, 1922-07-07

He was tired of having It around. use
lessly filling space.
And as the flames cracked and
ieaped he gave little thought to the
tender memories tina clustered around
that old square-legged plano. 1t was
n bonfire, isashing more.
But surely many a wrath Of by
gone days might have been seer tax
ing ghostly shape in the curling smoke
IL someone there had been blessed
with sentiment enough to look for
them. Tho dealer said It was the
heat that made the rusty old strings
sing in the why they did when the
flames reached them. But It was not
80. 1t was the spirit that dwelt In the
old piano@the spirit of tho other days
tho last fond touch OF unseen hands
upon the ivory keys yellow with age,
and worn as thin as paper by the
pressure of dainty fingers that have
turned to ashes years and years ago.
No n knew the story of that piano
in h blazing pile. In what home It
stood. who owned 1t, how old it was
no n knew. Blu II was very. very
old. 1t WIS n pioneer of music and
culture. 1t came out in this western
country with the first white folk, be-
fore the railroads. when this region
was wild and sparsely settled. when
the ownership OF a plano meant
wealth n position, and a refinement
rare upon the frontier.
The getting of a piano In those days
was an eventful Undertaking. 1t
would probably be bought in New
York. would come by rail to Council
Bluffs. where the old bull whackers
would start out on the long trail
across the country.
There was sure TO be at least one
young woman in the home where this
piano vent. That much of the story
we do know. The rest OF It must be
left to imagination. Cannot you see
the girl waiting there at the gate of
the ranchhouse. her sunbonnet pushed
back from her face, her hand shield
ing her eyes from the sun as h
watches; and how she claps her hands
as h bull team turns tho bend in
the Platte and she gets the first
glimpse Of the big pine packing box
in tho wagon.
You can see the new piano later in
a corner of the big front parlor. the
girl with the. fairy face and figure
at h keys n bending over her a
young man OF the countryside who.
listens with a look upon his face that
only lovers wear.
wild rowing Indian maid. sweet AL
feretta,
Where flow the waters of the blue
Juniatta-
1t has been many a year since you
heard that song. hasn't It? Maybe
If you are one Of the younger genera
ton, you never heard 1t. But it was
a prime ~favorite with love-lorn maid
ems in the days when this piano was
young.
The old piano was a member of the
family and its spirit was in tune with
every emotion that ruled the house
hold, whether OF joy or sorrow. And
1t knew much of both. 1t vfbrated
tenderly with love. 1t pealed grandly
the wedding march. 1t crooned many a
lullaby in the long evening when the
smell Of the prairie floated in through
the opened windows: IL sobbed mourn
fully the old funeral hymns ASLEEP
In Jesus. Blessed Sleep" 1t was
proud to do that last melancholy serv-
ice for it's dead mistress, although
its spirit was almost breaking as it
sang.
And SO the years went, and the old
friends went. and with them went the
sweet old tunes, and the sweet old
ways The square piano became "'old.
fashioned and its spirit was out OF
tune with modern ways. 1t still re-
its pride, but poverty came to
it. 1t sank lower in the social scale
until it became an outcast, a shabby
relic of better days. with rheumatic
joints and keys that ratified and the
of joy was dead within IL 1t
was time to mingle its ashes with the
Of the earth.
READER.
Meet me at the smokebou-ar