slight a grief There were big things
\ being done in the world. and she was
| a pigmy She knew that, with faith
| in the good of all things, she would
find way of helping the brave