Year: 1878

old piano-he could not afford to buy a
better-and struck into the prelude Of
an anthem. Bertha stood at his side
and sang it. Her clear, rich, sweet tones
filled the room. 1t was Uncle Stephen
who had cultivated her voice; who had
given her this correct style; who had
materially aided in making her what she
was-a most charming singer. His love
of oratorio music had taught her to be as
familiar with it as some girls are with
ballad singing. Anthem after anthem
she sang as she stood there; now one,
now another. Absorbed in this beloved
employment, Bertha recovered peace of
mind, almost forgetting her disappoint-
ment.


go and get your shawl on, Berthy,"
he suddenly said. "You shall not lose
the meeting. I'll keep house"


Her whole face frightened up. What
a nice face it was-seen with this rush
of sunlight upon it.


"Oh, Uncle Stephen, how good of youl
But-there1l be the kitchen fire to see
to. And-you won't forget to wind up
this lamp? 1t will be down about eight
o'clock"


"All right, child"


When she came down stairs in her old
plaid shawl and shabby hat, Uncle Ste
phen was blind and deaf to present con-
Germs; all the higher cravings of mans
heart were for moment satisfied by the
glorious music of Handel's. Bertha
thought there was every chance of the
lamp running down and the kitchen fire
going out. And then-when Aunt Pen
came home, and found things in what
she called state


"Uncle Stephen, do you think you can
remember the lamp and fire."


He nodded slightly to the question.
The tears were rolling down his grey
face as he contrived to sing that favorite
air that always affected him, 81 know
that my Redeemer liveth." His voice
had been good once, but it was weak
now. Bertha stood listening at his ell
bow till it was all over.


And then, when we are up there,
Bertha, face to face with Him, the Lord
and Saviour, it won't matter what cross
es we have suffered here, will 1t, dear?"


"No, no, Uncle Stephen. Trouble
will be all over then"


Bertha left him plunging into the
Hallelujah Chorus. Tears had risen TO
her eyes; and che stopped for a moment
as she shut the door behind her


Poor Uncle Stephen Would she ever
be able to give him the one luxury he
coveted-a new piano? AS to an organ,
it was simply beyond all idea; but Uncle
Stephen had left off wishing for that in
sheer hopelessness-


As she ran through the garden in the
cold, and thence into the high road, Ber
tina Dane began wondering-she had so
wondered many time-how Stephen
Roberts, the refined dreamy man, had
ever married SO matter of fact. practical
a woman as Penelope Bright. They were
of a totally opposite nature. He loved
music; music made her nervous; he
thought true genius for it to be the
greatest of Gods gifts; she considered
those music people" to be next door to
idiots for uselessness. While he, playing
softly so as not to disturb her, lost him.
self in dreamland at the old plan }, she
ratified away at the sewing machine, or
made pies and puddings in the kitchen.
Mrs Robarts had as much perception of
the beauties of harmony as the machine
needle had of the sheets it hemmed or
the rolling pin of the paste it fashioned.
But for the publishing music, Steph
en- might have been a more useful man
than he was, and made more of his land,
she used to say: and that was undoubt-
edly true.


Some few years ago, Bertha Dane, a
timid girl of fourteen, had come from a
distance to live with them. Poor though
they were, they took to her as their own
and did not grudge the cost she would
be. For the child, whose father had
been curate and her mother Penelope's
sister, was suddenly left an orphan; both
her parents having died within a few
weeks of each other. The child was a
lady when she came to them; brought
up to be one; but aunt Pen at ence began
to train her in usefulness, and Berthas
days of study were over. Beyond the
reading of few books and the cultiva
ton of her taste for music, which Steph
ell undertook, Bertha got no intellectual
instruction: but she grew clever at do
mestic duties, and had learned to sew as
well as her aunt She had no money;
none; and she felt grateful to them for
the home they gave her.


About a twelvemonth before this
evening We are writing Of some ladies
and gentlemen in the adjoining town,
Crossdale, had formed themselves into a
society for practising music and singing
calling it the Philharmonic Society. |
This society thought a great deal of
itself socially, boasting of one baronet |
among its members and three ladies of |
title. A public artistic had been allowed |
to join it, principally for the benefit de-
rived from her style, also two finished |
singers, from the choir of neighboring
cathedral; these three were paid for
their services. In good truth there was
no very shining light at Crossdale,
whether male or female; not one who |
could attempt difficult parts in public. |
And the society gave public Perform
ances sometimes, in behalf OF divers
charities.


Through the interest Of her uncle, |
Stephen Robarts, Bertha Dane had been
allowed to join this society. He would
have liked to join it himself, but he
feared he would be looked upon as too,
DID, few of the members were over
thirty or thirty-five years Of age. That
objection could not apply to Bertha and
he got her admitted quietly, saying
nothing about it at home to anybody.
But when he confessed what he had
done, and Bertha was lost IN ecstacy Of
rapture, Aunt Pen was more angry than