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H Petite Mamait jj A Little Wharf Rat ^ MAmc 35 Bon-boms proii Paris 42 Their Little Hibtort qq Cousin Franz 53 A German Interior . . . , .88 Friends All 71 An Appreciative Addiencb . , ... .84 Two Customers 91 A Disappointment 99 Madame Croizet's Gbnerobitt iQg Without Winos ,' . 118 The Wounded Bird . . . . . .126 Peach Blossoms 133 Seraph's Secret 141 5 » oaArrn XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. CONTENTS, ftam 8KHAfH'l PROrtUOB IM A I>II.KMMA . . t 167 HlCKAI'll'll FfiTK . IM A Dui'iiLK HuccBU 178 A Nkw Liric IW Kumko'n Conpbbsion ..••••• 167 Thk Whitk Ship IW In Danukh 206 A LiTTLB IIkho • « 816 At Madamk St. Maxent's W8 Thk Rbvolt ok Mauuk 881 FotNU 240 Ik thk Fold ......... 248 Maubiob and Shylocic . . . . . . .266 A Littlk Romancb .,,.... 266 Prbfaration 274 A Soiree Music alb ....... 281 A Lktteh from Pabm 293 ii ILLUSTRATIONS. MOI " She raised the violin to her shoulder '♦ . Frontiapiece 18 " ' Won't you come in and look at the pretty things ? "' . 48 Madame St. Maxent visits Monsieur Nardi's shop . . 94 " Seraph grew very fond of the Cremona " . . . jgy "As they entered, a pleasant-faced, well-dressed woman came forward, bowing, smiling " . , . .244 ^^% i /f^/kj^^'\^-^v ;^ ^p g{^'^ s* ii I Ii SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. <»»{o I. UNCLE 'nIDAS. "jyrONSIEUR LEONIDAS NARDI had just re- turned home to New Orleans, to his little bookshop on St. Louis Street, after an absence of several months. He had made the journey of his life, tiie journey he had dreamed of during his boyhood, when he had stolen a few moments from an exacting mas- ter to glance into the books of travel that helped fill the shelves in the little bookstore where, from a small, ill-paid, ill-fed drudge, he had grown to manhood, and where he had acquired the knowl- edge that for many years had made him the owner of the shop, as well as an authority on bibliography; where, at last, he had gained the wealth that enabled him to spend a few months in Paris, a city which, to see, had been, for long years, his hope and ambition. 10 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. He was a homely little man, with a benevolent, placid face, and a thoughtful, scholarly manner, — the manner of one who lives among books. In fact, in his neat brown suit, with his closely shaven, parchment-like face, he did not look un- like one of his own old-fashioned, russet-bound volumes. He had never married, and, as far as he knew, he had not a relative in the world; he lived quite alone in the high, narrow rooms over his shop, and having the gentlest, kindliest nature that was ever given to one with no natural outlets for his affections, he worshipped books, music, children, and animals; he was Xonde 'Nidas, the confidant and friend of most of the little ones in the neighborhood. It was really touching to see the joy of the children who crowded into his shop to welcome him home. " Oh ! oncle 'Nidas, you are welcome," they cried with one voice, clasping and kissing his hands. « Ah ! Lucie, ma cBre petite, glad to see me back, n'est ce pas? and, my little pale Jacques, how is the lame hip, mon enfant ? and Henri, the naughtiest of all, as red as a crevisse. Your maman has fed you well. Why, Fifine, your cheeks shine like cherries. Qui, oui! I've got something for you. UNCLE 'NIDAS. II benevolent, manner, — books. In liis closely t look un- usset-bound as far as the world ; row rooms it, kindliest no natural Dped books, nde 'Nidas, } little ones touching to led into his " they cried is hands, see me back, J, how is the e naughtiest man has fed s shine like ing for you, Nanette. "Wait until I unpack my boxes, and you shall see. Joujous? ^^, om, half the toys in Paris —I tried to remember you all. Now run away until to-morrow, and you shall see, you shall see.-" Then there was Monkey, his little terrier, who sprang into his arms in wild delight, and his tiny marmoset, Toto, who sat on his shoulder and patted his cheek with almost human affection. And his mocking-bird. Flute, who tumbled from perch to perch as though he were dizzy, uttering a series of little cackling cries which sounded like immoderate laughter. They were all so happy, that even his old servant Cressy, an intelligent French quadroon, forgot to be formal and top- lofty while serving the dinner, and fluttered about nervously, clattering the plates and forks, an un- usual occurrence for one of such severe decorum. "Now, Cressy," said Monsieur Nardi, as he seated himself before a savory fricassk, flanked on one side with a dish of snowy rice, and on the other with his favorite salad of shrimp, "I feel myself at home again. I haven't seen such a/n- cassk since I went away, and such rice! Paris is a great city, a beautiful city, yet they can't cook rice there; but oh, the books! the books! They -i f ij SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. can well afEord to do without rice properly cooked when they have miles and miles of old hooks. Such books ! Oh ! 1 was intoxicated, I was greedy, to have them. Ah! Cressy, I am a vrai bou- qummr. I spent my days, and most of my nights, in the Qmrtii^ Latin, and on the Quai Voltaire, and what a feast ! I never thought of rice. Yes, I ate, I suppose I ate ; but of what I don't re- member. Perhaps it was good, but it made no impression. Well, I improved my time, and I brought back some treasures. When I unpack my boxes, you shall see. Now, Cressy, ma bonne femme, tell me everything that has happened m the neighborhood since I went away." « Par exemple ! Monsieur Leonidas, as if 1 could remember everything. But let me think -since you went away -let me think. Well, monsieur, Pierre has married the baker's widow, after all, and Madame the widow Tontine has gone to live with her daughter in the country. Then Heloise, the eldest girl of the florist, is Jianc^ to a petU crevisse, who earns only twenty dollars a month, and wears such a big pin in his cravat. A merciful Provi- dence watches over the blind and the foolish, or such no account people would perish; and little r a b y V a c n tl UNCLE 'NIDAS. 13 rly cooked old hooks. iras greedy, vrai hou- my nights, li Voltaire, rice. Yes, [ don't re- t made no me, and I I I unpack , ma honne lappened in IS if 1 could link — since 1, monsieur, ifter all, and to live with Heloise, the petit crevisse, 1, and wears rciful Provi- B foolish, or i: and little Jean, who is always in trouble, swallowed a dime. It stuck in his throat, and the doctor came to get it out, when luckily it went down, but his foolish old tante cried, because she had saved it for an offering and didn't want to lose it. Then Victor, the wood merchant, cut off his finger while mak' ing kindling, and the bijoutihre on the corner was broken into while Madame was away; the thieve.s took a bag which they thought full of money, and there was nothing in it but rusty steel thim- bles. The other day the old Italian cobbler across the way got a fine scare. He bought a dollar lottery ticket, and three nines came out; he looked at his ticket, and, ha-ha, he had three nines, so he ran, in his stocking feet, bare-headed, all the way to the bureau, and showed his num- bers, trembling so that he couldn't speak. 'But, my friend,' the clerk said, < these are three sixes; you looked at your ticket upside down.' The poor cobbler had to be helped home. Hh Men, he was too eager to get money without working for it. I wonder if I've thought of everything," and Cressy paused with her finger on her lip. "Why, no indeed, I came near forgetting to tell you that the cottage next door is let at last." i!l' li! I ^ SEBAPN, TffE UTTLE yiOUmSTE .Fmimen^?" said Mon.ieur Nardi, with more interest than he had yet displayed while hster^ing to Cressy's news. ''It has been vacant so long; to whom is it let ? " uTo a widow and her little girl, monsieur. The ladv is very lame and never goes out." ^fDo you know who they are? the lady's name, I mean." , . „i " No, monsieur, I don't know her name ; but I „a, told that her husband was a German who played the violin in a wonderful manner. He died a while ago suddenly, and they say tha „adame was a singer, or «>methmg, before she had a stroke of numb palsy." .Ah! then she is unable to follow her profes- sion " said Monsieur Nardi, between two mouth- fuls'of salad. " I hope her husband saved some- thing, or they are likely to be very poor. "Musical people never do take care of the.r „„„ey," returned Cressy, with an a.r of wjadom "and I'm pretty sure that he was Uke all the others, for they didn't move much «— ^/^ though it was good what there was «"■-''; piano. These people must have mus o .f th^ Lve nothing to eat. The only servant they have UNCLE WJDAS. If with more [e listening t so long; sieur. The idy's name, name ; but rerman who anner. He >y say that before she ' her profes- two mouth- saved some- loor." ire of their f of wisdom, like all the furniture, al- of it, and a lusic if they ant they have is an old colored man. He's old, but they say he's a good cook, and a handy honest creature, and devoted to the little girl ; and she, poor child, is that shabby that one can tell her clothes are made up of old scraps, although she's always clean and tidy. Yes, I'm sure they are poor, and I think they are as proud as they are poor." " How sad for the child," murmured Monsieur Nardi. He was thinking of his own poverty-stricken childhood, and the little patched garments he had worn. " Oh, she isn't sad ; she's as gay as a bird, and she plays the violin like a little witch," returned Cressy, as she removed the plates. " From the window of your chamber you can look down into their yard and see that child cutting capers to make you die of laughing." Just at that moment there came through the open window a long wailing note of a violin, which was followed by a rapid march, executed with such fervor that Monsieur Nardi swallowed the last drop of his cafe noir and mounted hurriedly to the room above, where he could command a view of the cottage yard. ;i:i:;: i'it ii!..;. .ni>; m THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. APPROACHING the window cautiously, Mon- sieur Nardi looked through the " bowed " shut- ters, a surprised and interested spectator of a little scene which made him laugh softly to himself. Before one of the low back windows of the cot- tage, a small platform was constructed of an old door laid across a couple of rough boxes. This was decorated at eaph end with the long swaying leaves of the banana, and over it, against the wall of the house, were fastened several blossom- ing branches of oleander and crape myrtle, the pink and white flowers blending prettily and mak- ing quite a bowery effect. While he was wonder- ing at this fantastic arrangement, the faded red curtain at the window was drawn aside by an im- petuous hand, and a picturesque little figure stepped out, with a long train, fashioned from a faded damask table-cover, trailing behind her. This was gathered in a bunch behind, and fastened under i6 THE LITTLE VIOLLXISTE. »7 oiisly, Mon- Dwed " shut- r of a little himself. of the cot- i of an old oxes. This )ng swaying against the ral blossom- myrtle, the [y and mak- was wonder- e faded red le by an im- gure stepped yea. a faded r. This was itened under a sash of frayed blue silk; a wreath of crushed pink roses fell over her long yellow hair ; her scant white frock was decorated in front with faded flowers, and her small feet were covered with soiled white shoes much too large for them. In one hand she held a violin, which looked out of proportion to the slender little figure, and in the other the bow which she waved gracefully, bowing to the right and left, and smiling sweetly to an imaginary audience. Suddenly there sounded a succession of hearty claps, dry and rattling, as though two sticks were struck together, and Monsieur Nardi's merry eyes, following the direction of the noise, saw another droll figure. In the shadow of a great oleander tree, seated in an armchair, was an old white-haired negro, ar- rayed in the remnants of a dress coat, a tattered opera hat on his lap was filled with flowers, which he caressed tenderly with the long bony hands, that had rattled applause when the little violiniste appeared. Slowly and graciously, with quite a professional air, the child approached the front of the small platform, and with another charming bow and i8 SERAPH, THE UTTLE VIOLIN ISTE. m rif smile raised the violin to her shoulder, and lean- ing her soft pale cheek caressingly against it, seemed to whisper to it as if it were a human being. Poising the bow in the air for a moment, and bringing it suddenly down on the strings, she drew out a few wild discordant notes, then plunged into a rapid mirthful fantasie, so light and joyous, so full of soul-stirring hilarity, that Monsieur Nardi fairly shook with laughter. From that she floated off into a dreamy nocturne which she played with great expression and delicacy, the slender little fingers gliding caressingly over the strings while she seemed to whisper and smile into the very heart of the violin. After a few last chords drawn out in infinite sadness to silence, she raised her head and looked around tri- umphantly, her little white face full of passion, her dark eyes beaming with excitement. Then the strange audience of one struck his bony hands together in rapturous applause, after which he showered his posies upon the happy little violiniste, who smiled and bowed with her hand on her heart after the manner of older artists. When the old hat was emptied of its fragrant contents, the little girl gathered in her *:jr,-^~-.;:W3Kj THE I.ITTI.E VIOLINISTE. 19 and lean- -gainst it, a human I moment, trings, she otes, then 3, so light arity, that ter. From irne which i delicacy, singly over liisper and 1. After a sadness to around tri- o£ passion, struck his (lause, after the happy i with her ir of older )tied of its jred in her arms as many of the flowers as she could carry, and turning with a graceful sweep of her table- cover train, she gravely raised the red curtain and disappeared through the window. When she was gone, the old negro rose stiffly from his chair, and taking off the shabby coat, he shook it, and looking at it critically, muttered, "Anoder split down der back, an' dat sleebe mos' tored from top ter bottom. I can't get inter it many mo' times eben to please dat chile." Then with shaking hands, he slowly and care- fully folded the dilapidated garment, and carried it with the hat into the small back room that served him for a chamber. After that he lifted the chair laboriously, and slowly hobbled with it toward the cottage, still muttering to himself. "Bress my soul, I's a gettin' ole, too ole ter play wid chil'ren, an' my ole ban's is dat stiff an' sore in der jints dat I can hardly clap no mo' fer dat chile, an' Miss Seraph 'spects it jes' es if it was real, an' loud, loud, jes' es if I was a whole aujiance, an' it's mighty hard to tote dis yere heaby chair back an' fo'th jes' ter please her. As if I couldn't set on a ole bar'el an' frow dem flowers an' play I was der aujiance widout II li iihI'' m 11 5£AV(/'//, TJ/f. LITTLE VIOLINISTE. Btrainin' inter dat olo coat of her pa h, an tircin' out my old Loncs a settin' up straight in her ma's bes- chair. But olo unc' Romeo can't fuse dat chile nofin. If she wanted dat pianner toted out yere, I'd have ter try to do it jes' ter please her, an' it's a won'er she don't. I's 'feared ebery time I rigs up dat platform, I 'sF^^ 8"^ day ter year, ' Unc' Romeo, we's got ter habe dat planner out yere,' an' I's a studyin' how's I gwine ter 'fuse her. Now her ma's done tuk wid der numb palsy in her feetses an' can't walk, an' her pas dade, she's on'y got me ter wait on her an muse her, an' I's wiUin', I's wiUin', but Is gettm awful ole an' stiff." When the old negro had finally hoisted the heavy chair up the steps of the little gallery, and disappeared within. Monsieur Nardi straightened himself, with a long sigh, and turned, somewhat reluctantly, from the window. He would have liked a sequel to the little comedy. The scene that he had witnessed affected him strangely. The beauty and remarkable talent of the child and the touching devotion of the old servant impressed him as something of more than ordinary meaning. Unexpectedly he seemed iL THF. llTtLK. VIOUNISTH. 21 an tirein' It in her can't 'fuse liner toted ter please ared ebery un day ter [at planner gwine ter I der numb i' her pa's r an' 'muse I's gettin to have came face to fiirp with his own past. Th(! sadness {irul pathos of the nocturne had entered into ins soul, and the small pale face of the child brought back scenes that his heart re- ujembered. In the iialf-hour that he lingered near the win- dow, he seemed to have gone back more than foi-ty years to that time, those scenes, that still haunted him with their undying sweetness. With a sigh of tender regret for his lost youth, his dead hopes, he closed the shutter, and descended thoughtfully to his shop. hoisted the gallery, and straightened I, somewhat would have affected him (le talent of ion of the ling of more y he seemed 11 ii lir ill III. PETITE MAMAN. WHILE the pretty little maiden was masquer- ading in the back yard, under the admir- ing eyes of Monsieur Nardi, her mother, Madame Blumenthal, was sitting alone by the window of her dull little room, looking out into the small flower-tangled garden and narrow dusty street beyond. At the first glance one would have thought her a child, so small and frail did she appear, sunk in a big armchair, with her helpless feet on a stool. She wore a white robe de chamhre, very plain but clean and fresh, and over her poor feet, which were always cold, was spread a thick red shawl. Her face was pretty, a faded delicate prettiness. Soft curling blond hair lay in damp rings over her blue-veined temples, her eyes were large and light, with a timid, startled expression, and her mouth, although drooping in curves of suffering at the corners, was gentle and refined; her thin 22 PETITE MAM AN. 23 IS masquer- the admir- jr, Madame window of the small usty street thought her jar, sunk in on a stool. •y plain but feet, which red shawl. 3 prettiness. rings over B large and Dn, and her of suffering d; her thin little hands lay folded on her lap with an air of extreme weariness and dejection ; the tips of the slender folded fingers looked like the petals of a flower dyed with rainbow colors. Before her stood a table covered with scraps of silk and muslin of every hue, together with bunches of leaves of various forms and colors, from pale to dark green, bronzed, flushed with crimson and ruddy brown. There were rose leaves, leaves for violets and pansies, slender lih' stems and foliage, mossy tendrils, and graceful vines, mingled with bunches of wire, spools of silk, and balls of thread of many tints and sizes. In front of her were a number of tiny saucers, the bright blotches of paint still fresh on them, and a row of little bottles of liquid color which glowed like jewels when the sun struck them. On the same table stood a basket filled with exquisite artificial roses clustered artistically among folds of pale green tissue paper. The slender red-tipped fingers of Madame Blumenthal had just put the finishing touches to them and packed them ready to be sent to Madame Croizet, the modiste, on Rue Royale. The basket of flowers had an air of completeness and dainty m SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINLSTE. ^ r I i ('4 11 •r I 1 24 freshness that was not in keeping with the littered table, the somewhat untidy room, and the faded, weary look of its silent occupant. Suddenly the door that led into the rear of the cottage was opened with a rush, and the little violiniste entered, flushed and excited. She had unfastened her table-cover train, and it was hang- ing to her sash by one corner. She carried her violin under one arm, and with her disengaged hand was hurriedly removing the wreath from her hair. Madame Blumenthal, without turning her head, closed her tired eyes, and pressing her stained finger-tips to her forehead, sighed audibly, "Gently, gently, Seraph. I'm so tired, and my head aches so. Oh, oh, what a sight you are! Put that trash away and come to me." « Omi, petite maman, I'm coming. Just let me put my violin away, and my toilette must be folded and laid in my drawer." " Really, child, you are too ridiculous with those rags," returned her mother pettishly. "I wish you would spend the time you give to that non- sense at your piano." «0h, maman, chere petite maman, don't say imw Ml MHimWHIfiTir ^ the littered the faded, rear of the i the little She had t was hang- carried her disengaged ,th from her ig her head, her stained )ly, " Gently, jr head aches j! Put that Just let me 'Me must be us with those r, " I wish to that non- m, don't say PETITE MAMAN. «5 that; please don't. You wouldn't if you had heard how well I played to-day," cried Seraph joyously, as she drew a faded green cover over the violin and laid it carefully in its case. "My mnsicale was a great success. The house was full, and didn't you hear the applause? and there were so many beautiful flowers. It was lovely, chh-e maman. Won't you let Romeo wheel you out to my next musieale ? Oh, do ; I play so much better with a train, with flowers, and all that; it's true, chere, I feel the music more, and the violin feels it and just talks to me. It's lovely, lovely, and I am so happy." " Hush, child, hush ; you know how it hurts me to hear you talk so absurdly. You know I detest that violin playing; I don't want you to play the violin ; I want you to play the piano. How will you ever be prepared to teach the piano if you waste your time playing on the violin? Seraph, my darling, don't worry me ; do as I wish ; practise on the piano and leave the violin. It's not the instrument for a girl. You can't teach the violin when you are grown, and you must earn you bread by teaching. You must give up the violin and devote yourself to the piano." ■■ git «iteBai j « '«gjaawt 'igj *ta ittMnBfiw « ^^■" 26 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. m ! All the light faded out of the pale little lace of the child, as she listened to her mother's soft, im- ploring voice. She did not reply, but went on busily folding the veil and the soiled white frock. «Do you hear what I am saying. Seraph?" con- tinued Madame Blumenthal impatiently. "You have disobeyed me again to-day. You have not practised your scales, as I told you to do. I shall be obliged to take the violin from you in order to make you study your piano lesson." " Oh, petite maman, please don't do that," cried Seraph, in a tone of entreaty. " I will practise the scales ; yes, mamma, I will, but you must, you must, let me keep my violin; I love it. It is like some- thing living, and the piano is only a square box to sit before and jangle, jangle, up and down the cold hard keys, with fingers that feel like sticks, while my violin is my little friend. I can put my face down to it ; I can touch it with my cheek ; I can whisper to it, and it whispers back to me. Oh, mamma, can't you understand how I feel about it? It was papa's; he laved it, he touched it, he whis- pered to it, and it is, next to you, ch^re petite mamm, the very dearest, the only dear thing, I have." WISTE. lie little lace of jther's soft, im- ^, but went on ed white frock. ;, Seraph?" con- tiently. " You You have not 1 to do. I shall you in order to i do that," cried will practise the I must, you must. It is like some- \f a square box to id down the cold like sticks, while can put ray face my cheek ; I can ack to me. Oh, \fi I feel about it ? uched it, he whis- you, chlre petite Illy dear thing, I PETITE MA MA AT. 27 " Yes, yes, child ; yes, Seraph, I know. Oh, I know, my poor little darling ; it is natural that you sliould love your father's violin. It was a passion with him, but I must think of your future. I must do what is best for you, for your future. Cousin Franz says that I must make you practise the piano." "Mamma, cousin Franz does not know how I feel. Cousin Franz loves to preach sermons, you love to make flowers, and I love to play the violin, petite maman. I heard cousin Franz tell you, one day, when he was talking about my music, that when Madge grew up she should be a teacher of German, because she had a talent for that lan- guage, and that one did best what one loved to do. Then why doesn't cousin Franz let me play the violin, when I can play it better than the piano?" "Because, my child, there are some things we love which are harmful to us ; then we are obliged to give them up. You are wa.sting your time with the violin. Cousin Franz wishes you to be a pro- fessor of the piano, so that when you are older you can earn money for yourself and your help- less mother." " That is just what I intend to do, mamma ; I mean {\','*S»40i»UitV'- 28 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. to be a great violiniste ; 1 mean to play in public. I'm practising for that now, and everybody will come to hear me, and we shall have money, — yes, lots of money, -and you shall go to that great doctor in Paris, who will cure you so that you can walk again." «0h! my poor little one, those are dreams,— foolish, useless dreams," said Madame Blumen- thal sadly, as she drew the child tenderly to her, smoothing her disordered hair and flushed cheeks with her stained lingers. " You are tired and ex- cited now, so we will say no more about it. Calm yourself, and make yourself tidy; you must take the roses to Madame Croizet, and tell her. Seraph, and speak politely, my dear, that these roses are very difficult to make, and that I hope she wdl kindly pay me something extra for them. And ask her to send me some more yellow muslin, another bunch of stems, and leaves for the orange blos- soms. Do you understand, dear? Go quickly, my child, and I will send Romeo to the baker's for some rolls for our supper, and afterward you will have an hour to practise your scales." « Yes, mamma," said Seraph resignedly, as she took the basket of flowers and went out. 'ISTE. play in public. everybody will money, — yes, to that great ,u so that you are dreams, — idame Blumen- enderly to her, [ flushed cheeks e tired and ex- about it. Calm you must take tell her. Seraph, these roses are I hope she will them. And ask muslin, another the orange blos- Go quickly, my baker's for some rd you will have esignedly, as she ent out. IV. A LITTLE WHARF RAT. TTTHEN Monsieur Nardi entered his shop, after ' ' his long absence, he was pleased to find everything in order, and as fresh and clean as such an old musty place could possibly be. The shutters had not been taken down during his holiday, as his business could not well go on without him, his peculiar knowledge being a large part of his stock in trade, and only available when he himself was 'present. Therefore, for the first time in nearly a hundred years, the little Magasin des livres had been closed. Cressy had, however, opened the rear doors and windows and aired it frequently, and had dusted and arranged the books in neat rows, gathered up all the pamphlets and loose leaves, put out of sight all the familiar litter so dear to the old book-lover, until the usually crowded, untidy little place had that swept and garnished appearance which gives us such a feeling of strangeness and newness when we first return home after a long absence. / 29 m •m\[ . m 30 SEKAPII, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. He had spent some time at the window above, watching the masquerade of the little violiniste, and now it was drawing on toward sunset, and for some reason he had a feeling of loss and loneliness. Was it possible that his few months of travel had spoiled him for his peaceful pursuits, had made him discontented with his humble home and occu- pation ? He could not allow that; no, no, he must pull himself together and shake off the feeling of dejection that had so suddenly taken possession of him. " Cressy, ma home femmer he said to his ser- vant, " I shan't take down the shutters to-night ; my boxes won't be here before to-morrow morning. I am rather tired, so I will take a stroll on the levee for a breath of fresh air before bed-time. I shall retire early and be up betimes to unpack my boxes." Then he took his hat and loitered across Jackson Square, where crowds of children were playing in the cool of the evening; their merry, light- hearted laughter cheered him, and he went on toward the levee more hopefully. It was his favorite spot at twilight. Then the labor of the day was over, the great sheds and warehouses WISTE. window above, little violiniste, sunset, and for s and loneliness, ts of travel had uits, had made home and occu- no, no, he must ff the feeling of taken possession said to his ser- hutters to-night; morrow morning. a stroll on the before bed-time, jtimes to unpack ed across Jackson jn were playing leir merry, light- md he went on ly. It was his the labor of the and warehouses A UTTl.t: WHARF KAT. 31 were closed, the crowds of workmen had gone to their homes, the ships lay dark and silent, their spars and rigging outlined in the shimmering river. In mid-stream the huge steamers puffed up and down, churning the water to white foam, and leaving a long trail of black smoke against the pink and saffron sky. Holding his hat in his hand, he walked thought- fully to the very edge of the wharf and stood there for some time, enjoying the freshness and beauty of the scene, while the cool evening air fanned his hot forehead. It was a spot where he had stood nearly every evening for more than forty years and gazed at the same landscape, the same shift- ing panorama of passing ships and changeful sun- set clouds. All were the same, and yet he did not feel in harmony with his surroundings. He did not like this feeling of dissatisfaction ; he resented the thought that the pleasures of travel had set him at variance with his former life. Silent, and out- wardly calm, his gentle, benevolent face betrayed nothing of the small struggle that was going on within, in his effort to recover his mental equilib- rium. With his eyes fixed on the fading splendors of i-^S»ii-^!^S9ii^**S*'-'' iiilnl .lii !„i i* illl.ui'l m I: 32 SEXAP//, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. the evening Hky, he stood softly fanning himself with his hat, whe.1 suddenly he started and glanced around uneasily. He had an impression that some one was looking at him, hut there was no one visible. Near him was a great mound of baled cotton, piled irregularly and covered with tar- paulins to protect it from the weather. As he looked closely, he saw under a curtain-like flap of the canvas falling <-er a space between two bales, a pair of large dark eyes peering at him. For a moment he hesitated, then walked nearer, and stooping looked into the little space, and there saw sitting, like a little statue enshrmed m a niche, a thin, ragged boy of about twelve years. The child looked up, smiling gently as he met the kind eyas bent on him, and said in a pleasant voice, but with the accent of the slums, " Good evenin', sir." "Good evening, my little friend," returned Monsieur Nardi. "What are you doing here so near dark? Why don't you go home?" « I haven't got no home," replied the boy, slip- ping out of his niche and standing before Mon- sieur Nardi, his ragged hat held respectfully in his hand. jioiwmnwiiWitWMg'y''' '^ssOXifi .tmmmmmtammm^^^^^^^^ !«i!»S«I^SW'tt'**''' •♦'•4l>' 'NISTE. fanning himself ted and glanced Bssion that some jre was no one mound of baled /ered with tar- reathor. As he curtain-like flap ^e between two eering at him. n walked nearer, little space, and ,tue enshrined in out twelve years, gently as he met aid in a pleasant le slums, "Good Eriend," returned )u doing here so lome i lied the boy, slip- ding before Mon- respectfully in his A UTTLE WHARF RAT. ^ "No home! I don't understand. Why, where do you live ? " **0h, anywheres where T happens to be; some- times one place, sometimes anuder. I most al'ays goes up the river on a lugger an' peddles fruit an' oysters. Then I lives on the lugger an' gits plenty feat. When I can't git no chance to take a trip, I stays about the wharves. They call me a li'l wharf rat, but the sailors an' rousterbouts is real good to me. I runs errands fer the screw- men. I does odd jobs fer the men, an' they gives me some o' their dinner, an' sometimes they gives me a nickel." "You don't mean to tell me," said Monsieur Nardi incredulously, "that you sleep here at night." "Yes, sir, course I does. When I ain't on a lugger, I sleeps here on the cotton; it's warm, mister. In the winter T crawls in ermong the bales, an' in the summer I sleeps on the soft side of a plank, an' when it rains, I gits un'er the tar- poleyuns, an' I'm as dry as a crust o* bread. But I knows you, mister," he continued, with a little wink, and a grimace of plea.sed intelligence. " I've knowed you a long time; you're the mister what 66#SM««*s«!d Monsieur Nard. heartily "Why, my little fellow, how did you learn '"."M^'patsy, the watchman, told me the letters. Mr Patsy's been here ever since I can remember, r„' he's awful good to me; he gives me swe 1 sh.r^ L breeches sometimes. He knows how to ^^ 6„e print, an' write, an' do sums, cause he checks I: ght ad signs papers. Me an' him .s chums an' he's tea^hin' me to write an' do sums on my Tate See my writing ?" and he held up tl^e toln slat., proudly pointing out each word w^h his little dirty fmger. ^'That spells my name, an Npw 'leens, Louisiana.' Twhit L your name, my child r- asked Mon- sieur Nardi, his eyes on the slate, vainly trymg to decipher the characters. NISTE. MARC. Monsieur Nardi, ation concerning lid, why do you m you read ? " replied with a me?" and pick- irs, he read the 1 voice. Monsieur Nardi LOW did you learn d me the letters. I can remember, es me swell shirts ows how to read 3, cause he checks m' him is chums, ' do sums on my he held up the ut each word with pells my name, an lild?" asked Mon- tte, vainly trying to "Marc, sir." "What else?" " Nothing else ; just Marc." *Ah," murmured Monsieur Nardi, "one of God's children;" then aloud, "And your parents, are they dead?" " I guess so ; I don't know. I've been here ever since I can remember, an' I never had any mammy or daddy. Mr. Patsy, he said I was a little kid runnin' 'round here when he got the job, an' he don't know who I b'long to. He's tried to find out, but he can't. I don't need any daddy an' mammy. I git plenty feat, an' 1 can read, an' I sleep warm o' nights; only sometimes — sometimes when Mr. Patsy^s off makin' his roun's, I gits awful lunsum, an' I'm 'fraid o' them water gobble-uns when I hears 'em splashin' un'er the wharf. A Swede sailorman tol' me sometimes them gobble-uns come an' drags boys down in the river an' drowns 'em. Now does they, mister?" " No, no, my child," said Monsieur Nardi, look- ing at the boy reflectively. Something in the wist- ful, appealing glance that accompanied the question went straight to the old man's heart. The child was dirty and unkempt, but he was not ugly. His 'f 38 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. Slim figure was straight and well formed his feat- ures were regular, and his eyes were beautiful, large, trustful brown eyes, like the honest eyes of a dog. And his intelligence, uncommon in one of his class, his pitiful efforts at learning his care- fully hoarded scraps of books, and his pathetic little history, touched the tender spot, unusually tender to-night, in Monsieur Nardi's kind heart. He remembered his own unhappy, neglected childhood, his own struggle for knowledge, and he felt like taking the child to the same fountain where he had quaffed such delicious draughts Instantly his decision was made, and he resolved to give the little waif a chance. "And so you get lonesome sometimes," he said. "Now, how would you like to come and live with mc . The boy's eyes grew large with surprise. Live with you? Course, mister, I'd like it, but I guess you ain't in earnest." "Certainly I am, man enfant; I am lookmg for a boy to bring up in my shop, to teach him the business. I prefer an orphan. Evidently you are one. You like books; and if you are a good, honest boy, you'll suit me perfectly." "Ask Mr. Patsy if I'm a good boy, hell tell STE. MAKC. 39 rmed, his feat- /^ere beautiful, B honest eyes lomnion in one rning, his care- s pathetic little lusually tender tieart. ippy, neglected knowledge, and ! same fountain cious draughts, md he resolved "And so you d. "Now, how ivith me?" surprise. " Live J it, but I guess [ am looking for 3 teach him the Ividently you are are a good, honest 3d boy; he'll tell you I don't lie an' steal. He knows I'm willin' to work when I ain't got a sore foot. Do you mean, mister, that I can go in your shop with all them books ? " "It will be part of your work to help me to take care of them." "An I can look in 'em an' read 'em?" "As much as you like." "Oh, jimminy crickets! That's a snap for a kid like me," he cried, throwing up his ragged cap joyfully. "If you're as nice a boy as I think you are, you shall be well cared for," continued Monsieur Nardi cheerily. "You shall have a comfortable little room back of my shop, good food, and clean clothes; but you must be quiet and studious, and you must give up your wild life on the levee. Do you *hink you can do that, mon enfant?" "You bet I can, mister; jes' try me an' see. I know that place; I've been there lots o' times an' looked in the shop when you didn't see me. But Mr. Patsy, he's my chum." Here his face fell and he looked worried and perplexed. "He'll think I've give him the shake. You'll let me come sometimes an' see him, won't you?" se'aii-SESBS' 40 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. " Why, yes ; every day if you like, and lie can come and see you. I know Pat.y; he is a very worthy man. You can keep your friend, my child. I don't want you to be ungrateful; but I am think- ing how strange it is that I never before saw you here." "I've seen you plenty o' times standin' jes' there on the edge o' the wharf, holdin' your hat an' wipin' your face when it was warm. I looked at you good 'cause I knowed you, but you didn't happen to see me." «Yes, that was it," returned Monsieur Nardi, smiling. "I didn't happen to see you until this evening." Then he thought, "I have felt heart- sick ever since I heard that child play the violin. If there's a wound in the heart, the mjisic of a violin makes it bleed. I am a lonely, disappointed old man; I need something human to love. I never before felt so strongly the need of a child to care for. It may be that le hon Dieu has sent me this one. We will see, we will see." Then he said aloud, " Well, my child, will you go with me now ? Yes, you had better. Come then ; let us go home." "Can I take my box, and things?" he asked. Monsieur Nardi said, "Yes," and Marc rooted ;liii:iii::^ !i m g^jsgtew ISTE. ce, and he can ; he is a very •lend, my child, out I am think- before saw you 8 standin' jes' )ldin' your hat ■arm. I looked but you didn't tlonsieur Nardi, you until this have felt heart- play the violin, mjisic of a violin iisappointed old \ love. I never a child to care las sent me this Then he said 3 with me now? let us go home." 3?" he asked. ,nd Marc rooted MARC. .. among the boards and drew out a few shabby toys, which he stuffed in his ragged pockets, and tuckmg the tin box under liis arm, he started off , with a beaming face. " Cressy, ma bonne femme;' said the old bookseller, going into his neat kitchen, where the old woman sat darning linen, "I've got a surprise for you. Smce I've been out I have found the boy I have always been looking for, -that friendless orphan. He is dirty and hungry. Feed him, and see that he has a bath and a comfortable bed, and in the morning, on your way to market, buy him some clothes; burn those he has on. And, Cressy, he has injured his foot; put arnica and a clean bandage on it. Do all you can for him and think that you are doing it for one of His little ones, and me as well. — Come in, mon enfant. Here he is; his name is Marc. By and by we will find him' another, and -and we will teach him to wear shoes and stockings when his foot is well; n'est ce pas, ma bonne ? " 'MM^ia VI. BON-BONS FROM PARIS. rrHE next morning Monsieur Nardi awoke J- *witli the feeling o£ a new responsibility rest- ing upon him. He was very tired after his journey and the important transaction of the even- L, and when he had taken his eoffee he turned over for another nap; therefore it was later than his usual hour, and the bright October sun was looking into his window when he threw open the shutters. While he was shaving he was wondenng what had become of his little proti'J"' »»« « ';'^;' Cressy had carried out his instructions to make the boy presentable. Presently he heard from below a merry sweet laugh, and looking into his garden he saw Marc, but so transformed that it was difficult to recog- nize in him the little gamm of the previous even- ing He was perched on a bench under the arbor of multiflora rose, with Toto on his shoulder, and the terrier jumping over him as if they were old friends. He looked several shades whiter now that 4* BOAr-BONS FROM PARIS. 43 Nardi awoke ponsibility rest- tired after his on of the even- ioffee he turned was later than ictober sun was threw open the e was wondering ej/e, and whether ions to make the ^ a merry sweet en he saw Mare, difficult to recog- he previous even- 1 under the arbor his shoulder, and if they were old >s whiter now that his face was thoroughly bathed, and Cressy had sent him to the barber around the corner to have his hair washed and trimmed, and the result was that his matted, straggling locks were now soft and waving, and of a pretty chestnut brown. He was clad in a neat dark suit, and his lame foot was bound with a clean bandage. Altogether he looked like a nice boy, neat and comfortable, and so happy. Monsieur Nardi thought the child had the most musical laugh that he had ever heard. When the old gentleman descended to his little sitting-room, behind his shop, where his breakfast was served, he told Cres.sy to send the boy to him, and Marc entered briskly, his bright face full of expectation, just touched with anxiety. " Bon jour, mon enfant," said Monsieur Nardi pleasantly; "I'm glad to see you looking so well. How did you sleep in your new home?" " Oh, sir, I couldn't sleep in the bed. It was too soft and warm. I never slep' in a first-class bed like that, but I'll git used to it, an' then I'll like it, I guess." " And your clothes, are they comfortable ? Do you like them ? " " Yes, sir," he said, eyeing them a little doubt- SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. fully. " They're tumible swell. I ain't used to such clean togs ; but your colored woman says I'll git use to them too. She says I'll be a boss dude in six months; but I won't, 'cause I hates a dude, an' I don't want the kids a laughin' an' pokin" fun at me." Monsieur Nardi smiled. "You shall not dress above your position, my child, I promise you that; but you must be neat and properly clothed to work in my shop, and I want you to speak French as well as you can. I like it better than your English. Try to forget the argot of the levee, iox you must learn to speak properly, in order to serve my customers." "Yes, sir, I knows that, and I means to try hard to please you; an' I wants to work. Please give me somethin' to do, an' you'll see how I can work." " Very well, my boy, you shall have* something to do in the shop. Ask Cressy, and she will show you what books need dusting and arranging. When I finish m.y breakfast, you shall help me to open my boxes." Monsieur Nardi had no idea that he had made such extensive purchases in Paris until he saw the packages piled up in his little shop. He fSTE. I't used to such ^ays I'll git use )ss dude in six a dude, an' I :in' fun at me." »u shall not ild, I promise and properly I want you to I like it better it the argot of speak properly, 1 I means to ants to work. an' you'll see have* something id she will show and arranging, ihall help me to ,t he had made s until he saw little shop. He BON-BONS FROM PARIS, ^ eyed them doubtfully, scarcely knowing where he could put so many additional volumes on his already overcrowded shelves ; but he went to work with a will, assisted by Marc, who had the de- lightful faculty of doing exactly as he was told. On consulting his note-book, the old gentleman found that box four contained toys, knick-knacks, and little odd things that he had picked up in the Palais Royal and Bon Marchn.sfortu„e 1" laid fro. the anxieties and d^app^n. Zl of awearUome life. Then the noble natme rcarl Blumenthal, his love and devofon for he • , „,t«,1 itself He married her and unhappy g-n, ---""^ ^,„„„ „e f„,ni,hed took her to a neat cottage, wiuci Td ecorated from his .nail savings, ma mg as dainty and pretty as he poss.bly could tor h« Telicate little >vife, and they were very happy m ♦hpir modest home. The old negro, Romeo, who had been for years a hanger-on, h^, without any particular desire on le It of Carl Blumenthal, attached hnnself to h y^ung violinist with one of those unselBsh and to re affections which of..n e.ist between colored servant and the white master. So when I^e young couple set up their home, the old Ley became a very useful ..ember of the small ^„1 quitting his favorite and life-long haunts, m«nagc, quuui s uiaster. for the kitchen and garden ot his auoie ■ISTli. X of her afflic- Uopeful nature, d sincere affec- froin the shock ; ter's misfortune and disappoint- ,he noble nature devotion for the married her and !h he furnished wrings, making it )ly could for his e very happy in been for years a •ticular desire on tached himself to tiose unselfish and xist between the master. So when ir home, the old iHiber of the small ,d life-long haunts, lis adored master. TI/E/Ji LITTLE HiyrORY. 55 Not long after Carl's marriage his family was increased by the arrival, from Germany, of his Cousin Franz. His boyhood's friend had gone into the church, and had been ordained, and called to a suiall Lutheran congregation in New Orleans, where he had arrived full of piety and zeal to take charge of his new church. Then another stranger came, a beautiful dark-eyed, golden-haired little girl, so lovely and so lively,' so full of life and motion, such a noisy, irrepressible little mite, that the quiet cottage was filled with sudden animation. One day when they were search- ing for a name to bestow upon the turbulent little creature, her father said, " Let us call her Sera- phin," and from that time the name, shortened to Seraph, became a part of her. And it suited her extremely well; she was so bright, so active, so overflowing with sound, so much in evidence, as to be always the most important personage in the small household. The young mother, notwithstanding her bitter disappointment, could have been happy and con- tented with her lot had she regained her health after the birth of her child ; but, alas, it very soon became apparent that she was to remain an in- ^ Hi St SF.KAPU, THE LITTLE VWLINISTE. valid, chained to her chair by a partial paralysis of her lowtsr limbs. This was another terrible Wow, but Carl and Cousin Franz were so hopeful of her final cure, that at last she accepted the situation patiently, and with nnich courage endeav- ored to forget her affliction in her devotion to her husband and child. Before Seraph was out of long frocks, Cousin Franz, in his austere piety, thought that she was too much petted and pampered; that such un- bounded l(ive for an earthly object was little short of idolatry, and before she could speak plainly she had learned to feel the frown of displeasure with which the young minister regarded her. She adored her father and mother; she was all affec- tion, all expansiveness to them, but to cousin Franz she showed a strong dislike, a settled aver- sion which was remarkable in so young a child. From her earliest recollection he was the bitter drop in her cup — the stern shadow which made her feel that babyhood was not all sunshine. She was seven years old when her little heart ached with its first real sorrow. Her merry, light- hearted father, full of life and love, left them with a smile on his lips, and an hour after was brought '!!. STE. rtial paralysis lother terrible ;re so hopeful accepted the mrage endeav- evotion to her frocks, Cousin , that she was that such un- vas little short sak plainly she ispleasure with led her. She was all affec- but to cousin a settled aver- young a child, was the bitter w which made sunshine, ber little heart 3r merry, light- , left them with er was brought TJ/EI/t LITTLE HISTORY. 57 back white and silent. He lived only a few mo- inentj, dumb, unconscious, and was .spared ''the sadness of farewells." The bright life went out like u candle in a sudden draught. Often poor little Louise Blumenthal said to Cousin Franz, '^ It seems as though Carl has gone away only for a little while, and that he must come back i.gain. How can Seraph live all her life without liim ? " !lf i 1'; m i f" VIII. COUSIN FRANZ. * CiOUSlN FRAN/ was a sensible, practical man, ^ with very little romance or sentiment in his composition. He was sincere, devout, and self- sacrificing. One of tho.se orderly, well-balanced souls, extremely well equipped to be a guide and leader for the timid and weak. Therefore when poor Louise Blumenthal found herself .so suddenly deprived of all earthly aid, she naturally turned to Cousin Franz for advice and moral support. At his death, Carl left very little means of sustenance for his wife and child. He was gen- erous and careless of money, and had never re- fused his small family any luxury that added to its comfort and happiness ; therefore he had saved but little, and when he, the cheerful, patient bread- winner, was gone, not sorrow alone, but poverty as well, stared Louise in the face. How could she, a frail cripple, support herself and child? Tn this extremity Cousin Franz came bravely forward and adjusted her temporal affairs in a 58 ma ii wmnnr ii i mi m umwn COVS/X INAN/.. 59 , practical man, jentiment in his ivout, and self- y, well-balanced be a guide and Therefore when self 80 suddenly rurally turned to 1 support, little means of 1. He was gen- 1 had never re- •y that added to »re he had saved ul, patient bread- ane, but poverty How could she, I child? nz came bravely oral affairs in a •simple, sonsiblo way. H,. found for her a smaller le.ss expensive cottage, he hdped her dispose of Ii'T supuiHuous furniture. He wrote to Carl's lather a touching letter, to which the nuisical director generously responded by making his son's widow a small allowance from his own slcn.jcr in- <'<)iuo. Then Cousin Franz suggested that it would auuise Louise, as well as add to her little revenue, to take up the long-neglected (lower-making, for which she had .uch a dainty taste, a..d it was <'ousm Fran, himself who, in his stiff clerical garb, with his pale, severe face, went to the good- natured, w.rldly Madame Croizet and asked her to employ the little widow. " I never send my work out," said Madame. « I have it done under my own eye by young girls who are learning the trade, therefore I pay but little; but I remember la gentilk petite Louise, and what an exceptional taste she had. So to oblige you, monsieur, I will give her some of my choicest work." And Croizet was as good as her word. She gave Madame Blumenthal the most difficult orders «he received, and the most artistic creations that went from her establishment were the work of iliiBfMfl1»f'*»iMi'- L^- SERAPH, THE UTTLE VIOLINISTE. i " 60 poor Loui.es thin little fingers. But she was not Td in proportion to her labor or her talent i That she earned helped to eUe out her small income and enable her to exist. After Cousin Fran, had so cleverly settled the £„^" „£ the mother, he laid out a plan for the T\ of the child. Seraph had an uncommon ^ •^.. unless she understood the "'r '^ :. C Thelre her hands had ItJaswenr-her voice to become flexibl. and elily subservient to her will, and her head ted acted over scales, chords, and fugues, but the resul was great excellence in <4ii« 63 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VWLLXISTE. The only law that Seraph recognized was the law of love. For love of her mother she tried to study the piano, she tried heroically to practise the allotted time, but very seldom did she succeed in performing her distasteful duty. Her little soul was in the violin, and had she been allowed, she would have practised on that for hours, joy- fully and unweariedly. Nor could she understand why one instrument was more desirable than an- other. It was the music, the melody, the har- mony, the uplifting and outpouring, the impassioned utterance, that carried her out of herself, and made her long for the intimate understanding which every true artist must have with his instrument. Although Seraph loved her mother dearly, she felt at times that there was some injustice and not a little cruelty in depriving her of an inno- cent pleasure, as well as preventing her from be- coming an adept in a study which she had fixed upon in the very depths of her heart as her future vocation. However, with uncommon intelligence, she understood something of the struggle her mother was enduring, and secretly blamed Cousin Franz as the cause of all her trouble, all the discords and disagreements of her life. But for him and "itea rSTE. nized was the jr she tried to ly to practise id she succeed ^ Her little been allowed, for hours, joy- she understand rable than an- lody, the har- ,he impassioned rself, and made ng which every •ument. lier dearly, she 3 injustice and er of an inno- g her from be- L she had fixed ■t as her future on intelligence, e struggle her blamed Cousin all the discords it for him and COUSIN FRANZ. 63 his long sermons she knew that there would be perfect harmony between her and her <^herc jjetite maman, that she would be left in peace to practise on her violin, and dream undisturbed her bright dreams of future success. She was not a selfish, ungenerous child; she thought first of her mother, her gentle uncomplain- ing little mother, bound always to her chair, bend- ing her tired, childlike head over her colored muslins and silks, fashioning them with infinite care and patience into such exquisite imitations of nature that one could almost feel their perfume. Sometimes Seraph would snatch the stained fingers to her lips and kiss them passionately. Then the mother would lean her head against the child, and they would cry together. There was a stunted Lamarque rose running up on the shaded end of the little gallery. And Madame Blumenthal often watched its restrained growth. Sometimes a feeble yellow shoot would struggle forth and turn directly to a ray of sun- light that touched for an hour or so her small window. Then how it would grow and grow ; the sickly yellow would change to living green ; tufts of leaves would start out as if by magic. It 'Sik ||;ii '(,^ SEK^PH, THE LITTLE VIOUmSTE. seemed to throb with joyful surprise, as it strained :; aid up toward heaven by the pathway of the "in the spring,ng ardent growth of the rose she understood something of Seraph's longings and mMlions, " AV she would say, with .jppre- impatience, "why, why, must I for^ the '=h^1 to grow another way? Why cannot I 1 t_ her real up to the sun untrammelled and free? i *S-:;. UN I ST E. ise, as it strained ! pathway of the li of the rose she ti's longings and r, with suppressed [ force the child cannot I let her 3d and free?" IX. A GERMAN INTERIOR. nOUSIN FRANZ was very comfortably settled as to his mundane affairs. A year before the death of Carl Blumenthal he had married a widow with one little girl, and beside her child the young widow had other substantial possessions, — a plain but commodious house, surrounded by a large garden, together with a snug Uttle fort- une, well invested in good securities. She was a member of Cousin Franz's congregation and very active in good works, a practical, commonplace, and rather narrow person, devoted to her house- hold, her child, and her church. If she and her liouse- which was not far from Cousin Franz's place of worship -had been especially created and built for him, they could not have suited him better. It was true that she was several years older than the young minister, and not at all pretty. She had a broad, colorless German face, stolid and mild ; light eyes, very far apart, which gave her an air of surprise and incredulity ; and a comfort- 65 > £ :!'■ I* 66 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. able breadth of figure made her appear older even than she was. Her little daughter Madge, a nice, prim chUd, looked extremely like a small Dutch picture. She had the broad face and large, light eyes of her mother ; her forehead was very high, and her soft, fawn-colored hair was combed severely back, and hung in a thick sleek braid below her waist. Her plain, dark frocks were finished with a white frill at the neck, and the long sleeves came down to her little thumbs. She was very gentle and docile, — a perfectly plastic lump of clay in the hands of that clever potter, Cousin Franz, who was moulding and forming her into a vessel of wonderful perfection. If she ever suffered from the process, her calm, patient little face did not show it. She seemed contented and passively happy. She was very industrious in school and out of it. The duty of each hour was laid down with the rigidity of the laws of the Medes and Persians. Her recrea- tion consisted of a prim walk with Cousin Franz, when she must not look to the right nor left, but advance in a straight line, with toes at the right angle and head stiffly erect. fSTE. ear older even e, prim child, L picture. She it eyes of her I, and her soft, rely back, and 3W her waist, i with a white ves came down 3ry gentle and of clay in the jin Franz, who ito a vessel of ocess, her calm, b. She seemed She was very it. The duty the rigidity of ns. Her recrea- h Cousin Franz, right nor left, vith toes at the A GERMAN INTERIOK. 67 In regard to deportment, Cousin Franz was a severe disciplinarian, a thorough martinet, and there must be no deviation from the narrow lines laid down for the instruction of his little step- daughter. When this walk, which was more like a dress parade, was over, she was allowed a half-hour in the ugly garden, where she must not hop or run, pluck a flower, soil her frock, or step on the stiff borders. Then there was so much time at the piano, so much time at her German, and so much time at her darning; and after that the Bible lesson, the evening prayers, and then to bed. Madge had given each of her parents a cold kiss, and was on her way to her room, unbutton- ing her frock, with much struggling and shrug- ging as she went ; the time allotted to her for the duties of her toilet was very short, and her little fawn-colored head must be on its pillow at the stroke of eight. Cousin Franz and his wife sat together in the study. There were a number of well-filled book- shelves, a large useful desk, where Cousin Franz prepared his sermons, a roomy table, on it a few plain books, and a reading-lamp covered with a 68 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. green shade. Around the table were some stiff leather-covered chairs; and against the wall a high-backed leather-covered sofa repelled all ad- vances toward intimacy. It was very evident that the occupants of the room were orderly souls, so precise and stiff were their surroundings. There were no pictures, no ornaments, no little trifles, which give a familiar and homelike air to even the humblest place. Everything was cold, colorless, a '/^ formal, yet withal simple and peaceful. Madame Arnet, in a severe black gown, stitched industriously at her needlework, while Cousin Franz slowly turned the leaves of a very old book, quite absorbed in its yellow pages. At length he looked up and said, in a voice of extreme satisfaction, « Yes, yes, this is a bargain, Rachel. I have not the least doubt that this is a genuine Robert Etienne. Here is the date, Paris, 1515, perfectly legible, and I have learned that there were a num- ber of this edition of Justin Martyr printed. I have no doubt but that it is an antique." « It's old and dirty enough to be one," returned Madame Arnet indifferently. "To me it seems worth very little." jre some stiff ; the wall a pelled all ad- very evident were orderly r surroundings, lents, no little omelike air to liing was cold, I simple and gown, stitched le Cousin Franz old book, quite sngth he looked ine satisfaction, el. I have not genuine Robert 1515, perfectly sre were a num- •tyr printed. I atique." e one," returned 'o me it seems A GERMAN INTERIOR. 69 "Ah, I daresay it does seem worthless to you. My poor Rachel, I don't expect you to appreciate it," said Cousin Franz, with gentle sarcasm. " You are not a lover of books, especially of old books; but Monsieur Nardi, whom I consider an authority,' thinks it one of the gems of the collection that he made in Paris. However, there are others which I should prefer did ray means allow me to become their owner. An undoubted Aldine, 1595, and a Virgil of the Barbou Collection, almost worth their weight in gold to collectors. But I can't expect to own such treasures. I should be, and I am, thankful for this." From these remarks we can learn that Cousin Franz had one weakness, and that was a love for old books, which was not shared by his highly practical wife. She did not understand why he should be enthusiastic over such a musty old volume; so she made no response to his self-con- gratulations, and her face was a perfect blank as she stitched away industriously. Presently, she broke the silence by saying irrele- vantly, "Dear me, Mr. Arnet, I'm really worried about that Stengel girl. I think her voice is going since she had influenza, and if she can't iU^'f 70 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE, Bing, what will we do? There isn't another girl in our church who can take her place." Consul Franz made no reply. He was examin- ing, with a magnifying-glass, an ornamented initial letter, and Madame Arnet meandered on. " There's another thing, Mr. Arnet, that I'd like to speak about. I think Miss Knoop wears her hair frizzed too much over her forehead. I don't think it's quite respectable for an organist in our church. Couldn't you speak to her ? I mean, couldn't you give her a hint to comb it back. And the tenor whispers and laughs too much with the alto. It's really shocking. I don't think our choir comes up to the expectations of the congregation. As you are so particular with children, I should think you'd discipline those who ought to know better. Since the Metzes have taken two front pews, new people have come in. It looks well to see a car- riage and coachman in livery drive up to a church, and I think we ought to have a new cover for the desk, as you are bringing in fashionable people." Still not a word from Cousin Franz. He was too busy with his magnifying-glass, and patient Madame Arnet subsided into silence, only broken ^.sts mmma i b - STE. A GEtiMAN INTERIOR, r» i another girl !e. was examin- ,inented initial on. " There's like to speak ler hair frizzed jn't think it's n our church. 1, couldn't you And the tenor the alto. It's lu' choir comes gregation. As I should think ,0 know better, ront pews, new 11 to see a ear- up to a church, new cover for in fashionable Franz. He was iss, and patient ice, only broken by the sharp tick-tick of her needle as it passed througli the stiff cloth. At lengtii Cousin Franz closed the new posses- , sion with a reluctant sigh, and pushing it aside, said in rather a vexed tone, "I don't know what IS to be done with that child." "Who? What child? You don't mean Madge ? " cried Madame Arnet, startled out of her composure. "No, no indeed; if it were Madge, I should kmw what to do. It's Seraph again." " Oh ! it's Seraph again," echoed Madame Arnet comfortably, quite as though it were a matter of course. "To-day, after I left Monsieur Nardi's shop, I called on Cousin Louise, and I found her very much discouraged about Seraph. The child is stubborn and disobedient. She can't get her to practise her piano lessons." " I'm not surprised ; your Cousin Louise has in- dulged Seraph until she has lost control over her. I began with Madge — " " My dear Rachel, please don't deceive yourself ; when / took Madge in hand, I found her deport- ment — her training, very — very defective. Seraph ?• SERAFH, THE UTTLE VIOUNISIE. rll to. never tod the benefit ot my dUciplmc, there- fore what can we exi«ct of a turbulent, self- «mod chad left to a frail, injudicious mother. " No, we can't expect her to be like Madge, .aid Madame Arnet meekly; "d'e haant had Maditc's advantages." , , ,. ' .. Louise said she wished Seraph could be more with Madge. She thought Madge's example might benefit her." ' " Oh no! oh my, no! I want Madge to see ver)r little of Seraph. Such a light, trifling child, crazy over a violin. Not a decent instrument for a eirl They tell me she has old Bomeo for an Ldience and plays on her violin, dressed in her mother's old finery. Madge knows nothmg of «aeh folly, and I don't intend she sha . ..Seraph must be saved from herself," contmued Cousin Fran, severely. "She must be properly educated, she must be forced to study. I toU Louise that the time had come for decided action, and the weak, indulgent creature only cried and «,id she could not be l^irsh with Seraph. Then, is only one thing to be done: that violm must be taken from her." ..Yes, it must be taken from her," repeated Madame Aruet. discipline; there- turbulent, self- lious mother." be like Madge," she hasn't had »h could be more s's example might Madge to see very rifling child, crazy instrument for a d Romeo for an n, dressed in her Liiows nothing of jhe shall." herself," continued must be properly to study. I told for decided action, ure only cried and ith Seraph. There that violin must be rom her," repeated A GEKMAy INTElilOR. 73 "If she has no violin, she can't waste her time, and then, besides, Louise ought not to keep that vio^ lin. It is a very valuable instrument, a del Gesu of Ouarnerius. Carl considered it worth a great deal. They need the money, and it is clearly my duty to sell it, if I can find a customer." ''Then why not do it at once and end the trouble?" said Madame Arnet placidly. " I mentioned it to-day to Louise, and she was decidedly against it. She said it would be cruel to the child, and all «uch absurd nonsense." '* You are Seraph's guardian ; don't consult Louise. Take the violin quietly without her knowing it, and when you have sold it, there is an end of Seraph's folly. She will get over her childish sentmient for the violin, and will take to the piano." " I agree with you, Rachel. I think you have put it very clearly. It is a disagreeable duty, but I owe it to Carl as well as to the child. Her future career depends on her present training. Yes, that violin must be taken from her, and I must find some means of disposing of it. How- ever, I will consider the matter very fully before I act, but act I must." ^.^-.a.^ "'lis I: l?i' ;*,':' ,v lir:;. III ili Wi i»ii FRIENDS ALL. FROM the moment when Monsieur Nardi gave Seraph the box of bon-bons from Pans, the child's heart went out to the gentle old man with strong affection, and he in turn felt the deepest interest in his beautiful, talented little neighbor. Suddenly, without expectation or preparation two singularly attractive children liad come into his life He had always had his small favorites, he had been Oncle 'Nidas to half the children in the neighborhood in a desultory sort of way, but none of them had taken a strong hold on his heart, as these two had. , His little protlgi Marc, after several weeks trial, had not disappointed him. He was obe- dient, industrious, and useful, and often he found himself wondering how he had managed to get along without suoh a boy. Already he was qmte a companion as well as an assistant, and so .ntelli- gent and trustworthy that Monsieur Nard, allowed 74 FRIENDS ALL, 75 iur Nardi gave rora Paris, ilie J old man with elt the deepest little neighbor. )reparation, two come into his all favorites, he children in the f way, but none on his heart, as • several weeks' He was obe- i often he found managed to get '.dy be was quite nt, and so intelli- mr Nardi allowed him to wait on his customers. If the boy ever neglected a duty, it ^as when he was so entirely absorbed in an interesting book as to become oblivious to time and place. There was some- thing a little abnormal in his craving — his hunger, one might call it — for books, especially for books of history and biography. Curled up in some quiet corner, with a book before him, he was often forgetful of time and the requirements of his position. , - Monsieur Nardi was very indulgent and gentle. Sometimes when ha really needed him he would not disturb him. "I was so once myself," he would say, remem- bering the hunger, the unsatisfied hunger, of his own childhood. "Let him get his fill, let him read until he is tired. My own experience would be worth nothing if it did not teach me tolerance. At heart the boy is good and honest, and I mean to make a man of him." But Cressy was less patient ^'lan her master. Often the boy would forget his meals; then the old woman would "wake him," as she called it, with no gentle shake, and bid him to move around lively and earn his keep. I 1 hl\ m m m > I M im 76 Slk.lPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. « Why aren't you helping the master ? If you've nothing to do in the shop, there's plenty in the garden to keep you busy. The flower beds need weeding, and the walks are full of grass. You can dig the grass from between the bricks better than I can; your back's younger than mine. I'd even rather see you out here playing with Mon- key and Toto than everlastingly with a book. For my part, I don't see much in books to make people deaf, dumb, and lazy. My boy, if you want to get on, you've got to work more and read less." Marc would laugh and flush guiltily, promising the old tyrant +0 mend his ways; but at the first opportimity he would again have his nose in the objectionable book. When Monsieur Nardi overheard Cressy rating his protkje, he did not reprove her, but, one morn- ing, he said with careful diplomacy: "Cressy, ma bonne femme, I think that now our family has increased, you need some help about the yard and garden. Can't you engage that old servant next door to assist you? He seems a good, honest creature. Let him keep the court in order, and do odd jobs. I should like him to sweep the shop and sidewalk. He can )LINISTE. laster? If you've ■e's plenty in the flower beds need 11 of grass. You the bricks better r than mine. I'd ►laying with Mon- with a book. For )ks to make people f you want to get d read less." guiltily, promising s; but at the first -^e his nose in the jard Cressy rating tier, but, one morn- acy: [ think that now I need some help Can't you engage assist you ? He Let him keep the 3bs. I should like sidewalk. He can FRIENDS ALL. 77 be very useful. I know his mistress has not sufficient work to keep him busy, and she will be very glad to have him earn something outside. And, Cressy, don't be quite so economical in your marketing. Remember, ma bonne, that we have another to feed, a growing boy; and then this old man, if he does extra work, he wil! need extra food. Give him plenty of good strong soup, and a chop, now and then, to take home and cook for his supper. And couldn't you occasionally spare a chicken out of your coop? Anything that is left over will be useful to him, and I shall be* glad if you will help him. The old and feeble need plenty of nourishing food. And while I think of it, Cressy, buy more fruit at market. Children like fruit, and old children like it too; n'est ce pas, ma femme? Still another thing. After this you can put two plates at my table. I have decided to have Marc take his meals with me. He is very neat about his person, and now I want to teach him to eat, as well as to speak, properly. Do you understand?" This a little severely, seeing Cressy's frown, and hearing her mutter, "A little street gamin. Monsieur Leonidas, at the table with you?" 78 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. " Yes, Cressy, at the table with me. I mean to adopt the boy, and he must be taught to eat prop- erly. Do as I wish, and we will continue to be good friends." - * Cressy said no more, but heroically prepared to do her master's bidding. It was hard ; it was an awful blow to all her prejudices, but it was her master's order, and Monsieur Leonidas Nardi must be obeyed, especially when he spoke in that tone. To the first part of his instructions she readily agreed ; for she was very kindly disposed toward poor old Romeo, who knew a sure way to the heart of his dusky neighbor. A little judicious flattery had warmed and softened the aged tyrant, and already a great many choice compliments, as well as a number of dainty morsels, had crossed the fence between the two yards. Romeo never partook of Cressy's generous dona- tions, although often his mouth watered for them. Every scrap was carefully carried to Louise's little pantry and served to his young mistress and her child, with many small deceptions and prevarica- tions, which we sincerely hope were not set down to the poor old negro's account Food was scarce in the little household. A great tse ,U..-^i,il,... IISTE. le. I mean to ht to eat prop- continue to be ly prepared to ird ; it was an )ut it was her das Nardi must te in that tone. 3ns she readily iisposed toward re way to the little judicious ;he aged tyrant, compliments, as bIs, had crossed s generous dona- Eitered for them, to Louise's little listress and her ! and prevarica- re not set down isehold. A great FRIENDS ALL. 79 calamity had fallen upon them. The musical director in Berlin had, on account of old age and illness, lost his position, and therefore Madame Blumenthal's small allowance was stopped, which meant the most pinching poverty for the mother and child. The little wage Louise earned by her work barely paid her rent, and for the first time, want, like a gaunt spectre, stood before her and looked her gloomily in the face. Cressy had learned of this new misfortune from Romeo, and Monsieur Nardi had learned of it from Cressy ; hence his sudden interest in Romeo's cuisine. Any morning early some such conversation might be heard across the fence : "Miss Cressy, is you dar? How's yer healf dis fine mawnin' ? " '' Bien, trh hien, Romeo." "Well, you is suttenly a smart lady to be in from market so soon. Fur a fac', yer does make marketin' early. My Miss Louise she doan' sen' me 'twill arter breakfus, 'cause she gits up mighty late, she does." " Poor Madame, she is ill ; and then she hasn't any call to get up early, as I have. But won't you 8o SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. take a cup of early coffee, Romeo? I dripped plenty. Have cafe, m lait or cafe noir?" « Well, I'll take a drop o' bofe if yer doan' mine, Miss Cressy. Yer does make sich good coffee ; more excellenter I never tasted. I's ben a good cook in my day, an' I know what good coffee is." ^'Eh Men, Romeo, and have a miche with it, and a saucer of cream cheese. No one but the boy eats cream cheese, and there's too much for him ; and I know you'll like a little pat of butter with your miche." "Thank yer, thank yer. Miss Cressy; you's sure got a large heart an' a gen'rous han'. Bress der Lor' for sich a lady as yer is." « That's nothing, Romeo ; I like to give to them that deserves it. After you get your work done, come around. You'll find the gate locked; but ring, and I'll let you in. I've got a little job for you, and there'll be something for your dinner." " Oh, Miss Cressy, what a fine, han' sum lady you is! I'm in luck ter have sich a frien' in my ole age." "And, Romeo, I'll pay you the four bits I owe you for cleaning the ^/indows." -355--. -, V OLINISTE. )meo? I dripped je, noirr if yer doan' mine, good coffee ; more )en a good cook in coffee is." a miche with it, No one but the boy 00 much for him; pat of butter with Cressy; you's sure 9 han'. Bress der ke to give to them ■j your work done, gate locked ; but ^e got a little job mething for your 3, han' sum lady you a frien' in my ole the four bits I owe FJilENDS ALL. 8i " No, no, yer doan' owe me nofin', Miss Cressy. I's willin' ter do eny lil' job fur yer, when yer so 'stremely good ter me." " Oh, you must take the money. Monsieur Leonidas won't like it if you don't. He's very particular about paying people who work for him." •'Well, well, I'll be 'roun' by an' by. You suttenly is a fine lady." Then Cressy would go back to her kitchen with a grim smile on her severe face; and Romeo would slip into the little pantry to prepare his mistress's breakfast. A little later perhaps another small comedy would be played in the front of the two houses. Seraph, looking like a morning rose, the mists of sleep still in her drowsy eyes, would come out to the little front garden to gather a few flowers for her mother's breakfast table, a pretty little atten- tion which she never neglected, and Monsieur Nardi was sure to be sitting in the shop door, reading his morning paper. He would not appear to see Seraph just at first, but would keep on reading as intently as though there were some new sensation in the closely •-♦ 82 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. scanned columns. After a while he would look up and smile and bow with old-fashioned formal- ity. Then Seraph's eyes would sparkle, all the sleep gone out of them in an instant, and she would hasten to open the gate. Skipping along the walk and holdhig out her posy, " Are not thoy pretty?" she would call. "They're for ^jeftte ma- man, but you shall smell them." When she reached Monsieur Nardi's side, her hand was held out eagerly to be clasped in his cordial grasp, and he would say with kind cere- mony, ^^Bon jour, Mademoiselle; a pleasant morn- ing, is it not? and Madame, your mother, is she well?" To which Seraph would reply with her piquant accent, ''Bon jour, Oncle 'Nidas. Mamma is always the same." After these little compliments were exchanged. Monsieur Nardi would smell her flowers and dis- cuss the beauty of each. Then he would ask her in for a moment, just to say hon jour to Marc, who would be busy dusting and arranging the books, looking sedately happy the while. The breakfast table would be laid in the sitting-room, and there was sure to be a large dish of fruit. •-♦ ■l he would look ishioned formal- sparkle, all the istant, and she Skipping along , "Are not thoy 'e for 2)etite ma- fardi's side, her ! clasped in his with kind cere- i pleasant morn- ir mother, is she FKIENDS ALL. 83 Monsieur Nardi would select the choicest, arrange some grape leaves on a pretty plate, which he would fill and hand to Seraph, saying with a cheery smile, '* For the breakfast of Madame ei Mademoiselle^ '^ Merci, merci Men, Oncle 'Nidas," and Seraph, her little face full of morning sunshine, would hasten to her mother with her flowers and fniit. I dth her piquant klamma is always were exchanged, flowers and dis- le would ask her n jour to Marc, d arranging the he while. The the sitting-room, »e dish of fruit. m AN APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE. SERAPH had made an agreement with her mother which she was resokitely trying to keep. She had promised to practise the piano faithfully three hours each day, and to give up her masquerading on the little platform if her mother would allow her to play the violin three times a week in Monsieur Nardi's sitting-room directly after his dinner. To this Madame Blumenthal consented. It was a great pleasure for Seraph as well as for her appreciative little audience, which consisted of Monsieur Nardi, Marc, and some of the neighbors' children, while Cressy stood in the door in a state of enchantment, her eyes closed and her dignified old head wagging back and forth in time with the bewitching strains. On these occasions Seraph was radiant. Mon- sieur Nardi had made for her a raised platform of a large, flat box covered with a rug, and placed 84 1.. AN ArrKh.CIATlVE AUDIENCE, 85 NCE. ment with her Litely trying to ctise the piano 1 to give up her a if her mother n three times a g-room directly isented. It was well as for her jh consisted of )f the neighbors' door in a state nd her dignified in time with the 3 radiant. Mon- lised platform of rug, and placed beside it a small table, on which always stood u bunch of fresh flowers. She was very sensitive to her environment, and this arrangement gave importance to the occasion, and acted as a stimu- lant on her artistic and impressionable nature. The only flaw ii the perfection of the whole was that she could not appear in her usual toilet; however, .she wore her be.it white frock and faded sash, which were rather shabby, but still helped to give an air of festivity to the scene. Sometimes the child pla^^d so well, with so much passion and power, that Monsieur Nardi regretted that there was not a larger audience to hear her. Although he enjoyed her playing keenly, it nevertheless had the effect of saddening him, and in spite of his efforts to forget, it brought back vividly the memory of the disappointment of his life. The dear old gentleman had had his romance, long ago, when his young head was covered with soft curling hair and his eyes were brown and bright. He was so young, so poor, so obscure, when his heart was first touched, and the object of his adoration was so far above him, so worshipped and flattered by the rich and powerful, that he 1 r 86 si:kai'/i. Tilt: UTi'i.t: viounistr. scarcely dar»;<' to raise his reverent eyes toward her. How Li i^itiful she was, with her flowur-liku face, her beuaiing eyes, her adorable smile! To the t.'>or bookworm, shut up within the narrow bouniis of the dark, musty shop, she seemed like a beautiful vision. Even now a strain ol music, the pink petals of a rose, the perfume of jasmims had the power to carry him back to those foolish old days; to 6..] ten his heart like melted wax, to till his eyes witii hot tears, to make him again a dis- appointed heart-sick boy. And Seraph's eyes and smile were like hers. Yes, she had the same sweet brown eyes, the same innocent, half-mirthful, half-saddened smile. There- fore it was no wonder that the child had won her way into his innermost heart, and that he was always thinking and planning how to give her some pleasure, or some real assistance without seeming obtrusive or wounding the delicate sen- sibilities of the mother. After these little musicals were over, and Seraph descended from her platform amid applause quite loud enough to gratify her ambition, and bring the flush of joy to her pale little face, Cressy would have some dainty ready to serve, — an ice with tiny cakes, X f i W^M I wriV»Vwtf ii* ifl'*%' iiiii> i i * iii iv-^ fSTK. b eyes toward her tlovvur-likf lie smile ! To in the narrow aet'uied like a i ot tnusic, the if jaanunt), had lose fooinh old ,ed wax, to till ni again a dis- ,vere like hers. eyes, the same smile. There- child had won nd that he was iw to give her istance without le delicate sen- ver, and Seraph applause quite 1, and bring the 'essy would have with tiny cakes, 7 r /a ^> IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 ■50 "^^ HI^H I.I 11.25 PtiotQgraphic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SM (716)872.4503 ..* .^. !*• CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/ICMH Collection de microfiches. JW- Canadian institute for Historicai IVIicroreproductions / institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques ^■■,'>-,. --if a^-"j.?-«v7' ^'' - ?*"^ /tJV APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE. ^1 or fruit and bon-bons, — and Monsieur Nardi's little sitting-room would resound with the merry unaf- fected laughter of children; and Marc, although a little awkward and shy, a natural result of his neglected childhood, entered into the spirit of the scene with a zest that surprised his benefactor. His natural good taste, his imitativeness, his efforts at self-improvement, were a constant satisfaction. "He has the stuff in him," the old gentleman would say to himself, " and I mean to give him a chance. I mean to educate him and make him my successor." While Monsieur Nardi was making his benevo- lent plans, and while Seraph was enjoying her small triumphs, poor little Louise sat alone in her dull room, with her stained finger-tips pressed to her tired eyes, trying to think of some means of improving their sad condition. " Spring is coming," she thought, " and we shan't need much fuel nor light now that the days are getting so warm and the sun sets so late. It's astonishing how far Romeo makes the market money go. I give him so little, and he gets so much. Marketing must be very cheap this spring. But Seraph will need clothes ; she grows so tall. 88 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINJSTE. I've made everything over as long as I can. I've nothing more to fall back on. Poor chUd! she needs shoes now, and a hat. It makes my heart ache to see her so shabby. If Cousin Rachel would only think. She has so much money ; she might give Seraph something now and then. I should be so glad if she would give her Madge's cast-off things. I have no pride, -it's all gone in the face of this terrible poverty," - and the hot tears sprang to her eyes and glistened under the closed lids. « Oh, Carl ! Carl ! if you were only here ! " she sobbed ; "you were so good, so tender, 80 generous, and now I have no one. Ah, I must not be ungrateful," and struggling to regam her composure, she dashed away the tears, and set her- self to thinking again of ways and means. «I know Cousin Franz would help me if he could, and our dear old neighbor is so thought- ful I mustn't be ungrateful, and I must not be weak and complaining; I must try to do more work. I must get up earlier and work later. Oh, if Madame Croizet would only pay me a little more, and if there was any way to retrench! There is only one thing that I can give up, and that is the Ducro Elixir. It costs a dollar a TE. I can. I've r child! she ces my heart oiisin Rachel money; she md then. I her Madge's ,'s all gone in -and the hot ed under the ou were only 3od, so tender, . Ah, I must to regain her 8, and set her- means. lelp me if he is so thought- I must not be y to do more ork later. Qh, y me a little r to retrench ! 1 give up, and ists a dollar a AN APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE. 89 bottle, and that is a great deal ; but Dr. Beau- jean says I must have it. It gives me strength to work. I don't know whether I can keep up without it, but I must try. We must have food ; Seraph must have shoes. If I could make up my mind to let Cousin Franz sell Carl's violin; but I can't — I can't take it from the child. It may come to that, however. We can't starve, and we can't accept charity while we have any- thing of value. Oh, how hard life is to the poor and helpless ! But I won't despair ; God raises up friends for the unfortunate, and when he takes away one support, he sometimes gives us another." Often these sad cogitations would be interrupted by Seraph rushing in from her concert, flushed and happy, her violin under her arm, and her active little hands full of some offering for her mother. "Uncle 'Nidas sends this with his compliments, a honne houche pour petite mam.an" and Seraph would nestle against her mother, while she chat- tered as fast as her tongue could fly. "Oh, mamma, such a success! I played my sonata better than ever. I know Uncle 'Nidas liked it ; he looked as if he wanted to cry ; and Marc, and even that little lame Jacques, just s;H%^4^i^«L')SiSfe.^4H^iv'^^-.i!rty^i!j»^ ■9^ SERAPH, THE LIITLE VIOUNISTE. iumped up and down, they were so pleased with my caprice. And Uncle 'Nidas says that 1 play well enough to have a larger audience, and that he will ask some friends to hear me. Thmk of that, little mamma! Soon, soon I can give big con- certs and e.rn money for you. Then your dear red and green fingers will get white agam, and you shall never see flowers, only the real flowers that grow and bloom for you ; and you shall be well, mamma ; you shall walk and perhaps smg. Who knows? perhaps you will dance like this. And Scrap:, would spring up and whirl around the room as light as a bird, as brUliant as a butterfly. 'iTE. pleased with 8 that I play nee, and that ,Q. Thmk of 1 give big con- len your dear ite again, and lie real flowers you shall be perhaps sing, nee like this." whirl around brilliant as a ■ iiff XII. TWO CUSTOMERS. r\NE morning Monsieur Nardi had two impor- ^-^ tant customers. The first was Madame St. Maxent, who drove up in her fine carriage, with a glossy black coachman, and glossy black but- tons, a long-haired Russian poodle, that lay in the bottom of the carriage and served for a rug when the weather was chilly, and two frisky fox terriers, nicely spotted, with ears and tails of the fashionable length. • Madame St. Maxent was an mgante in every sense of the word. To begin with, she was of good family; she was a very rich widow, and her elegant mansion on Esplanade Avenue was the envy of her acquaintances as well as a large number of her friends. She had the hand- somest carriages, the finest horses, the blackest, glossiest servants, the rarest dogs, and the most costly wardrobe of any one in the smart set. She was an amateur in art and music, a conmisseuse 91 i'ft 93 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. in pictures, bric-a-brac, and old books, a leader in all social affairs, a patroness of talent, and best of all, a generous, large-hearted woman, who was a power in the community. If a poverty-stricken genius, who was eating his heart out in obscurity, could enlist the interest and patronage of Madame St. Maxent, he would sud- denly find himself launched, and sailing trium- phantly, the wind of her approval swelling his sails, and speeding him on his voyage swiftly and suc- cessfully. After Monsieur Nardi returned from Paris, he sent this most important customer, and, without boasting, he could say friend,— for the fashionable woman felt a sincere regard for the modest old scholar, — a neat catalogue of his new books, as well as of the rare antiques he had collected during his absence. There- fore he had been expecting a visit from her daily. When she entered the little shop with breezy cheerfulness, followed by her three dogs. Monsieur Nardi with a beaming face came forward to meet her, smiling and bowing with old-fashioned ceremony. " Ak mon cher ami" she exclaimed heartily. " I am so glad to get here at last. I have been so STE. 8, a leader in lent, and best nan, who was was eating his le interest and he would sud- sailing triuni- jlling his sails, viftly and suc- n Paris, he sent ithout boasting, ible woman felt ;holar, — a neat as of the rare bsence. There- in her daily. )p with breezy dogs, Monsieur le forward to ,h old-fashioned jd heartily. " I I have been so TIVO CUSTOAfE/iS. 93 ii \ occupied, so many engagements, that this is my first opportunity, and I mean to make the most of it." At this moment the three dogs, who were less well-bred than their mistress, showed marked signs of Hostility to the modest little Monkey, who had taken refuge on the highest chair, where Toto sat . with his little hand over his face, as though shocked at such unfriendliness. It was necessary to send the dogs to the carriage and banish Monkey and the marmoset to the hack room before Madame St. Maxent and Monsieur Nardi could proceed with their exchange of friendly compliments. . "Ah, how well you are looking; your trip has done you a world of good. You must be at least ten years younger. Paris, beautiful Paris, has the charm of perpetual youth. I can see by your bright, happy face that you have been to the very fountain head of knowledge, that you have had some deli- cious draughts. Now tell me what you have dis covered, what new wonder you have seen." And the lively lady rushed on in a perfect torrent of small talk, her high-pitched, vivacious voice quite drowning Monsieur Nardi's modest remarks. " Yes, yes, Aldmes and Elzevirs — charming, delightful. ' lr I. * u ^ SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOUXIHTE. And is it true that you have brought me a Delphin with variorum notes?' " It is really true, Madame. I have a genume antique," replied Monsieur Nardi, his face beaming with pleasure. " I thought of you when I discovered it, and ventured to buy it, although it came high. They are rare, extremely rare, and the Elzevir is good, — a Pliny, 1636." «A 1636 Elzevir,— how interesting! How charm- ing! But show me all your treasures, and, my dear friend, be very considerate. Remember my weak- ness. Please don't let me have all I want." Monsieur Nardi laughed pleasantly as he spread the books on a table and drew up a chair for Madame St. Maxent. At a sign Marc had taken each houquin carefully from a glass-covered case, and dusted it with an old silk handkerchief. "This is in very good condition," said Madame St. Maxent, examining the Delphin reverently. "I must have it, tnon ami, and we won't haggle. I know you won't overcharge me. Ah, really ; a vellum Aldine? Now you have touched my very weakest point. I adore vellum. You may put that with the Delphin." « I had another Aldine, a Theocritus, 1596, which ;te. me a Delphin kve a genuine face beaming n I dlHcovered it came high, the Elzevir is ! How charm- , and, my dear ber my weak- I want." 1 as he spread p a chair for arc had taken 18-covered case, Ikerchief. ' said Madame reverently. " I on't haggle. I Ah, really; a iched my very You may put ;u8, 1595, which k 'lllill l ' .lllil ' l tf „it:i i ' I til II r^O CUSTOMERS. 95 I sold a few days ago to a young Lutheran min- ister," said Monsieur Nardi, with a little regret in his tone. " Although it is an advantage to dispose of them — will you believe it ?— I hate to part with iny treasures." Then followed a long discussion on limes d'occasion, very learned and highly interesting to a houquiner, about the veracity of a Venice Boiardo, the genuineness of a Verard, and the condition of several volumes from the Barbou collection, the excellence of the various Foulis editions, and the authenticity of a copy of Brandt's "Ship of Fools." After that, bindings were touched upon, — the rival merits of Grolier and Payne; and Monsieur Nardi convinced Madame St. Maxent that a book they were examining had an original Grolier binding, by tracing out the nearly obliterated motto, Gro- lieri et Amicorum. After Madame St. Maxent had made a selection of the books she desired, aired her knowledge, and discussed her pet hobby to her heart's content, she arose to go. Then Monsieur Nardi remembered to ask after the health of Maurice, her only child, a boy of sixteen, who was a violin virtuoso of much skill and talent. 96 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLhVISTE. " Maurice ? Oh, Maurice is very well, thank you, and as much as ever interested in his violin. I often tell him that if he only had the spur of poverty to drive him on, the world might hear of him ; as it is, he will never be anything but an amateur." , «0h, Madame, I have a little neighbor, a little girl who plays the violin comwe tm Tpdit mge. I wish you could hear her; she i* wonderful, she is a prodigy!" , v i Monsieur Nardi spoke so earnestly, so feelmgly, that Madame St. Maxent looked at him with some curiosity as she replied, " As a general thing, I do not like infant prodigies, but as she is a proteg^ of yours, if you wish it, I will arrange to hear her some day ; and perhaps I can help her along. You know, my friend, you can always count on me. I will think it over and let you know what I can do." XT J- "ifern, merci hien;' returned Monsieur Nardi warmly, as he handed Madame St. Maxent to her carriage. ^' 1 am much interested in the child ; she is fatherless and poor, and so lovely and talented. If T can depend on you to assist me, I thmk she has a successful future before her." i '•'[ iiifinlwuji ""^"iTii-nr-"::': =5=S5»r5< VISTE. k'ell, thank you, his violin. I id the spur of rid might hear mything but an eighbor, a little n, petit ange. I iTonderful, she is ,ly, so feelingly, , him with some leral thing, I do she is a protege mge to hear her her along. You count on me. I now what I can Monsieur Nardi t. Maxent to her in the child; she ely and talented. me, I think she ^^^ CUSTOMERS, Maxent drove aw;,v « n • Madame St. ■ Scarcely LI"°"^^"'««^-"' her visit. . -0, another csto Jr '"ni ''''T' '" ''"'' ;>-andhis,o„g,.rio:tt„LT:e°™" sion of pernlpvi-f.. , j i- '^" expres- perpjexity and disappointment \n few desultory remarks ha • i "^"^- ^^^er a "Iim ./ '^'"'^^^^''' ^'e «aid reluctantly: 1 am very sorry, Monsieur Nardi ihJj take the Foulis Horace as I hoped lot T"* was last here r.v« . ^ ^° ^^on I -ke it 'Z^ZTeZ '"' """"-^^ "'""" 'o spend on it I ' u """'^ ^ '"'^ded ">y way dear, and it is ^ ^,1 r „\T ^ ""t please do not retain it Jl',""'-''^''' 0-lr !:^;',f°f-'" -?"«■ Monsieur Nardi for this copy I H """""'"'' ' ''"'' " «"»">">« P«-e y7ll^r-^'' ^'''" ^"» "'^ "' ^ - -cata,o::::,rrei^:rar°™''^^ "''o»eesWdhe.o.hin.and'rt^;;r„n: 98 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. he went away in a not very amiable frarae of mind. , He wanted to look in on Louise, to learn if Seraph still adhered to her promise to practise three hours a day ; but he felt that he had already done a great deal for his cousin's wife and child, when he had denied himself the much-coveted book in order to save the money for their future needs. That same evening, Seraph came in from her visit to Monsieur Nardi in a state of great excitement. "Oh, mamma," she cried joyously. "A great lady, a rich lady who lives on Esplanade Avenue, has promised Uncle 'Nidas to hear me play. Per- haps she will invite me to her beautiful house, and if I please her, she will help me to become a great violiniste. Uncle 'Nidas says I could not have a better friend. Oh, mamma dearest, I must practise now that I am to play for Uncle 'Nidas's friend. You must give me time to practise. Please excuse me one hour a day from the piano, so that I can learn a new sonata." "Seraph, I can't promise you that," returned Madame Blumenthal tremulously. "I must con- sult Cousin Franz before I can consent. You know we must not offend Cousin Franz." ffi?3*J-AS^-"«I.Tsr3T 9T^"B'^:1 i t»t'."*WSI*!9£«'iW - ' II fSTE. ible frame of e, to learn if iae to practise he had already wife and child, ih-coveted book uture needs. 1 from her visit excitement. ,ly. "A great ilanade Avenue, me play. Per- tiful house, and become a great uld not have a I must practise 'Nidas's friend. . Please excuse 3, so that I can that," returned "I must con- sent. You know XIII. A DISAPPOINTMENT. o»e'' favor, neither do I 17 '"* '""'*'> » appearance.. I „„, '° " °"' '™P'y ^ the evidence I Tt 'T ™? ^^'''™'=»' -^ « »-,, give the zztr: r' ^ ■'"•""• ^ Without Marc m"!^ ^f"' "^ ""« doubt." had made a gCt ^1 " "' "°"™" "arii he interviewrParr'"'"" *'"'" "'"■ ^-^ --o.withih::re:t;:t"^"'"^"-^«- '<'-::::::::';::t;;;^o-whap^ned '"« he,t manne,. an mj^ ". ' '*'' "^'^ «"' -- children thafsbZl'^K """"'"" """■ »-. i- a «ne houaeXltrCe^' 99 wmtm "•""Ti-iirniiiiwDwim ,00 SE^APf. THE UTILE VIOUmSTE. Since I've been about the levee. When I got this r be wasn't more'n four years old, a runnm job, he wasn t m ^^^ •round the wharves an luggers. »" =■ ^ Too used to Uke him off on trips, an sort "Tol air "hn, when he was right small, but Joe rf atik the young one an' 'dopted h.n. u j aidn-t have no one »« look out " » J 3- u;r« Viprp an he aint sunereu. Upn' mv eve on him nere, ah "'^ " !hTs aVays had plenty to eat, an a warm place ,. sS, an- that's more'n a good many k.ds g.ts I^ Uv s in houses, an' I've giv him breeches a.; V , !• he's been clean an' whole, cons.derm . rr^d Le from. --- ^ J^^ time but he didn't know nothm . Joe founa n rit on an old east^ff ilatboat, a crym .n a Ink poor little kid! all alone a crym , an he took ^; oHL lugger an' looked out for him as long ".^;j::'allIknow,sir. Joen.m«lhimM^. -•-rrr'i!::t:wfi:arne:t: sharp little chap. Jes look how Llf to read. I tole him the letters. Yes, sir that s Idl showed him, an' I made a few figgers II ,7STE. rhen I got this old, a runnin' 1 old Dago man 1 trips, an' sort t small, but Joe I a had a missis, pted him, but I r him, so I jes' dn't suffered, an' a warm place 1 many kids gits him breeches an' vhole, considerin'. ow nothin' 'bout sked him many a Joe found him 3oat, a cryin' in a cryin', an' he took it for him as long named him Marco, rt. He's a mighty wr he's learned him- ers. Yes, sir, that's made a few figgers ^ DISAPPOINTMENT. on an old date he picked up, an' I'm be blessed if l.ewas„taddi„' 'em up in notice, like a book- keeper. I tell you he', ,Wp, an- you can te hes honest. I never knew a honester kid. If he picked up a niekel, he couldn't put it i„ his pocket t.l he ast all 'round if it belonged to enny one " Mons,eur Nardi had not questioned Patsy in order to secure testimonial of character, but to However, th.s spontaneous praise was very grati- ^mg to the old bookseller, and only coIflLed h.m .„ h.s behef that he had uneommou discern- ment as far as human characteristics were con- cerned. In his kindly, generous heart he had a «ady marked out a successful car^r for his little prouye^ He would adopt him, educate him, and make him his successor. ,l,^'.r« ""'' "' ""''" ""fcrtonate little waifs, little children who usually drifted into orphan asylums or houses of correction. Providence had ordered hat this one should drift into his empty heart and home, and he meant to accept this ^ft gmtefully and do his very best to Z the pi imie weed, the outcast scrap of humanity, to ^ matimmmiamamm imK &a i m mm I02 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. plant it in new soil, to cultivate and nourish it until it should become a flower fit for the garden of the Lord. Full of generous intentions and strong confi- dence, Monsieur Nardi was in no condition to accept the blow that fell upon him, suddenly shat- tering all his well-considered plans. It was such a little thing, so commonplace, and almost vulgar, that one can hardly conceive of its bringing about such ruinous results. One morn- ing Cressy brought in the change from a five-dollar note, which she had broken for her marketing, and handed it, as usual, to her master. Monsieur Nardi was standing by the open window, clippmg some truant branches from a climbing rose. His hands being engaged, he told Cressy to leave the money on a small table beside the window, and after he had finished his work he went away, forgetting to put it in his pocket. An hour or so later he thought of it, and, much to his surprise, when he went for it, it was gone. In his small and well-regulated household he had been accustomed to finding things just where he placed them, and this new departure rather annoyed him. With some impatience in his tone he called •MMauM «WilMI»«iBrt«»*»l<»'ll«*llilil ' - ■*• " ■ " It - 577?. nd nourish it or the garden strong confi- condition to suddenly shat- iraonplace, and conceive of its i. One inorn- om a five-dollar marketing, and iter. Monsieur indow, clipping bing rose. His Jressy to leave de the window, : he went away, An hour or so to his surprise, lousehold he had } just where he e rather annoyed is tone he called ^ OISAPPOINTMEXT, 103 to C^^y to know whe,^ ,l,e had put the money, »nd to h,8 astonishment she told him that she had ""' '''" ■' »'"<=« "1"= gave it to hin.. He had no oa««, to donbt Cress/, „„rf. .p.,, , J niore ,he had been his housekeeper, and he h^ had no reason to sicpect her honesty Thinking that Marc might have seen the money lymg on the table and removed it to a safer place he ,„est,oned him carefully and kindly, and, much o h.a disappomtment, the boy said decidedly that he had not seen it. There was no one beside Cressy and Marc who conid have had access to it. ^ Had po<,r old Romeo been about the place that n ormng. he might have been suspected; but his mmd was at rest on that point. The side gate was always locked, and the old negro could not «nter without being admitted by cLy. L" fore ,t lay between the servant and the boy It could not be his honest faifl,f..l „ij ■. u ., "unest, laithlul old servant. Could It be Marc, and he had denied it ! For a moment Monsieur Nardi felt cold and weak, and something seemed to be clutching at his heart. The boy stood Wo,^ him, flushing and pahng .mder h,a kindly but searching glancf, and knowmg human nature as well as he did, he thought ii«-«-«-T*iS'.,^W»j«.-,^«r-.-:\™«JA SI. "P»* -"j":"J9^" w * 5 I::i I'i! ,04 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. this (Muotion indicated guilt. He intended, however, to be juHt ; he would not condemn him without posi- tive proof. If Marc knew that he was suspected, it would destroy his self-respect. Therefore, it was necessary to conceal his uncertainty and perplexity. Disguising his feelings as well as lie could, he said with assumed cheerfulness and confidence: " Eh hien, mon enfant, I dare say it will turn up. We have no dishonest people about us. It can only be mislaid." Marc gave Monsieur Nardi a pitifully appealing look as he turned silently away. It seemed as though it were a nmte entreaty for mercy. Then for the first time the old bookseller felt how strong a hold the child had on his heart. All day Marc went about his duties with a silent, dejected air, and at times Monsieur Nardi thought the boy looked frightened and anxious, and he had the timid, uncertain manner of a persecuted little dog who is always expecting a blow, and who from habit shrinks even from the hand that would caress it. That night Marc sat huddled up in the dark, in his little room on the back gallery. His only com- panion was the marmoset, who nestled close to his ■■-— dk I fSTE. nded, however, n without posi- was suspected, lerefore, it was and perplexity, could, he said dence : it will turn up. IS. It can only ifuUy appealing It seemed as • mercy. Then felt how strong es with a silent, • Nardi thought ous, and he had persecuted little V, and who from nd that would I in the dark, in His only com- tled close to his ^ OISAPPOlXTAtENT. neck and patted hi, cheek with it, ,itt,e «„ft J,Z H wu, „„„g ,ne„tl,, and Toto brushed off "te '"" *""•» ■" they fell fr„,„ ,,;, Nev., K / ■n his wretched life had h„ f ,. ^""^ ;;- overheard a ^^z^::^' ::^ "Of course," said Cressy, «he took fho wha^e■.ca„,„„.,,,,L„a^ir;L"■::?; "Why, certainly; but Monsieur Leonidas J- ^.s„ho„.thi„.elUhathew„„J took il- ""™ "P ''^■" <"><>» the boy ^,--..nwo„der™H:r^ro:r.':::^: '■' * r^ J"" ■»»». "nd if he knows he's euiltvT ■nay have him punished. He deserves t I app«.vedofs„chahoy.«i„,,.„„;ri:-J;- it,:=-,r.-»»rwy«-tis«,IMffeS;^ Li dHw~r--'» ,06 SEKAPli, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. Them wharf j/amm thmk no more of Btealing than they do of eating." " I 'spect yer right, Mis. Cre.sy. Yer B«ch a fine »mart U.dy no one can take liV things 'thout yer knowin* it, now can dey?" , , * "Not .nuch, Ro,neo; V... bo«„d to look out for „,y „>aBter'» property, and I hate picking and stealing." . . p j .. Yer right, Mis» Cressy, shore yer right. Good „ig.,t, I gne. in go »„• lay my o.e bone. do.„ and res' awhile. 1' mighty t.red, I «. U' hresa ver, an' good night." , „„j When all was silent, Mare got i.p caut.onsly, and went out into the yard. The bUnd of the ».ttmg- ^„. was open, a reading-lamp bu.ned on the table^ Monsieur Nardi was there with a number of book. Lre him, but he was not reeling, he sat wUh his head on his hand looking very sad and thought fal. The window, the same window where the table stood, was open, and Mare softly pushed Toto into the room. ,. , . , Monsieur Nardi looked up as the Uttle an.mal sprang to his knee, and although he stroked and ^tted it gently, one eould see that he was preooeu- pied and worried. '--tiij ^ 1 STE. stealing than Yer BUcU a lingB 'thout yer to look out for e picking and jr right. Good ole bones down : ia. Lor' bress 3 cautiously, and i of the sitting- led on the table, number of books ing, he sat with sad and thought- ndow where the oftly pushed Toto the little animal I he stroked and it he was preoccu- w o/^JPPowrMg/yr, 107 of stubborn pride niind«rl ivWi ' '' '"'^ go th It T l'"^ " " "'"'"'•'^ -"'«- to * ■^•iti.A-.-»;j*l!*M*i*-''^ 14 . XIV. MADAME CROIZET's GENEROSITY. MADAME BLUMENTHAL had been unusually feeble for several days, and her dainty labor had been performed under difficulties; a bridal parure of orange blossoms and lilies of the valley, of exceptional delicacy and perfection, had been ordered, and Madame Croizet had requested Louise to spare no pains in its manufacture. Poor little invalid, she had failed perceptibly since she had been deprived of the much-needed tonic. Seraph fretted about it to Romeo, and begged him to try to get the Ducro Elixir, by some means, for her pauvre petite maman, who was suffering for it, and the faithful old servant's heart was wrung with sorrow because he was un- able to comply with his little mistress' request. With all his deceptions and economies, assisted by the generosity of Monsieur Nardi and Cressy, he could scarcely provide necessary nourishment for a feeble invalid and a healthy child, At times io8 ~ ' - ■' •J Sfn e, EROSITY. ad been unusually and her dainty ler difficulties ; a ! and lilies of the nd perfection, had zet had requested manufacture. failed perceptibly : the much-needed it to Romeo, and Ducro Elixir, by le maman, who was liful old servant's >ecause he was un- listress' request, economies, assisted Nardi and Cressy, essary nourishment tiy child. At times ^^^ C/,0,Z£r-S GEJVEJiOSfTy. pain, and it was so exquisitely natural ^ PU-. so delieate, that Uuise hun/o"'," raptured witl, her own work SK„ t 7 ' garlands in a large lZt\ f "^""^ ""^ ^ "*' "asket, among folds of «°ft paper, and was waiting for Ko,„I ,7 them to their destination. Whi e .C ^ T"' ffaypH «« *u , '^"® waited and triumph aid !i h "' *"" '■^' ^''°'^"™'' struggle with I 1 de^nv : r';: '°"^' taken her. Tears nf A I ''*'' o™-" m on the b':rwrL r^""^." ,^'^'' »" I-tily; a drop of ITw mi^ T'!^.:''''" "^^ No, no, she must not weep 1 'T '''*^- for the sake of her chUd sh T "^ ''""■« ;«-t.hersu«ering,r:'t:!::Hx:rn:'r MiS mmmmmm f; I ■■ |! I lo SEHAPN, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. She heard Seraph, in the back room, as far away as she could get, practising her violin exer- cises, scraping, and running trills up and down the strings, from one chord to another, wildly mirthful or wailing sorrowfully. In her present nervous condition she could not endure the sound. It seemed as if the flexible bow was drawn over her tense nerves. It tortured her and almost maddened her, and for the time she felt that she would give anything to be rid of the instniment of her torment. Presently Romeo came to take the basket of flowers. He had been trying to make himself decent; but his carefully preserved coat and best hat bore the unmistakable marks of age and pov- erty. Nevertheless he looked a respectable and reliable old servant who had seen better days. Looking at his mistress, -and seeing the traces of tears, his face worked pitifully, but he said cheerfully: ^ "You's feelin' a lil' down dis mawnm , Miss Louise. It's no use, yer can't git erlong widout dat Jew-crow. Yer mus' have it, an' I's er gwine ter git it fer yer." "Oh, Romeo, you mustn't. I can't spare the y ^r^ i m J ,.y _ r/STE. room, as far ler violin exer- up and down Einother, wildly In her present iure the sound, iras drawn over er and almost le felt that she the instmment the basket of ) make himself d coat and best of age and pov- respectable and jen better days, ng the traces of r, but he said s mawnin', Miss it erlong widout an' I's er gwine can't spare the ■j-v-j^sv A,\'«*i;ai^K M^DMK CKOUET-S CErnxosiTY. , , , money If Madame C^izet .o„,d „„,y „,^ -meth,„g „ore, I „igM ^ ,ye to get a"tt Romeo, ask her if she will «!«..„ more T^ll i, .,.7 T ^ ^^ "« » ""'« ■nore. Tell her that they have been very diffi- cult, and double the work of ordinary flower, U you explain how ill I am, and aak her ve" n! "^ly, I think she will be ge„e:.„s and ;^v^ I" an extra price." ® ® I kn '" ? **''' "'°"'' ^^ ^''^- I'" tell her I knows how ter speak ter a lady, m jes' ,W ow yer done „o. yer p„. ^es olV 1 '' L" Mm flowers, an' she'll gib me more, doan' f^ M» Lo^e, she'll gib me mo., n shoL Ij ^k tb b J" ""^ """'"'""S — »- Komi took the basket and went out Scarcely had Eomeo's footsteps passed out of hearmg when the. was a tap at the door and Consm Fran, entered. He scowled with disj^asl im Hrr bw™"" ^''""•'''' ^"■■» '^' "-" r u . . "'•' ''"""° '"'"' >«« l^tening she would not have played such rollicking notes As .t was. Cons n Fran, felt that the. was a ortt defiance m he light bold strains, and he spoke ™^ sharply as he drew a chair near taise. ^ There she is at it again. Really, it seems as ■^*- <.,■„. ' €^' iv I £ „, S£J>AP». THE LITTLE VIOUmsTE. a the child were possessed with an evil spirit when she gete that violin in her hands. Just then a longJrawn-out, uncanny vrml from the back room made Louise shiver and Cousm Franz almost spring from his seat "They are horrible, the exercises she selects; they are fiendish, they are demoralizing," said Cousm Franz, a hot flush passing over his face .. Oh Franz, don't blame the poor child for the char- acter of the music she plays. She uses her father s old books. I can't afford to buy her new music. "And you allow her to go on scraping and screaming a. though she were a «'«» ravage? "I can't prevent her, really 1 can't. Monsieur Nardi thinks very highly of her playing, and he encourages her to practise, Madame S,. Maxen^ is a friend of our neighbor, and she has promised him to hear Seraph play some time, and the child is so ambitious, she is preparing for it; she is studying every spare moment." "You surely will not allow her to take up th violin. If she once plays to an audience, she will get a taste for it, and it will be impossible to break her of it. Louise, you are making a serious mistake ; you should refuse decidedly." .^f JNISTE. an evil spirit hands." janny wail from iver and Cousin t. she selects; they ng," said Cousin is face. child for the char- e uses her father s er new music." on scraping and little savage?" [ can't. Monsieur : playing, and he idame St. Maxent she has promised iime, and the child ig for it; she is ler to take up the i audience, she will I be impossible to ■e making a serious sidedly." MADAME CROIZET'S GEXEROSITY. j,, "But think, Franz, of the advantage to her in interesting a woman as influential as Madame St Maxent. She must depend, for future success, on the patronage and kindness of the rich." " That is true ; but let her secure that patronage m a dignified and proper way. Let her play the piano. She can display her musical talent as well on the piano as on the violin. You know there IS a feeling against feminine violin-players — some consider it unwomanly, immodest. She never could secure pupils, and do you wish her to go about making a spectacle of herself as something outri and unconventional?" " Oh, Cousin Franz, I think you are extreme in your views. I am told that in other places ladm play the violin. It is quite fashionable. And I am discouraged about the piano. Seraph does not like the piano, and she will never excel on it. I don't know what to do. I feel as though I cannot struggle with her any longer. I am tired and worn out with trying to force her to practise. I feel that I must give up to her and let her take her own course. Oh! I wish some one would decide the matter for me. I wish I could be relieved of all responsibility and uncertainty I SERAPH, THE UTTLE VIOUNISTE. 'I ;!!i i < ! flu I ' I'l' II til I ^' i| • ir not atro^ enough to cope with seraph's determination." i:«,,o«l?" asked .Do yoa really wish to be relieved? a»ked Cousin Franz alertly. " Now, Louise, you are begm Cousin rra. J ^ j^^^^ ^^j j „i„g to be «-»"»"'. ~ ,„„g, ,„d whatever will think of some plan beiore lui.g, Tlav do you will not reproi^h me afterward? ' TISm it is for Seraphs good.and I an. sure ,uL;eheriu.restas™uch.hea..Ih.^^^^^^ "Yes, Louise, trust me , L win a^^ ""moment neither spoke, but the violin -nt „„ wailing and sobbing like the cry of a broken "'m length Cousin Franz arose to go, and a. he toot llise's stained fingers in his, he shpped an Tnvel ; in her hand. " It may help you a U^^ Tsaid kmdly. " You must let me do a for Carl "t^uise said nothing, but dropped her hot f- ■X h.«ds. When she looke^ "^^^^^f ^ ^ unri she was alone. Jusi t-ub" '■:/ okt o„ into such a wildly triumphant ::::iubiLtt strain, that to the grateful invahd-t sremed a song of tha«ksgivmg. ""Si 7 ISTE. with Seraph's lieved?" asked , you are begin- it to me, and I r, and whatever e afterward?" d, and I am sure irt as 1 have." bct for her best , the violin went cry of a broken io go, and as he lis, he slipped an lelp you a little, le do it for Carl's ,ped her hot faxje up, Cousin Franz Just then the wildly triumphant grateful invalid it MADAME CROIZRTS GENEROSITY. n^ « I done tole yer dat Madame Croizet was a fine, gen'rous lady," cried Romeo, entering at that mo^ ment. " Why, Miss Louise, when she foun' out how porely you was, she jes' said, ' Suttenly, Romeo suttenly, yere's two dollars extra fer yer mist'ess.' So I done bought yer bottle of Jew-crow, an' I wish, Miss Louise, yer'd let me take dat oder dollar an' buy dat pore chile a pair o' shoes; her 111' footses is mos' on der groun'." " Blessings never come singly," thought Louise thankfully, as she removed the wrapper from the bottle and prepared to take a spoonful of the much- needed tonic. "Really, I am surprised at Madame Croizefs gen- erosity," she said. -When I asked a little extra for the roses she refused, and now she sends me more than I expected. Yes, Romeo, you can buy the shoes .for Seraph." XV. m I i WITHOUT WINGS. „f+or tVip monev was missing, rpHE next mornmg after the mm y ^ i Monrieur Nardi descended to h« sn P rather nnco,nfortab,e fran,e of ;'"^.-\X;l prted to see €re»y d«»tmg and puttmfc g orfer after her ancient cu.U.m. .^ ^^,., "Why. Cressy, how is this, he asked, with a ptrfed look ^ .1 don't know, raonsiew, he >» "<" think he climbed the fence and went away hu, "twhy, Cressy, you ^rprise me. Why should he go away without telltag «>«' j ^^ink he "I think he wa« afraid, monsieur, was guilty, and he thought you might have him '""oh^Cressv nu. K»ne, you don't think him " Oh, tressy, w« ' ^^ ^^^^^jg ■, ,9" nakpd Monsieur iNarai, guilty, do you? a«Kea faltering as he spoke. runniuK away." «It looks very bad, monsieur, his running it6 jy was missing, his shop in a 1, and was sur- itting things in here is Marc?" is not here; I went away last Why should he ieur; I think he might have him don't think him r Nardi, his voice his running away" WITHOUT WINGS, J uiHiionest. 1 am never mistalcpn ;« «„.ate or owe. a..a M.. C; Z " I am sorrjr to undeceive you, m„„sie„,, b„t nrst time smee I've bppn J« ,,^ ^®" '" youi* Kservice. IVp m.s»e^^f„^ and g^eW.;„„e„„„h ,,:,'„: ■ts true, but just enough to convince n.e tha -me one about here wa, picking and si^aling thTree'- *"' '"'"' '^ "°™* -' '■'» '»-«^ on "Oh, poor child! If 1 thought he took food 17' one who .a, hungry, I could not bUmI hari'k^.^"'' '"''' "''"''""'"-"-"'-houid asked, t s true, but no doubt he was shy and a ta le afra.d. And you must ^member that he h^ never been taught the nice diffe^nces between r.ght and wrong. Why, I daresay he thought t was nght to take from one who has plenty to give to one who has nothing " ' ^ Poor Monsieur Na«ii, i„ his desire to defend s^^^'M^^^ m m Marc. »uda.,.ly found bim^elt «<""">«""8 j ^^ deptU» of a social proble.u, frou. »'"«''' J^ Jed to extricate himself with some con u,.on^ .You know, Creasy. 1 don't mean to »ay that 1 J:: i. woJld he rig,>t. but the child m 1. .«n^ nnce might look at it in that way. I am very S lorried. 1 must try U> find him, poor l.tUe 3 'aid 1 must teach him to a.k for what he "tlfl might venture to advise you, monsieur, I Jlsay'that you had better -t ™. J^!"" .ack. If you do he-1, ->;» /^ -,;-"^ Vt " Thank you, Cressy, but I snau j k „yj„," returned Monsieur Nardi, a httle stiffly, M he took his hat and went out. "hs destination was the leve«, whe,. he hope* to find Patsy, the watchman. After some «»^h. L he came across the old man sitting on a bale of I ton, watching with sorrowful, anx.ous eyes a C s;amer swiftly disappearing around a bend *" **" f ■ • „ mv friend" said Monsieur N«di "Good mornmg, my trienu, "'"'o'ood morning, sir," returned the old n»„ gettfng stiffly to his feet, his watchful eyes stdl STE. dering In the vhicli he has- nie confusion, to say that 1 Id in his igno- y. I am very him, poor little U for what he ou, monsieur, I not bring him more trouble." 11 judge of that , a little stiffly, where he hoped ter some search- sitting on a bale Eul, anxious eyes ig around a bend d Monsieur Nardi ed the old man, mtchful eyes still WITHOUT WINGS. 119 fixed on the spot where only the smoke of tlie ship wa.s visible. " I came down to ask you if you had seen Marc this morning," began Monsieur Nardi cautiously. "There was a little trouble yesterday, — a little misunderstanding,— and the boy might have thought I blamed him. Well, in short, he went away last night without my knowledge, and I want to find him to explain, to talk the matter over. I sup- pose he came to you." "Yes, sir, he come to me; poor little shaver, he was all broke up. He told me about it, about the money bein' took — " "But I didn't accuse him," interrupted Mon- sieur Nardi. "Although circumstances are against him, I caii't think he took it." "He didn't, sir, he didn't. My old life ain't worth much, but I'd stake it on the boy's inno- cence. I never knowed an honester youngster. The fellers used to poke fun at him; when he come across a nickel he was al'ays so sot on findin' an owner for it. Poor little chap! I was right sorry for him. We sot here nearly all night a talkin' of it over. He was cut up to think you s'spected him." mmisi^i I20 «.,x./w. 7/« urru: noumsTS. : l ov.'rh.a>a y.« ,.„.,„v,l w,„„a„ -ay t «t )- h ,■ ni,l.l in your huus-. it yo» l^-ed ... :;;:a uuef. >. i.. K-t t.«k au ut o«t «..c.-ut "'"l didut, Pat-y, 1 .lidn'l." »a>a M.m«e..r Nardi ac.oide.lly. " 1 .-."»t - ''•"" "•"' '^"r""" '""'■ must hav« a tidk with hiu. at ouce. : You cau't, «r-, he- on tlutt EukI.-U »tea„>e,. thaf, iu,t went around the bead. He. on h» way ^'o:rwlytoLive.poo>r•andMo„.e„.Nan,•. «.t down on the cotton bale, a» -uddenly and weakly :iflhadreeeivedablow."Really.th.H.a,hock^ t,„„„ . _ gone away without n>y »eeu.g hnn, without • , l,im 1 and I had so nu.eh to say to hnn. convnuuni; Uun '. ana ii»" :„,.„rtea I intended to take hhn home w.th n,e. I mtended to show him that I had confidence m Imn. 1 » » ^ disappointment; I Uked the boy, Patsy, I bked "^'^ he was that fond of yon, sir, an' all them hooks, that it most broke the little feller, heart to go off an' leave it all." rrsTR. , \w sliould iu)t I ht' think ho?" an Hay that y<)>» . couldn't Hleep ^ou b'lieved »it' lit out aeeret . -I ' Monsieur Nardi convince him. 1 !e. Englinh steamer He's on his way d Monsieur Nardi denly and weakly illy, this is a shock, seing him, without leh to say to him. h me. 1 intended ice in hhn. U's a boy, Patsy, I liked u, air, an all them tie feller's heart to wiTHoar WINGS. til " But wl, (lid he go MO soon ? Why didn't he wait to .stw mc?" " Well, you sec, .sir, if thcre'.s one thing in crea- tion them little wharf rats i.s afraid of, it's copiM-rs. They're brought up to be afraid of 'efn '(.ause they knows they'll be run in f,>r mos' nothin', an' Marc »••' tbought you might have Imu "rested on s'.spicion, so he lit out, an' he had a (irst-rate chance. The <"il>in-boy on that ship didn't turn up this mornin'. They didn't want to put to sea without one, so I spoke a good wor.1 for Marc, an' they took me right up. The little lad was down in the mouth to go off so sudden like, but he's got plenty o* Hand, he has, an' he'll chirp up an' be as chipper as a bird 'fore he gits to the Gulf." "When do you think he will be back?" asked Monsieur Nardi, in a trenudous voice. "Oh, nobody can't tell that. He might come back on the same ship, an' he might conclude to stay over there." " Well, I must find some means of communicat- ing with the boy. I must try to induce him to come back. I can't give him up. Thank you, Patsy, for your information," and Monsieur Nardi walked away with bent head and uncertain steps, 122 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOUNISTE. - It seemed as if he were suddenly surrounc'ed with the ruins of his shattered hopes. «0h, mamma, I've some good news for you," cried Seraph, one morning, rushing joyously mto her mother's room. "Madame St. Maxent and Monsieur Maurice are coming to-morrow to hear me play. Uncle 'Nidas has arranged it all. What shall I wear? I must look nice, and I must prac- tise all day to-day. Yes, mamma, you must let me have all day." « My dear child, you are making me suffer too much," cried Louise piteously. "Only last evening I promised Cousin Franz to insist on your resummg your practice on the piano. He was here after you went to bed, and lectured me severely because I allowed you to play for Monsieur Nardi. Now, listen a moment, darling, and be reasonable. Won t you help your poor little mother to keep her promise to Cousin Franz? You know how good he is. He is denying himself to help us, and it is for your own interest to give up the violin. Seraph, wont you listen to me? Won't you give it up?" " I can't, mamma, I can't," cried the child passion- ately. "I couldn't live without my violin. It is niiiirirgi mbmV nmmtmmitr:.- OUNISTE. , - y surrounc'ed with »d news for you," ihing joyously into ; St. Maxent and to-morrow to hear mged it all. What e, and I must prac- la, you must let me king me suffer too "Only last evening 3t on your resuming 3 was here after you severely because I isieur Nardi. Now, e reasonable. Won't r to keep her promise tiow good he is. He , and it is for your ^iolin. Seraph, won't 1 give it up?" ried the child passion- )ut my violin. It is WITHOUT WINGS. 123 all I have to make me happy, to lift me up, up to Jie sky. I should be like a bird without win/ >namma. Think what a bird would be without wings' ^"Ppose it could only crawl and creep in the sliadows, and never fly in the .sunlight. Don't you /../, mamma, that I can't give up my violmV' " Yes, my darling, I fed it, and that is why I suffer so ; but let me tell you something. Long ago I felt as you do. I felt that 1 could not give "P my singing; I struggled against my dear mother's wishes, until at last she yielded to me. I was wrong. Seraph, look at me; I am the poor maimed bird without wings." The child's face grew pale, and her eyes filled with tears. "Yes, mamma, I know; but your mother did not do it." "No my mother did not do it, but I disobeyed her, and I was punished. I was deprived of my wings." ^ "Poor mamma!" sobbed Seraph, clinging to her mothers neck and Icissing her. "I Wt disobey you agam. I „•« study the piano ever, day I can do both, I can play on both; only allow me to praot.se my violin to-day, because Uncle 'Nidas has promised for me. Say yes, j,MU numm, and you ,J4 SEKAPH. THE UTTLE VIOUmSTE. Win see how good I can te." And Seraph wi^ away her tear, and went hurriedly to get her v.ohn, while her mother was in a relenting mood. With eager, trembling hands she raised the cover o{ the case. It was empty, the violin was gone. UNISTE. nd Seraph wiped ' to get her violin, ;ing mood. e raised the cover violin was gone! XVI. THE WOUNDED BIRD. TX^HEN Seraph opened the violin case and saw that it was empty, she flew to her mother, and clutching her fiercely by the shoulder, cried in a voice of passionate resentment, "Mamma, where is my violin ? Tell me where it is ! " For the first time poor Louise cowered under the searching look of her child, and her face crimsoned with a feeling akin to guilt, but with a desperate effort to be calm and decided she said firmly : "Seraph, you are forgetting yourself. You are not respectful. Control your temper, and I will answer you. Cousin Franz must have taken the violin with him last e aning. I did not know it was gone, but I knew that he intended to sell it." " Oh, mamma, how could you ? " exclaimed Seraph, her wide eyes full of dismay. " How could you sell papa's violin? How could you?" "I did not wish to, my child. It hurts me a« deeply as it hurts you," faltered Louise j "but "S . ijiis^**^'' ^^ SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. Cousin Franz insisted. He ma^e me feel that it was my duty; but I did not think he intended to do it just yet. I did not know he intended to Uke it last night." , . , . • u* «It was gone last night! He took it last night, and I thought it was there in its little bed! Oh, mamma! what can I do?" And she wrung her hands and looked at her mother appealingly. «My darling, don't look that way; dont take on so; be calm, be reasonable,^ pleaded Louise. « It is not so serious. It is not a living thing. « It is a living thing to me, mamma. It is more than a Uving thing. 1 can't tell you, I can't ex- plain hoio I feel about it. Oh, mamma ! he took it only last night. Perhaps he has not sold it yet ; perhaps he still has it. I must go to him and beg him to give it back to me." « My dear child, it will be useless. Your Cousm Franz has decided to sell it, and he is not one to change easily. I know it is useless to go to him. " It is not ; I will go," she cried, angrily stamp- ing her little foot. " It is mine; he has no right to take my violin and sell it. I wiU go to him and tell him so." " Seraph, you forget that Cousm Franz has a JNISTE. me feel that it k he intended to I intended to take took it last night, 8 little bed ! Oh, d she wrung her appealingly. way; don't take ''■ pleaded Louise, a living thing." imma. It is more II you, I can't ex- mamma 1 he took as not sold it yet; go to him and beg jless. Your Cousin id he is not one to jless to go to him." sried, angrily stamp- e; he has no right I will go to him Jousin Franz has a THE WOUNDED BIRD. 127 right ; he is your guardian. It was your father s wish that he should take care of us. We have no one else to depend upon. I implore you not to rebel against Cousin Franz's authority." " Mamma, I am going to him, and if he has the violin, I shall make him give it to me," repeated Seraph firmly. " I shall not come away without it." " Oh, my child, I beg of you, do nothing rash," pleaded Louise weakly, while Seraph, her face white and resolute and her eyes aflame with a sense of wrong and injustice, prepared to face her stern Cousin Franz. "Mamma, I shall tell Cousin Franz the truth. You know it is not right to rob me that way, and he knows it. He should have told me that he intended to sell it. Now, mamma dear, don't fret; I mmt go. I will walk as quickly as I can, and if I get the violin, I shall fly back. If it is not gone, he must let me have it, at least until I have played for Madame St. Maxent." It was quite a long walk from St. Louis Street to Grande Route St. John, where Cousin Franz lived, but Seraph did not feel the distance. So fear- ful was she of being too late, that she ran breath- lessly the greater part of the way, and when she 11'. • f r , 28 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. reached the gate and rang, she could hardly wait for the servant to open it. Madame Arnet was sitting on the gallery busy with her needlework, when Seraph, her face flushed and her eyes eager and anxious, rushed hurriedly up the steps, saying as she came, " Bon jour, Con- sin Rachel ; please can I see Cousin Franz, now, directly ? "Why, Seraph, what is the matter? What has happened?" asked Madame Arnet, with as much animation as she was capable of showmg. |' Dear child, you are so excited. Is it bad news? " I want to see Cousin Franz at once, msisted Seraph curtly and decidedly. "Can I go to his studv « He is not in his study ; he has gone out," replied Madame Arnet, with irritating calmness. -Perhaps you can sit down, my dear, and tell me what has happened." _ , "No, no, Cousin Rachel, I can't sit down; only tell me, did he take my violin with him; has he- has he sold it?" «0h, the violin. Mr. Arnet has been for some time bargaining with the purchaser; he thought it important to get the most possible. 1 thmk he jimrora UNI ST E. could hardly wait the gallery busy h, her face flushed , rushed hurriedly , " Bon jour, Cou- lousin Franz, now, latter? What has let, with as much f showing. "Dear bad news?" at once," insisted "Can I go to his 18 gone out," replied almness. " Perhaps d tell me what has an't sit down; only vith him; has he — has been for some tiaser; he thought it ossible. 1 think he THE IVOUNDED BIRD. 129 took it to the man last night. He didn't brine it home M-ith him. He ha, gone now to take your mamma the money -a nice ,„m, which I hope she will use prudently. Mr. Araet is denying himself a great many neces-sary books in order to help your mother. I trust that you appreciate his kindness as you should." Seraph did not hear the last part of Madame Arnets friendly remarks. With a heartbroken cry, she threw herself down on the step, and buried her face ,n her hands, while her little shoulders Shook with sobs. "Why, child, what are you crying about? I thought you would be thankful for the money " And Madame Arnet rose calmly, and laying down her work, went slowly toward the little weeper, with a puzzled look on her stolid face. "Dear me I wish Mr. Arnet was here. I don't know what 'to do with such an excitable child." Happily for her, at that moment Cousin Franz arrived. With a gentleness and tenderness quite unexpected in one so apparently severe and cold, he lifted Seraph's tearful face, and said kindly, Come, my child, .come with me into my study T want to Ulk with you calmly and reasonably, and Hi f , 30 SERAPH. THE LITTLE llOUNISTE. I think lean convince you tlmt 1 have don. what was best. I have just left your moth.r; nhe « very unhappy. We must try to make her £eel better." 1 1 Ta u .Oh, Cousin Franz, is it too -too late? Is it really sold?" cried Seraph, gn«ping his hand des- '^'J'yII' it is sold, and »e cannot get it back. Now, Seraph, sit down and let me reason with ''""But, dear Cousin Franz, if you should go to the man who bought it. and tell him that it wa. all a little girl had, that-that it was her dead papa's. Oh, if you will tell him how unhappy I L, I think -I am sure -he will g.ve it back. "Impossible, my dear; it is a business transaction „t importance. It is a very old and very rare violin. A dealer has been for some time trying to buy it for a customer, and I have spent much t.nie and made great efforts to get the price I asked^ At last I have closed the bargam, delivered the violin, and received the money. It is too lat^ now. "But why did you take it without my knowmg it? Why didn't you let me say good by to it / "Seraph, I thought it best. I wished to spare rsTE. avc dono what lotlicr; she is make her feel )o late? Is it his hand des- »t get it back, le reason with Li should go to lim that it was b was her dead how unhappy I 11 give it back." liness transaction and very rare le time trying to spent much time e price I asked, dn, delivered the , is too late now." lout my knowing rood by to it?" I wished to spare Tf/E WOUNDED BIRD. '31 you sorrow, or, to he exact, I wished to spare my- self sorrow. I a„, not hard-hearted, my detir child ; I am not making you suffer willingly. I know you loved your father's violin ; I, too, love everything that belonged to him ; for that reason I am trying to help you to make your life happy and useful. There are times in our lives when we niust suffer, and not always for ourselves alone, but for the welfare of others. You are so young that perhaps you cannot understand how sweet and holy it may be to suffer for others. You love your poor afflicted mother, do you not, Seraph?" " Oh, Cousin Franz, you know how I love mamma. You knox^r she replied reproachfully, as if a doubt were a wrong to her. "Then, my dear, are you not willing to suffer a little, m order to give her some comfort, to ease her poor anxious mind, to save her a few hours' toil ? to provide those little necessities which give her strength and life? By depriving yourself of a pleasure, and one which is a doubtful good, you are adding years, perhaps, to your mother's life Thmk It over, my child ; look at it calmly and dispassionately from my point of view, and then tell me if you regret the sacrifice." bp*"" ,32 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLISISTE. Poor little Seraph ! She wan very young 1« have the burden of such a decision laid upoii her, but she grappled with it heroically. She grasped the beautiful truth, dimly and incompletely, F^^^P^' but it comforted her. It was cruel, -it was heart- breaking to give up so much of her life, but for her mother she felt able to do it. And Cousin Franz comforted himself with the thought that he had acted wisely, and that in the end his little j>ro Franz bade her up and smiled 'ranz. I think I it for mamma's t swift as she re- She began to be her wings; that XVII. V PEACH BLOSSOMS. WHEN Seraph returned home, she went directly to her mother, and putting l,er arms around the poor little invalid, said sweetly, and with no trace of her former passionate emotion, - Mamma forgive me for being so angry. Cousin Franz has made me feel how wrong I was. He has made me understand why I cannot have my violin I will give it up and try to forget it, and I will do everything I can to help you, and make you happy. I wil practise the piano, and try to make it take the place of my violin." "Oh, my darling, my darling!" was all Louise could say, as she kissed the pale little face, grown so suddenly mature and thoughtful. " Now, chlre petite maman, you feel better, don't you ? You will see what a good child I can be when 1 try. I must go to Uncle 'Nidas and tell him that I can't play for Madame St. Maxent to- morrow." »33 i'.\ ,34 s/:h-Am ri/a UTTLE VIOUNISTE. The effort of 8elf-control in the soft little voice made LouiseH heart ache, and had hIic been able, she would have gladly wipe,! out the preceding twenty-four hours, and made her child happy aguui. But it was too late ; nhe had been taught her first bitter lesson of submission and reuunciation, and nothing could obliterate the iuipression it had made on her plastic mind. Neither was Uncle 'Nidas very happy these days. He missed Marc sorely. The boy had really grown into his heart, even in so short a time ; but it was not only in his affections that he was wounded : his amour provre had suffered a severe shock, he was disappointed in himself. He felt, for some reason, that he had not managed well, and there was some remorse mingled with his regret. He had not had the courage of his convictions, he had taken the boy on his own responsibility, on his own estimate and at the first little circumstance he had doubted his own ability to judge the boy's character. For in his heart he was uncertain and fluctuating. At times he thought him innocent, at times guilty. Marc had felt it, and with the just pride of inno- cence, as well as the fear of being wrongfully pun- ished, had taken himself away beyond the reach fSTE. oft little voice hUc been able, tho preceding 1(1 happy again, taught her first uimciatiuii, and on it had made ippy these days, lad really grown ime; but it was as wounded : his e shock, he was for some reason, there was some He had not had 3 had taken the lis own estimate, I he had doubted s character. For I fluctuating. At at times guilty, ist pride of inno- l wrongfully pun- beyond the reach PEA a/ n/.ossoAfs. 135 of reparation, and he, his would-bo benefactor, had lost all ehance of doing the eliild justice. This worried the kind-hearted, sensitive old gen- tieman not a little, and cause ful as Madge, and she promised me a new frock H!:.'i ill »i««mw»te.M,»«n,...,.;„..p....,^ | .„,,, ll ,^.yi^^,^^.^^^^ ^ ^^^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ■K n 1 >-*ST:M!Kr. :f ;e 138 SEXAP//, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. as a reward. So, i^efiVe maman, you must not blame me if I don't sing and laugh aB much as I used to do." After that, for several days, Seraph spent all ot lier spare time in the little garden. She seemed to be very busy over some new project, and there was a great deal of mysterious whispering with Romeo when he came in to sweep and dust. One morning, just as the dawn flushed pink in the east, and the objects in the little garden came out clearly one by one. Seraph stole out of her room on to the gallery, holding a small basket full of peach blossoms. Slipping softly down the steps, s)ie tapped at Romeo's door. A low implor- ing muttering within told that the old man was at his morning's devotions. He was " 'ras'lin' with the sperit," as he termed it. The child listened a moment to his gloomy, self-accusing words ; he was evidently in the throes of penitence, and his highly colored expressions made her tremble and shrink away : Romeo's religion was not a cheerful emotion. With a saddened heart she turned from the door and sat down on the steps, holding her blossoms, but not looking at them. She seemed to be think- ing of something else. . if; .■.•;Sff*!C^!T L. ^- 'assaatgEjti WISTE. you must not ;h a& much as I h spent all of her >he seemed to be and there was a ing with Romeo list. I flushed pink in ttle garden came stole out of her a small basket softly down the r. A low implor- ;he old man was jvas " 'ras'lin' with le child listened a ig words ; he was ice, and his highly erable and shrink I cheerful emotion, led from the door ling her blossoms, eemed to be think- PEACH BLOSSOMS. 139 Presently Romeo hobbled out, his woe-begone old face drawn and haggard in the morniuK light. "Bress yer heart, honey, is yer up a'ready an' waitin' fer dat ole step-ladder?" " Yes, Romeo ; I'm waiting, and hurry, please' I want the tree to be in bloom when mamma gets up ; then she Avill be happy all day." Romeo hobbled away, and bringing the step-ladder, placed it beside the tree. Then Seraph climbed to the very top of it, and, with dextrous, nimble lingers, began tying to the brown branches the pretty pale blossoms, which she had made very naturii: f ora scraps of muslin left from her mothe. ., jrk. When the sun peeped into the garden, the little peach tree seemed to blush under its affluence of bloom. And Monsieur Nardi, looking out of his window, thought to himself how suddenly and beautifully the tree had put forth. An hour later when Madame Blumenthal lifted her tired, dull eyes to the window, she exclaimed joyously, " Look, Seraph, the peach tree is in bloom. How suddenly spring has come ! " And a mocking- bird, no wiser than the invalid, dropped down on Pi py\ '^^'^-»-vBm3ms,mmii^^am:i4isi^mmiimmt^ii^&imm-iitmi&-.-- ...;-, W^-'»X*»" n ,40 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. a flowering branch and poured out a thrilling song, a Bong of life and joy, and poor little Louise felt a sudden upspringing of hope and happiness. But Seraph slipped away to her own little room, and sat there, thinking deeply, with the marmoset hugged to her heart. i?5K:r:^S3S'B!E»iaWSF;.^*S*"*'* ''■'"'■' '" (,W^-'»X*J6»f ■' ■titHPi, MINISTE. it a thrilling song, little Louise felt a happiness, ir own little room, yith the marmoset XVIII. seraph's secret. QERAPH and Madge had seen so little of each ^ other that they were scarcely acquainted, for Madame Arnet had not encouraged any intimacy between the frivolous little violin player and her sedate and obedient daughter. But now that Seraph had reformed, as it were, under Cousin Franz's excellent advice, and had become studious and submissive, the minister's wife no longer objected to their meeting each other at proper intervals. Occasionally Seraph was invited to tea, or Madge was allowed to spend a few hours in the little cottage on St. Louis Street. During these short and infrequent meetings the children had, like the busy bee, « improved each shining hour," and made rapid strides toward a close friendship. Seraph had no intimates of her own age, and it was delightful to find in the quiet, gentle little Madge so sympathetic a recipient of her small confidences. 141 ilij« 142 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. One day they were nestled together in an arbor, in the garden on the Grande Route St. John, chair tering as fast as their active little tongues could fly. Madge was unusually animated, and Seraph extremely emphatic. " If you're sure, Madge," Seraph wafi saying, " that you can keep a secret, I will tell you; for I must tell some one, and I don't dare tell mamma or Uncle 'Nidas, and sometimes I feel so guilty, so wicked, keeping this to myself, and letting another be blamed. I'd like to tell you, Madge. I'd like to ask you what I ought to do, if you're sure you'll never tell." " I'm not a tell-tale. Seraph. You can trust me," returned Madge firmly. "On your honor?" " Yes, on my honor," and she crossed her plump little fingers, binding herself solemnly by that mystic sign. Then Seraph pressed her soft cheek so close to Madge's fawn-colored head, and whispered so low, that a saucy blue-jay hidden among the vines could not distinguish a word of Seraph's confession; neither a word of Madge's comments. There were only little half-audible exclamations sus-AAmMsikaiMAi-^A-^'^^ A'- ■ UN 1ST E. jther in an arbor, ite St. John, chatr tongues could fly. d Seraph extremely I vvafi saying, " that 1 you; for I must 1 mamma or Uncle guilty, so wicked, 2tting another be [adge. I'd like to you're sure you'll You can trust me," ! crossed her plump solemnly by that t cheek so close to . whispered so low, Dng the vines could eraph's confession ; ments. udible exclamations SERAPH'S SECRET. M3 from Seraph of " Oh, do you think so ? How can I ? Oh, Madge, I can't ; I must wait ; I can't, I can't," and then some imperative, urgent sentences from Madge. « You must, Seraph, it's right ; you must do it. I couldn't rest if I were you. I couldn't •sleep at night with tlmt on my conscience. You must. Seraph; you must." '' If you think I ought, I'll try," said Seraph, in a faltering, irresolute voice. " Yes, try. It won't be so hard when you make up your mind. Oh dear! I wonder why it is so easy to do wrong, and so hard to do right," said Madge reflectively. "Seraph, you wouldn't think that I had a secret, would you ? " "No, I wouldn't; have you?" asked Seraph alertly, her eyes sparkling with sudden interest . ''Oh, Madge! do tell me! I hope it's not such a dreadful one as mine." "Well, I don't think I'm doing right," returned Madge honestly. " I am afraid I am deceiving papa and mamma, although they never exactly told me that I shouldn't do it." "Oh, Madge! do tell me what it is!" cried Seraph anxiously. " I'U cross my fingers if you want me to." 144 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. \% \ " I think you may as well," said Madge cautiously, "then I'll know I'm safe. You see papa intends me to be a professor of German when I grow up. He thinks I like German, but I don't ; I hate it." And Madge let her voice fall and looked around nervously at a slight noise. It was only the curious blue-jay trying to hear what she was saying. " And I don't mean to teach it," she added with calm deliberation. "I have decided to be a milliner. The only thing I lorn to do is to make dolls' hats. I make them for all the girls in school, and mamma doesn't know it. I have no dolls, because papa and mamma think it a foolish waste of time, but I'll tell you how I manage to make the hats. I ask to come out here to study my German. I study awhile, else, you see, I should be telling a falsehood," exclaimed Madge, with care- ful diplomacy, " and after I have finished my lessons I make my dolls' hats. I will show you," and ris- ing from her seat, she parted the shrubbery and drew forth a small covered basket. " All my things are in this. I hide it here so that no one can find it." Then she laid out before Seraph's admiring eyes a number of tiny hats made with considerable skill, VM)UiMi.a.. l ..j! 5 a i Jt«AW'itii'' '!-- W. W^ 4:-i;j!:g g~«fafa>~i^''^ lUNISTE. I Madge cautiously, , see papa intends I when I grow up. don't; I hate it." ind looked around ■jay trying to hear lon't mean to teach beration. "I have »nly thing I /o«e to ke them for all the ti't know it. I have la think it a foolish I how I manage to 1 out here to study se, you see, I should id Madge, with care- 2 finished my lessons show you," and ris- the shrubbery and Let. '* All my things 40 that no one can raph's admiring eyes th considerable skill, SEKAPII'S SECRET. »«§ and as modish as though they had com- from a milliner's show window. "They're lovely!" said Seraph, looking at each one approvingly. "Where do you get the ribbon and flowers?" " The girls give them to me to pay for the hats I make for them, and sometimes I sell one, and, on my way to school, T buy things myself. Now you know my secret. I intend to keep on making dolls' hats until I am out of school and am old enough to make big ones. By and by I mean to have a shop on Royal Street, with a large wandovy full of hats, feathers, and flowers," and Madge's light eyes sparkled mildly at its imagined beauty. "Oh, Madge, I am so glad that you intend to do that," cried Seraph joyfully. "We can have a shop together, and I can make the flowers. I'm learning now from mamma. If I can't play the violin, I mean to make flowers ; for I know I shall never love the piano, and you must love your instru- ment to learn to play it well. I mean to try it with all my heart. I promised joe^ife maman that I would try ; but, Madge, by and by they will see that I can't and then they will leave off making me practice. I'm wearing my finger tips off and straining my (I It miimm^ \^ if , n i. i!i ] I; ■ ill* ,46 Sf-:A'.-IP//, THE LITTLE VWUNISTE. handH for nothing, an.l CoiiHm Fran^ ami all of them will find it out by ami by." ^ ^ -Poor Seraph!" said Madge pityingly; "I know how you feel. 1 feel junt the name about German, only / don't Hhow it. I've made up my mmd to be a milliner, but until the time comes no one but you will know it." , ,, . " Yes, well keep it a secret," agreed Seraph, and I'll learn all 1 can from mamma, and sometime we 1 have a big shop like Madame Croi/.et's, and you an.l I will sit behind the glass partition, - you makmg hats, and I making flowers, and cAtr. v^t\ie,mman iust looking on and doing nothing; and, Madge, I will buy another violin, and in the evenmg I will play for you and mamma." At that moment approaching steps warned the little conspirators. Madge hastened to conceal her basket, and Seraph's small face put on an expres- sion of patient submission which seemed to say, MVe bide our time. We are two little clipped, caged birds; we mean to be good and docile now but our plans for the future are secretly made, and we bide our time to break loose from our prisons and spread cur wings in freedom." That same evening Monsieur Nardi sat alone m NISTE. 'luu an(' all of ingly; "I know ! about German, up my mind to juies no one but Bed Seraph, " and id sometime we'll et'w, and you and )ii, — you making here petite mnman g ; and, Madge, I le evening I will steps warned the led to conceal her )ut on an expres- 1 seemed to say, two little clipped, (d and docile now, secretly made, and from our prisons [1. Nardi sat alone in SEKAP//'S SECKET. '47 ills room behind the shop, absorbed in reading a let- ter. It was from the steward of the ship with whom Marc had saiUnl as cabin boy, and was in iinswer to one the old bookseller had Well I will tell them the truth. I will not be an accomplice." During a lesson, preparatory to an interview with Cousm Franz, Professor Vortman asked Seraph some sunple, practical questions. "Do you love music, mademoiselle?" "Yes, monsieur, I We music; but I dislike the piano. 154 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VWUNISTE. Why, then, if you dislike the piano, do you study it?" . , because Cousin Franz and mamma wish me **«Why do you dislike the piano, my childj" -I don't know, monsieur; 1 can't explam." *^ Ah, mademoiselle, that is not reasonable. Give me a reason, please." , +i o+ "Well, monsieur, I love the violm; perhaps tliat is why I dislike the piano." «I understand. The violin is your instrument. Do you not know that it is wasting time to study an instrument you dislike?" "Ye,, monsieur, / know it, but Cousin Franz and mamma do not. "Have you a violin?" ^ -No, monsieur, I have none; I had papas, but Cousin Franz thought best to sell it." " And you practised a great deal on it . "Oh, yes; every day; and I was always happy when I had my violin." u Yes, yes ; I understand," and the professoi weno away, thinking deeply. The next day Professor Vortman brought his violin. The violin was his favorite instrument also, A*JS^^':»fei^!«,'i,5t„-i. W/STE. i piano, do you lamina wish me ), my child?" n't explain." reasonable. Give )lin; perhaps that your instrument, g time to study an Cousin Franz and I had papa's, but 11 it." leal on it?" was always happy i the professoi wenc rtman brought his rite instrument also, SEHAPirs PA'OFESSOH. »S5 and handing Seraph a roll of music, he .said, '^See It here is something you can play." She selected a sonata, and went througli it in a manner that astonished the professor "Very good! excellent! My little friend, let me congratulate you. I have found your soul -it is m the violin." "Thank you, monsieur," said Seraph, tears start- |ng to her eyes, and her face warm and tremulous wth emotion. "I know it; but I can't convince tousm Franz and mamma." "See here, my good friend," cried Professor Vor man, entering Cousin Franz's study rather ab- ruptly, " I thought you had some sensibility, some conscience. See what a task you have set me to do. You expect me to teach a bird to burrow like a mole, a butterfly to creep like a snail. You expect me to change nature itself, and I de- cteV'"'''''^'"''""''"^^°'^"^^^-^'^ "Why Vortman, what do you mean?" asked Cousm Franz, turning quickly in his chair, and looking at the professor, surprised and alarmed friend T ""' ''''"' ''^*^^' "^^^^^ honest friend. You are wise in your own conceit, but in nil _'l' t*-"*S!9B'IS'2S.if*aft*ii V i 'f ' Rill ,56 :S£W«/, TUB LITTLE VIOLWISTE. reality you are a, ignorant and blind as an earth- worm.' ^ »» ..What have I done? Prove what you assert, exclaimed Cousin Fran., with a troubled expression. Ah, you may a3 well plead guilty," and Professor Vortmans sarcastic face relaxed in a gr.m smde ..You have tried to fetter a little soul; you have tried to force genius to express itself by your . „ v™, have tried to do what methods, in your way. You have tnea the Creator alone can do. The wmd "oweth j.here it listeth, and the Supreme cannot be bound by any laws or devices of man. Stop persecuting that adorable little ^0%^ of yours. Take h« awj from the piano. She will "^y- """«"; chord of true music from that instrument. Allow her to express herself in h- own way and you and perhaps the world, will be_ ast«n«hed at her power, her passion, her genma." _.: lM^*iifBffSAjfi WISTE. nd as an earth- bat you assert," ,ubled expression. ly," and Professor n a grim smile. soul; you have itself by your tried to do what nd bloweth where be bound by any persecuting that Take her away er bring out one nstrument. Allow vn way, and you, astonished at her XX. A DILEMMA. jyj^OST unexpectedly Cousin Fran^ was faced by a very trying dilemma. Ho hated extremely tt>rh . ; f ""•"" '" "'^ "™°«^ *° '•Omit that he had been mistaken in his pet theories of l^nng and training the young, that after all h,s secret self-laudation he lacked discernment and mtelhgence; and, on the other hand, he had too much respect for Professor Vortman's honesty and ability to d-scredit his decision, besides, he did not w.sh to bestow a charity that was of no benefit to the recipient. In short, he did not wish to Z'^L^C" ""' ""■''' *" °' ■'° '"'"- «-d After thinking the matter over seriously, and "«k.ng at ,t from eveiy ^int of ,fe„, J;^ ^ long interview with Louise and the professor, dur- >ng which he tried to fortify his position by former arguments; but at length, fearing that Professor Vortman would resign his position as instructor. «57 m . h' ,58 S,^'"-''. THE LITTLE yWUmsTE h, yielded with a, g<»d a grace - P-'j^-'' ^f^ decLd, with the eo„.»t of her -^^- ^^ I SeranhV musical education entirely t« the d'*'^"'"' He professor, to be co„duct«i by lum — - l suited his intelligeuce and his pup.lsab.hty. ^ta she ha, no violin;' said Louise reg.f J. .1 am so «,rry it was ..eccssary '<> -"^-'^ "It wm necessary," retur..ed Cousm Frau^ dec M 'ird a very wise and reasonable proceed., g. a child to pract.se on. A cheaper on "!!au, but I have not the means U. get her a ""r;:: Vo-an's interest in «s pup^sn^tl.d .„.y even that obstacle, ^f — l^^aid the special conference, she new ^rl:"^d::••T:criedioyfully.a«ainshe Oh, uncie u Cousin Franz and .iv«a^*«»^w^«s#*»«^^*^«**«^ / "■• TSLMroWllllKifak-, INISTE. as possible, and moUier, to leave to the discretion by him exactly as pupil's ability. Louise regretfully. to sell Carl's." ousin Franz decid- onable proceeding, an instrument for per one will do as jans to get her a \ his pupil smoothed idemoiselle can use aer own," he said. 5 favorable result of to Monsieur Nardi 1 joyfully; again she "Cousin Franz and sssor Vortman, and I m. iteamk! I am happy A DILEMMA. »59 tor you. You have been so good and patient. Now see the reward." " Mah, Cher oncle," and the happy little face clouded for a moment, "how can I play with- out papa's violin? Another will not seem the sune." » " Vrai, vrai, chSne ; but you must try to get used to another. There are some fine violins for sale here in the shops, although they are not genuine Guarnierii, as your father's was." " Yes, Uncle 'Nidas, I know there are good ones. There is one I like in a little shop on Rue Royale. I have been there often to look at it, and Madame la marchande has let me play on it, and she says the bow is a vrai Tourte de Pans. You know tliey are the best. One must have a good bow as well as a good violin; but, cher oncle, I can't have that one. Mamma is not rich enough to buy it for me. I can only use Professor Vortman's, and I can never love a borrowed violin." " Bah, hah, petite ! why not ? You love a borrowed marmoset ; iiest ce pas f " " Ah, but Toto isn't the same as a violin. I love Toto dearly, I like to borrow him, and I forget that he IS not mine; but a violin, ah! that is not a ■.y , You see IcouWnt love a borrow..! marmoset. loii f^ii- ^ « Tluit is tin' ,voll aH I love my own. iHat is in' mamma as* well as i luv j wav I feel about a violin. ,. J^ , ^ J .,«,! . vpH T understand. " Yps ves, 1 understand you, yes, i uim Then a Ja " raaiance -hone over Mo„,ieu. N.r,., . pll:, oM face and he laugUea n.e.ny, "0., o.. ,. that vou should have an mstrument iTaasl her ir.he.m receive ™eth»eve„„>« ^rrr^'rwm:\'-..e.uhe,^io.c ,„„, dear UnCe •Nidas, although she never . L;„nehuto„rco««n.h^a„....^-^^^^ obliged to remain m her chair all day, «« J ■"■■n t love a borrowed own. * That is the yes, I understand." ver Monsieur Nardi s , merrily, "Out, oul, id me. Uncle 'Nidas. that 1 am foolish to , and I can't help it." link 1 could convince 1 have an instrument on her. Suppose you ceive me this evening r she'll be glad to sec liough she never sees •ause she is lame and ir all day ; but 1 know md ask her." aft-footed as a gazelle. I full of joyous life. I" radiant and breathless*. ,a says she will be hapf\i it; for her pale, sick face A D/LEA/AiA, I6l w^ts bright all over. She want.s to thank you for boing so good to us. Professor Vortman will leave Ins violin, and I will play you a new fantaisic he brought me, and -and we shall bo happy again. Only poor Marc will not be here; I wish he would come back now that you know -"and her voice m to a whisper. She felt that there was a grave secret between her and her old friend which must be respected. " Yes, my child, I wish he would come back • I «han t be quite at ease until he does. I am trying to mduce the men on the English ships to search for hnn when they return to Liverpool, by offering them a reward to bring him back. Patsy is as much interested as I am, and he is doing all he can I think we shall see Marc again. I think he will return, when he knows how much I wish it." " Then we will forget how unhappy we have been since he went away, and everything will be just as It was, won't it?" she asked, a little anxiously. ^'Certamly, chh-ic, certainly; all will be the same." ''Ala honne heme ! Now I must go and practise ; 1 am folk with joy. No more piano, no more jan- ghng over hard keys. Look at my fingers, cher ancle; j^,j©(^»SliS<^'s*^''i»"*'=''-" rtin,V>iti'.-ri'riilf-n^,''te*l 1 63 SKh'Ar/f, THE LITTIE llOUMSTH. they are alive now, all alive. You shall hear what music 1 (Uin make, (iood by till ev»!uiug." And she ran off with sueh a merry laugh that it, warmed the heart of the old bookseller, who stood looking after her with a puzzled expression. " Dear me; how annoying!" he thought. "I d "Oh, madame! Have you? Is it gone?" and i68 SKKAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. the sharp note of sorrow in Seraph's voice showed how deeply she felt its loss. " Yes, ma chire, it is gone. I closed the bargain two days ago. It had to be cleaned and put in order before my customer took it. Oh, it was beautiful in a brand-new case. I got a good price for it, so I threw in the case. A fine rosewood lined with blue velvet. I wish you could have seen it. The dear violin looked so rich in such an elegant case." Seraph stood silent for a moment, her little fa«e full of keen disappointment. While it was there, she felt somewhat as though it belonged to her, but now she could have no part nor lot with it in its prosperity of a new owner and a velvet-lined case. It was gone, and she must not even say that she was sorry. At length she said, a little reluctantly, however, " Well, madame, I'm glad you have found a customer, but — but I'm sorry it's not here. I'm sorry I can't play on it again." « So am I, cUre petite. I never heard a little girl play so beautifully, and I know I shall never hear another. Unfortunately I was obliged to let it go. I needed money, voilh tout; but I shall often be longing to hear you again." lOLimSTE, raph's voice showed I closed the bargain cleaned and put in )k it. Oh, it was I got a good price J. A fine rosewood ish you could have :ed so rich in such >ment, her little face While it was there, it belonged to her, rt nor lot with it in r and a velvet-lined must not even say ;th she said, a little adame, I'm glad you — but I'm sorry it's play on it again." ver heard a little girl w I shall never hear obliged to let it go. but I shall often be SEJiAP/rs FETE. 169 After this interchange of gentle amenities Seraph went away dejectedly, and tried to forget her new loss by vigorously attacking the professor's rather strident instrument, from which she drew such wildly rebellious strains, that poor little Louise was obliged to cover her ears in order to shut out the discordant notes, which always tortured her weak nerves. U was Seraph's birthday. She was twelve years old, and Monsieur Nardi had prepared a little fgte for her. It was to be held in his garden, and it was to be what he laughingly called a musical fUe champ^tre. A dozen or so of his small neighbors were there, and ' as it was given in Seraph's honor, Madame Arnet had allowed Madge to join the little party. Under a large fig tree was arranged a platform, and before it were placed a number of chairs for the small audi- ence. Romeo had not forgotten any of the details of the former open-air concerts, so he had provided a basket of flowers to shower upon the little vio- liniste. And Cressy had arranged a table in the multiflora arbor, on which were fruits, cakes, and bon-bons of every variety, as well as the pretty gifts of each little visitor. Seraph was unusually happy, for it was the first ,70 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTR. time that her mother had consented to leave the retirement of her room. Monsieur Nardi had re- quested it as a particular favor; and there she sat in her wheel-chair in the midst of the merry group, looking very pretty and delicate, in a dainty white gown, with a tiny flower-bonnet resting on her cuny hair Her stained fingers were covered with pearl- gray gloves, and she shaded her tired eyes with a rose-colored parasol, a remnant of her happy girlhood. Seraph had seen her mother dressed in that way before her father had been taken from them. The invalid often went out then in her wheel-chair m spite of her lameness, and she remembered how proud and happy she had been walking beside her pretty, dainty, little mother, while her father pushed the chair always talking and laughing in his merry, light-hearted fashion. At last, when the preparations were complete, and Seraph was ready to play. Cousin Franz and Professor Vortman came through the shop into the garden quite as if by accident, and then the satis- faction of the little violiniste was perfect. She had secretly wished that Cousin Franz and her teacher could hear her at her best, and she felt in the mood to surprise them. OLimSTE. jented to leave the ieur Nardi had re- ; and there she sat )f the merry group, J, in a dainty white resting on her curly covered with pearl- jr tired eyes with a Hier happy girlhood, dressed in that way ni from them. The I her wheel-chair in membered how proud Qg beside her pretty, jr father pushed the ghing in his merry, tions were complete, y, Cousin Franz and ugh the shop into the b, and then the satis- svas perfect. She had •"ranz and her teacher she felt in the mood AiSA'.-//'//'.v /-Ate. 171 Wlx^n the curtain which Monsieur Nardi had so cleverly arranged with Romeo's assistance was drawn aside, the child made a charming picture. She stood in a Ixjwor of green leaves and I)Iossoms, while the dark foliage of the fig-tree made an effec- tive background for her lovely face, beaming eyes, and shining golden hair. On tins occasion she wore, instead of her masquerade costume, a simple white frock, confined at the waist by a soft silk sash. Her surroundings were so harmonious, so perfect, that there was scarcely room for one desire. Yet there was one, and it was the wish foi 'ler father's violin. But she was so excited, so elated, that she did not allow that one regret to disconcert her. Slie played her best, her very best, and perhaps it is not too much praise to say that Professor Vortman's violin never emitted more delicious strains. When she had finished her first sonata there was a burst of applause, amid which could be distinctly heard the rattling of Romeo's bony fingers. Then such a shower of blossoms! They fell around her thicker than leaves in Vallombrosa. And as she stooped to gather them, she saw Madge before her holding up a mound of flowers, out of all proportion f 172 SF.KAPH, THE I.ITTI.F VIOUNISTE. to the small hands that grasped it. But there was sometliing under the flowers, — a case, a violhi case. Among the flowers lay a o!t >• on which was wiitten "ji la eharmante petite oiuUniste, aeec le devouement de rOncle 'Nidasr ' With treujbling lingers Seraph opened the case, and there, on its blue velvet lining, lay the Cremona violin from the shop on the Rue Royale. vioumsrs. d it. But there was a case, u violin caHe. m which was wi itten \e, acec It devoiiemtnt iph opened the case, ling, lay the Cremona lae Royale. ■,%. .^^ss^< ^ "-^ ^ "Q '^*>>.1^, V] ^>. L_ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 ^1^ Ui ^ ^ 12.2 I.I US L° 12.0 I IliiSi V Photographic Sciences Corporation ^ L25 lu |i.6 ^ 6" ► 23 WEST MAIN STRieET WEBSTER, N.Y. U5M (716)672-4503 '/. CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/ICMH Collection de microfiches. iSi>» Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques ^^ '^ XXII. A DOUBLE SUCCESS. Q< astonished and delighted was Seraph by the ^ present of the much-desired violin that she did not notice a sudden and important addition to her audience, — a handsome, richly gowned woman and a fine-looking boy of about sixteen. They were dis- tinguished guests, but their manner was very simple and unaffected. They shook hands cordially with Monsieur Nardi, who presented them to Madame Bhnnenthal, Cousin Franz, and Professor Vortman. The new arrivals were Madame St. Maxent and her son Maurice, and they had not dropped in by accident. Monsieur Nardi had planned the little fete expressly to give his friends an opportunity of hearing Seraph at her best, and the success he desired was doubtless secured, for they had entered at a moment when the child looked simply angelic, as she stood in her pretty bower, holding the violin m her arms, her face a study of varying emotions. Grratitude, joy, and triumph beamed from her eyes, while her lips curved in a smile of rapture. «73 '/li IS m 3a9WQ»%?W«MijB>t^^ t7* SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. Madame St. Maxent and Maurice declared that they had never seen a prettier littlr tableau. "But please wait, madame, until you hear her play," said Monsieur Nardi, his homely old face beaming with satisfaction. " It is true that she is a lovely child, but her playing ! Ah, it is heavenly ! " While Monsieur Nardi was talking with his guests, Professor Vortman was assisting Seraph to tune the Cremona. '• What shall I play ? " she whis- pered, for she had discovered the new arrivals, and for a moment was a little embarrassed. "Repeat the same sonata," he replied. ''Play it as well as you played it before, and I shall be satisfied." «' But I must thank dear Uncle 'Nidas for the Cremona." " Thank him by your playing. Do your best for his friends; that will show your gratitude, rm ch^re; that will please him more than words." When the Cremona was perfectly accorded, and the music arranged. Professor Vortman went back to his seat, and Seraph made her graceful bow to her audience, and began her score with the com- posure of one who had passed her life in public. So absorbed was she with the new instrument, with ■♦*«r*iM«j.' 'lOUNISTE. lurice declared that little tableau, until you hear her lis homely old face t is true that she is Ah, it is heavenly!" s talking with his assisting Seraph to ,11 I play?" she whis- he new arrivals, and barrassed. he replied. '• Play it [ore, and I shall be Uncle 'Nidas for the ig. Do your best for ir gratitude, rrm cK^re; m words." erfectly accorded, and : Vortman went back de her graceful bow sr score with the coin- ed her life in public. e new instrument, with ^ DOUBLE SUCCESS. 175 the incomparable strains evoked by the Tourte bow, and the rich resonant tones of the Cremona, that she was for the time oblivious to her surroundings; and as she bent her inspired little face over the instrument, she seemed to impart some of her own fresh young life to the inanimate wood. She and the violin seemed to breathe and throb together with the vigor and passion, as well as the delicacy and tenderness, of one of Bach's most beautiful sonatas. It was really a remarkable performance for a child ; and when the last lingering, liquid strain died into silence, there was a storm of heartfelt applause and another shower of blossoms, and Seraph stepped from her small bower unutterably happy and radi- antly triumphant. In a moment she was surrounded by her audi- ence. Madame St. Maxent drew her to her and kissed her warmly, and Maurice congratulated her in a simple, boyish fashion. Every note had gone straight to his heart, but he could not express what he felt. He loved the violin as well as Seraph did, but, as his mother had remarked to Monsieur Nardi, he lacked the touch, the divine touch, which he recognized in the child's playing. ^r lyt SERAPH, THH LITTLE VIOLINISTE. Even Cousin Franz was obliged to acknowledge that Seraph had a special gift, and to admit to the professor that he had done well with his little pupil As soon as Seraph could leave the distinguished visitors, she flew to her mother, and embracmg her warmly, whispered, "OA, chlre maman, how can 1 thank Uncle 'Nidas? My heart is so full that I am afraid 1 shall cry if I try to tell him how happy "^Don't try to tell him now, chlrie. Wait until you are calmer ; he knows how grateful you are. ,. Look at his face, my child; he is as happy as you ^' Louise was right. He was perfectly satisfied with the result of his little entertainment, for he had not only interested Madame St. Maxent in his pro- t^gk, but he had enlisted her sympathy for the invalid mother as well. , The kindhearted eligante had drawn a chair close to Louise, and after heartily congratulatmg her on the success of the little violiniste, with a gentle and friendly interest led the invalid to speak of herself. , " Is it possible that you are unable to walk . she asked. !,i.^ OLINISTE. ed to acknowledge nd to rodmit to the vith his little pupil. e the distinguished and embracing her maman, how can I is so full that I am ell him how happy chlrie. Wait until w grateful you are. is as happy as you srfectly satisfied with ainment, for he had , Maxent in his pro- r sympathy for the had drawn a chair ;artily congratulating tie violiniste, with a led the invalid to re unable to walk?" A DOUBLE Si'CCKSS. 177 " I have not walked for nearly twelve years," re- plied Louise piteously. " How unfortunate ! Then you go out very little ? " "Almost never. To-day I have made an eifort for my child. It is so near, and Monsieur Nardi is such a good friend, I could not refuse him ; but I am accustomed to my imprisonment," added Louise resignedly; "I seldom wish to go out." '' You must let me make you wish to go. You must allow me to come and take you and that lovely child to drive." " Oh, how kind ! " umrmured Louise. " Thank you ; you are too good." "Yes, to myself," returned Madame St. Maxent, laughing. " Ask my old friend ; he will tell you that I must always have some life about me. As I have no children, — for Maurice is no longer a child, I take my dogs to drive, and you must admit that you and your charming child will be pleasanter companions than those troublesome little animals." "It is very considerate of you to put it in that way," returned Louise, with a grateful smile. " Seraph might amuse you, but I am very dull ; I shrink a little from seeing people. I am nervous and shy." "Oh, we will go where it is very quiet; to the mmm 'i iii i mmmr Jimmmmmmimmit^mmgsmimmmaK^^ ,^s sEi^Ari,. rm-: uttib vioumsTE. t ,\,f. nark-. Vou must give roe lake, to some of the parks. the pleas«.-e o( trymg to -'^^ >™' J^ „j ,^,, brigUter. Y«„ must get »eU for the -k-, o .Uver child. I can assure y^^^^ ^ ^„ future before lier, and slie w.H need J ^ Z safeiy aroid the shoals and qu,cksa^d» of .f^ Lonise-s eyes filled with tears. "Yes, my child's sake I ^\^2iTL do to help you. '"^'"•^r'inte'stld n your fascinating little I am greatly .nte^jtd y ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ daughter, and I should ^^^^^ j^^_^ •■^'^^ir:::^ My^:^en3oyP'..'n«^-- *^^her He "- enthusiastic about her as I aro^ T " k Monsienr Nardi to bring her to me, and I must ask Monsieur interesting that excellent professor also. A ve y man, and I am sure a supenor mstructor. engage him for M-rice" ^^_ ^^ . ^''•^°" rX U.^e*r»ot only launched the ™;7;' "' Professor Vortman a Seraph, hut he h^ g ^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^ vigoroiu posh m tto d ^^^ ^ ^^^. the instructor of Maurice ou niendation that would open to him the doo the rich and fashionable. 'NISTE. I must give me our life a little the sake of that e has a brilliant eed you to steer icksands of life." "Yes, for my ^ do to help you. fascinating little lave the honor of pu will allow her jnjoy playing duets about her as I am. ring her to me, and A. very interesting instructor. I must leur Nardi had, by not only launched rofessor Vortinan a of success. To be ^axent was a recom- bo him the doors of A nOVBlR SUCCESS. 179 After the guests of honor had partaken of Cressy's little feast, served by the dignified and delighted Romeo, they withdrew as quietly as they had entered, and the children were left to enjoy them- .selves in their own way. Although Monsieur Nardi had anticipated great good from bringing Madame St. Maxent and Seraph together, he had not expected his endeavors to be (Towned with such pleasant and important results ; for he did not foresee that the gay woman of the world would interest herself in the poor little in- valid by offering to try to make her life brighter and happier ; therefore his little fgte was a double success, especially when the desired patronage and favor extended even to Professor Vortman. r , XXIII. , A NEW LIFE. WHEN Consin Franz returned home and told Madame Arnet of Seraph's success, the good lady was quite anhnated over the reflected honor^ "Really, Mr. Arnet, how very flattering to feeraph ; but I'm not surprised at her playing well. O course -he can play the violin. It comes natural to her. It seems to me that she doesn't deserve any special praise for playing the violin. She was J„ with a gift for it, but 1 am surprised that Madame St. Maxent should go there t« hear her, and that she should think so much of her playmg. I suppose she didn't notice Madge. Now, a« 1 look at it, Madge should be commended for playmg on the piano as well as she does when she has no natural taste for it." "But Madge didn't play on the piano; no one played the piano, Raohel. I am speaking of Seraph - nlaving the violin. Her playing was remarkable. 'TZ, Mr. Amet, yes, I miderstood what you i8o — Mf-Tsf;- A NEW LIFE. l8l ned home and told I's success, the good he reflected honor, flattering to Seraph ; phiying well. Of I. It comes natural she doesn't deserve the violin. She was [ am surprised that o there to hear her, much of her playing, dge. Now, as I look ended for playing on es when she has no n the piano; no one n speaking of Seraph's ing was remarkable.' understood what you said; but if Madge had played I mean— I think Madame St. Maxent would have been pleased with her progress — considering she has no gift," re- tiu'ned Madame Arnet, floundering hopelessly in her effort to make herself understood. '•Nonsense, Rachel," said Cousin Franz impa- tiently. "Madge is a good German scholar, but she can't play the piano. This affair of Seraph has opened my eyes to some rather serious truths in regard to the education of children. I see now that I was wrong in trying to force Seraph to study the piano. She would have met with no success in that direction, but with her talent for the violin, and Madame St. Maxent's patronage, she will make a reputation. Professor Vortman says she is the most promising pupil that he ever had. He predicts great things for her. He wishes her to study with him for a couple of years, and then, he says, she must go to the Paris Con- servatoire. But that, I fear, will be impossible. I am very anxious about Louise's affairs. When the money that I got for the violin is gone, she will be in a very trying position." "And she surely can't expect you to support her," said Madame Arnet sharply. "She knows l83 si-KAi'i/, riih. iiTTi.t: iioi.iNiarE. thut your salary Ih small, that our church is poor, and she iuis no claims on me." « No, certainly, Rachel, she has no claims on you ; but she has on her husband's cousin, and I shall do the l)est I can, trusting in a kind Father to help me." - « Oh ! 1 would not worry about her, Mr. Arnet. It's likely Madame St. Maxent will do something for her, if she is interested in Seraph. She' ought to. The rich ought to help the poor." And the minister's wife, after this wise conclusion, settled down comfortably to her needle-work. Madame Arnet was not wrong in her prediction. Madame St. Maxent did help Louise in many ways. First, and most hnportant, she encouraged her to hope, for with hope as a support even the most feeble and helpless can struggle against cruel diffi- culties. The poor invalid had lived only from day lo day, shuddering when she thought of the months and years before her. She was tired of life, weary of constant and ill-paid labor, and disgusted with her cramped, narrow environment, but she could not ask nor hope for freedom while she had her child. She must live for her, she nmst bear her burden as she best could, in patient and uncomplaining endurance. 'STE. A NEW LIFE. '«3 hurch i« poor, •laims on you ; n, and I shall ind Father to ker, Mr. Arnet. do Houiething )U. She ought jor." And the riclusion, settled •k. her prediction. in many wayn. iouraged her to even the mo»t linst cruel diffi- l only from day it of the montliH ;d of life, wear} sgusted with her he could not ask L her child. She er burden as she lining endurance. When Madame St. Maxont first visited Loui«c, wfiiiK Imt at her dainty and difficult labor, and learning how little she received for it, .slii! decided lu find (iLstomers for the invalid who would pay her in proportion to the perfection of her work. •• My little friend," she said, " we will change all this. Croizet is a wretch, and I will never buy another flower from her. You shall sell your flow- era yourself. You shall take your own orders. I will sen«l my friends to you. Finish what you have on hand and send them to that wicked woman, with every scraj) of material that belongs to her." " But, dear madame, if I offend her, she will never employ me again," said Louise tremulously. ''N'importe; you won't need her work; very soon you will build up a patronage for yourself." "And the material? I have not the means to purchase it." *'I will attend to that. Give me a list of all you need, and I can give you an order at once. Make a half-dozen of those beautiful flower-bonnets, such as you wore the other day at Monsieur Nardi's little fgte; vary the flowers, and I can dispose of them all among my friends for twenty dollars each. ►■- um i B U MW iawati T i i M mntioi.- 1 84 SERAPH, THE UTTLE VIOUNISTE. They are very fashionable, and Croizet asks from twenty-five to thirty dollars for them." "And she pays me about five dollars for one," sighed Louise. "Then there are roses for the carnival. I will take it upon myself to order them from you. They will not be needed for wme time, but you can begin them, and work on them at your leisure. In the meantime I will send a young friend, who is to be married soon, to you for her bridal imrure, and you must allow me to fix the prices. You are too modest, you underestimate your talent, and charge too little. You must be paid the same as that dishonest Croizet, who has been getting rich off your work." Madame St. Maxent was as good as her word. Very soon customers poured in, and Louise had all the orders she could fill. Even Seraph's little fin- gers were kept busy when she was not practismg on the violin. She was delighted to assist her mother, and displayed a great deal of taste for the pretty work. The mother and child made a charm- ing picture, bending over the table covered with flowers of adorable tints, — Seraph, bright, joyous, and full of animation, her busy fingers fluttering '.■ -_*i_l< *i-! - j^«i» ; VIOLINISTE. ,nd Croizet asks from br them." five dollars for one," the carnival. I will them from you. They le time, but you can m at yovir leisure. In oung friend, who is to her bridal parure, and e prices. You are too our talent, and charge laid the same as that en getting rich off your as good as her word. in, and Louise had all Gven Seraph's little fin- she was not practising elighted to assist her ;at deal of taste for the nd child made a charm- the table covered with -Seraph, bright, joyous. • busy fingers fluttering A NEW LIFE. 185 among the blossoms while she chattered merrily; Louise, pale and .serious, listening with calm content, and both as happy as heart could wish. And their days were not all labor. Often Ma- dame St. Maxent came and took them out in her carriage, cheerfully quoting the old adage about -all work and no play." The.se were gala days for Seraph and her mother; no matter how busy they were, their active friend would listen to no excuses. It was part of her plan for their happi- ness, and she would not be thwarted. Everything was laid aside, toilets were hastily made, and Louise was wheeled out to the carriage by Romeo, and lifted in by the strong coachman, often assisted by Mon- sieur Nardi, while Fifine, Nanette, and the other children looked on in silent admiration. The glossy horses would stamp a little, and champ their bits impatiently. Monkey would give a series of joyous barks from the shop door, and the carriage would roll off, accompanied by Maurice, clattering after them on his spirited pony, and Seraph, from the front seat, would wave her hand to Uncle 'Nidas, who stood watching them, with a beaming face, until they turned swiftly into Rue Royale. 1 86 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOI.IXISTE. In the spring they often drove out b} the beau- tiful Bayou St. John, and as they neared the lake, came upon the wide stretch of low land where the fleur-de-lis blooms so luxuriantly, carpeting for miles, with shimmering white, amethyst, blue, and pale rose, both sides of the slender, sinuous bayou. To the invalid, who had lived so long within the narrow bounds of four walls, this vast expanse, this wide stretch of softly blended color, harmon- izing 8(5 perfectly with the blue of the lake, the dark outlines of the old Spanish fort, and the masses of gray-green foliage clearly defined against the saffron and rose of the sky, made an enchant- ing picture, which lingered in her memory, and haunted her with its beauty, even after she had entered into the silence and solitude of her dull little room. It was indeed a new world, and a new life, that Madame St. Maxent's generosity and thoughtful kindness had opened up to her. And each day she grew stronger, more hopeful, and better equipped for the battle of life. 70/.LV/S77-:. ^e out b} the beau- ey neared the lake, if low land where mtly, carpeting for miethyst, blue, and ider, sinuous bayou, ^ed so long within J, this vast expanse, ided color, harmon- e of the lake, the lish fort, and the arly defined against , made an enchant- her memory, and jven after she had jlitude of her dull nd a new life, that ty and thoughtful And each day she nd better equipped XXIV. ROMEO's CONFESSION. < Ql TEAMER after steamer arrived from Liverpool, ^ and Monsieur Nardi heard nothing of Marc, although Patsy had interviewed all the sailors, and informed every one connected with the numerous ships of the liberal reward offered by the old book- seller to any one who would induce the boy to return. Every few days Patsy would enter the bookshop, hat in hand, his hair noticeably sleek, and liis face newly shaven, and about the same dialogue would ensue. "Good mornin', sir; another steamer at the levee, sir." "Ah! any news?" " No news, sir." " Do you think they are trying to find him ? " " Sure, sir ; that reward would fetch 'em." " It seems as though they might find some trace of him." 187 1 -1 ill r J* immSSSMiSUSStSitiim %\ hi \ ,88 i^™. '™ ^'"'" >"'"■""'''^■ .Yes, sir, it seems so, but I reckon you might ^ well look for a needle in » h.ysta,-,k, as to look Tor a little shaver like that an,ong all them people on them Liverpool docks, sir." .Yes, I know. Patsy, but I hoped the boy „ight board some of the ships to aak for news ^Tpo'oTmtlechap! 1 guess he don't mean to Uave anything to do with us. He went away Lud and hurt like. Seein' he was mnocen , he Jluas though it wasn't just, an' he had pr.no.ples, that little kid had." , "Vknow it, oh, I know it!" almost groaned Monsieur Nardi, "and that is why I - -." to .et him back. He thinks I wronged h.m and, Ir child! I wouldn't harm a hair of h.s head. r.\;i,, we won't give up, sir. While there s a ,ay of hopes, I'm agoi..' on enquirin' an' keep.n SiLrest alive. Tm gettin' - bo a pest to *em sailors, sir, with my everlastm' questions, an ad«^ as how to find him. H I wa« over there, I d l.ght on Wm right ofi. Somethin' would tell me wher I IMe kid waa. I never knowed how near that bov was till he was gone." .Nor I, either, Patsy," returned Monsieur Nard, ,^ .„**^^*ftttt1»WW»*W»»»^ - OLINISTE. reckon you might laystaok, as to look )ng all them people I hoped the boy ,s to ask for news he don't mean to IS. He went away he was innocent, he n' he had principles, it!" almost groaned why I am so anxious I wronged him, and, a hair of his head." sir. While there's a enquirin' an' keepin' to be a pest to them ; questions, an' advice ,s over there, I'd light would tell me where knowed how near that turned Monsieur Nardi ROMEO 'S CONFESS/ON. 189 dejectedly. " I can't give him up. I can't be con- tented until I see him again." • . "I guess, sir, if the little chap knovved how much we wanted him back, he'd come jest to oblige us. Well, good momin', sir. They say there's another steamer below the bend, an' I must be on the levee when she gets up. Who knows, sir, who knows, but he'll be on this one ? Good mornin', sir, —I must hurry,— good mornin'." And Patsy would step off as briskly as his stiff old legs would allow. About this time, Romeo was taken ill, and lay all day moaning and groaning in his little room; and Madame Blumenthal was obliged to have the woman who washed her linen and did other odd work, to come in and take his place. From the first of his illness, Cressy had been very attentive, and Seraph had devoted herself to him in a way that showed her affection for the faithful old servant. "That ole man's mighty porely," said Lisa, the negress who had taken his place. "An' it seems ter me, mam'selle, that it's his pore mine what's troubled. He ain't got no partikler misery in his body; he's jes' ole an' wore out, an' somefin' is a-pressiu' on his mine, an' he can't sleep an' eat." I' 190 SENAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE, "Cressy says he has fever," said Seraph, with a startled look. "Trouble on his mind wouldn't give him fever, would it?" " Sutteuly, mam'selle, — the hottes' kine of fever. I knowed a lil' gal what took a dime from her ma. It was this a way. Her ma sont her to market for a grillade, an' she bought ginger cake 'stead o' the (jrillade, an' et it, an' tole her ma how she done los' the dime, an' that same night she was took with misery in her stomack, an' the hottes' kine o' fever." "Perhaps she ate too much ginger cake," sug- gested Seraph. « Oh no ! Shorely a dime o' ginger cake wouldn't give no colored chile misery in the stomack, much lessen fever; 'twas jes' her conshuns what hurted her, an' she was bad ofE when Deacon Spotts cum ter pray wid her, an' she up an' 'fessed an' got well right off." « Did she — did she get well right away ? " asked Seraph, with sudden interest. " Suttenly, mam'selle, she shorely did ; that Same night she was able to set up an' eat poke an' greens." Seraph walked away to the shed room, in deep loumsTE. said Seraph, with his mind wouldn't ottes' kine of fever, dime from her ma. t her to market for r cake 'stead o' the a how she done los' she was took with ihe hottes' kine o' ginger cake," sug- ginger cake wouldn't the stomack, much nshuns what hurted beacon Spotts cum i' 'fessed an' got well right away ? " asked orely did; that Same ip an' eat poke an' shed room, in deep ROMEO'S CONFESSION. 191 thought. At the door she lingered, listening. Romeo was moaning and muttering to himself. " Oh Lor', have mussy on my pore ole soul ! Oh, I is sioh a sinner! I is wusser dan der tief on dcr cross. But, good Lor', can't yer have mussy oil me jes' es yer done on dat tief. Oh, I's sinned wusser dan Judas 'Scariot, an' I a 'fessin' Christian. Is 'nied my Lor', an' I can't get no peace. I's bin a ras'lin' wid der sperrit, ever sence I done dat deed, an' I can't git no peace. But Lor', dear, good Lor', yer knowed how I was tempted; yer knowed how turruble I was tempted. I couldn't see dat pore chile what Mas' Carl lef in my care jes' a dyin' fer dat bottle o' Jew-crow. Oh Lor', I couldn't 'sist (Jat temptation when I was in sich straits. Yer knowed, good Lor', dat it wasn't fer me,— dis pore ole nigger doesn't mine goin' hongry an' cole if dem chil'ren is jes' comf'able. 1 wouldn't a done it only fer Miss Louise. Pore chile, she was pale an' weak, an' dat blessed 111' angel wid her bare footses mos' on der grown'." Seraph could hear no more. A sudden sob re- vealed her presence, and Romeo's expression sud- denly changed from a look of mental agony to a ghastly attempt at a smile. I. r ,g2 5/-A'./m THE UTTI.B VIOLINISTE. MVhy. Miss Soraph, is you a cry in' ? Bress my soul, what isyer cryin fer, honey?" - Because -boeause I am so sorry for you, Romeo," said Seraph, swalh.wing her sobs. ^^Why, chile, yer don't t'ink I's goin ter die, does yer? Shorely I ain't sick ernuffi ter d.e ,s 19 My fever's done gone, on'y-on'y 1 is res less an' onsartain like; my mine's sick; der misery sm mv mine. I's tired ras'lin' wid der spernt. 1 s- done wore out; n.y 'ligion don't gib me peace, honey. Dat's my sickness mo' dan der fever. .If it's your mind, Romeo, can't you do some- thing to cure your mind?" asked Seraph pers.ja- ively. ''Lisa just told me of a little girl who had misery in her mind, or perhaps it was her • e;nscience. She had been wicked, and when she confessed, she got well right away and was able to sit up and eat pork and greens. .Lor, chile, do tell me if dat's true ^«^ Romeo's haggard old face took on a hopeful look^ .Yes, Romeo, it's true. Lisa knew the little girl. -SAe had something on her mind and she '''l^Tou'say she 'fessed, Miss Seraph; now who did she 'fess to?" VIOUNISTE. A'0A/J:0'S COA'F/iSS/(W. »93 a cry in' ? Bress my •)'» loney HO sorry for you, ing her sobs, nk I's goin' ter die, ick erniifE ter die, is I'y — on'y 1 is res'less sick; der misery's in wid der sperrit. Ts don't gib nie peace, lo' dan der fever." JO, can't you do some- asked Seraph persua- ' of a little girl who ir perhaps it was her wicked, and when she hi away and was able greens. if dat's true!" And ook on a hopeful look. Lisa knew the little on her mind and she ss Seraph ; now who did "To a Deacon Potts, I think Lisa said." •' Oh Lor', Miss Seraph, I couldn't git cured dat a way. Dat would bning a r'proach on 'ligion, un' de Bible say * wo ter him dut brung der r'proach.' No, no, I couldn't 'fess ter Deacon Spotts. No, I couldn't 'fend der Lor' dat a way," repeated Komeo unea.sily and witii unmistakable decision. ''Well, then, Romeo, couldn't you confess to Uncle 'Nidas ? He's so good and forgiving, couldn't you confess to him?" urged Seraph sweetly. "I want you to get well. Mamma needs you. She isn't used to Lisa. Lisa doesn't market as you do. Mamma says .she spends too much money. Oh, Romeo, you must confess and get well." '• I's feared o' M'sieu' 'Nidas, honey ; he mought — he mought — " " Oh no ! Romeo ; he won't ; he told me, he said if any one had — had— Well, you know what I mean, fiomeo. He said he wouldn't punish any one. I can't explain, but if I had misery in my mind as you have, I would send for dear Uncle 'Nidas and confess as soon as I could ; so that I could get well. I'm afraid if you don't you'll be worse, and perhaps you'll never get over it." Romeo groaned in the spirit. "Oh Lor', have -itiwiiiseoasai*™!*-**" „4 SHHAPI/. THE LITTLE vmlMISTE. m„„y on me. Oh, Mi» Seraph, honey, f" a ra.'- lin' wid der sperrit dU very minnit. It» turruble. turruble-, V. mos' shausted. Vs mo, outdone but U goin ter git der victory. 1 » gom <*r •fes» all ter Mmeu' 'Nidas. Run, honey, run v-hde r, got der rtrent, an quest him ter step m right ofl, er maybe I wont have der courage." Seraph scarcely waited to hear the last of the sentence. She darted out, pale and tremulous with the importance of her mission. In a mon.ent she returned, her face bright and hopeful. "He is coming right away, Romeo- he s right behind me. Confess ewrffMi..!, - don t he afraid -Uncle 'Nidas has promised to -to forgive _no matter what it is. Now I'll run and tell Lisa to cooli yo« some pork and greens When Monsieur Nardi entered the shed room, the old negro was sitting up, holding out his arms entreatingly, and fairly writhing under the stress of the moment. "Oh, M'sieu' Nardi, I wants ter 'fess der trufe, der Lor's trafe; I wants ter tell you what a sinner I is, but won't yer promise me not ter take der law on me, not ter sen' me ter jail ferde sake of dese two pore children what's 'pendent on me . ■•w.ii(w.jui«wm*J».«J»M"M I ■ nwnwKiKrwSKy 'OUNISTE. I, honey, I's a ras'- mit. It's turruble, I's nios' outdone, iry- Is K®^"' ^^^ n, honey, run while ni ter step in right • courage." ear the last of the and tremulous with her face bright and , away, Romeo; he's verything — don't be mised to — to forgive )W I'll run and tell md greens." Bred the shed room, holding out his arms ing under the stress ts ter 'fess der trufe, tell you what a sinner me not ter take der ter jail fer de sake of 's 'pendent on me?" KOAfEO'S COATfESSWM IQ«; "Go on, my old friend, go on; tell me all about It; said Monsieur Nardi kindly; -and no matter what it is, 1 promise to forgive you before I hear It. " Bress der Lor', bress der Lor'," murmured Romeo fervently. "An' yer won't tell Miss Louise, an' dat chile, please M'sieu' 'Nidas, cause dey 'siders ole Roirieo a good hones' servant." " What passes between us will remain a secret. Go on, my friend ; don't be afraid, go on," urged Monsieur Nardi gently. " Yer see, M'sieu' Nardi, I's got ter tell yer all dat story ; I's got ter 'spose Miss Louise's pov'ty. A'ter dat money done stop comin' from Germany she was dreffully pinched, She didn't have money ter buy som'fin ter eat, an' if it hadn't bin fer Miss Cressy a-givin' me HI' things outen yore kitchen, an' what money she paid me fer 'sistin' her, they would o' gone hungry plenty times, an' Miss Louise was gettin' peaked an' weak, an' couldn't sit up to make dem flowers, 'cause she didn't have der med'cine, der Jew-crow, what der doctor done ordered, an' Miss Seraph's shoes was all wored out, an' no money to buy some. One day 1 found two loose boards in der fence, an' I use n, 196 SF.RArif, THE I.ITTI.F. VfOUXlSTE. i ter slii) '«m aHulc an' step inter yore kitchen, when MiHW Cressy waw a-waitin' on you, 'cause she done told me I could pick up any lil' tiling ter eat, what was a Hettin' 'roun', an' wasn't no use. An dat mawnin' I seed er basket er grapes on der table by der win'or, an' der glass was open, and I jes' reach frew ter take a han'ful fer Miss Louise, 'cause she likes grapes pow'ful, an' right dar on der table, jes' as if der good Lor' done put it on pn'pose fer nic ter take, was two silber dollars, one fer de Jew-crow an' one fer Miss Seraph's shoes. I didn't stop ter think dat it mought be stealin'. I jes' clap 'em in my ole pocket, an' step quick frew der hole in der fence, an' no one ain't seen me in yore yard dat mawnin', an' no one ain't knowed 'bout dat hole in der fence. Den Miss Louise sont me wid de flowers, an' done tol' me ter ask Ma'me Croizet ter pay her a lil' mo', 'cause dey was mo' wuk, an' Ma'me Croizet she 'fuse ter gib a nickle mo' ; but I jes' bought der Jew-crow, an' tole Miss Louise how Ma'me Croizet sont her two dollars extra, den I bought der shoes fer Miss Seraph wid der las' dollar. Now, M'sieu' 'Nidas, 1 done tole yer de whole trufe, an' wh.at gib me der misery in my mine was 'cause dat ■iBjIiiiiiiigiMiiNiiHMM^^ <• wusnuTE. yore kitchen, when lU, 'cause she done lil' thing ter eat, rasn't no use. An er grapoH on der H8 waH open, and 1 ful for MIhs Louise, 1, an' right dar on AYt done put it on two silber dollars, fer Miss Seraph's dat it mought be my olo pocket, an' !r fence, an' no one at mawnin', an' no 3 in der fence. Den lowers, an' done tol' ■ pay her a lil' mo', Ma'me Croizet she lit I jes' bought der how Ma'me Croizet I I bought der shoes lollar. Now, M'sieu' hole trufe, an' wh.at line was 'cause dat HOMEO'S COJVffSKroM ' t »^r pore hoy got blamed fer my wickednesses. Now yer kn.)WN he didn't take dat money." '•I knew that before," said Monsieur Nardi quietly. •'An' you didn't s'pect me?" "No, Romeo, I didn't suspect you, because I didn't know about the hole in the fence," returned the old gentleman dryly. "It i.s true, my poor old friond, that tli.. temptation was very great, but I wish you had asked for the money. It would have saved nuich trouble. Never allow yourself to be tempted again. Come to me when you need anything. Do you understand? Come to me. I am glad that you have had the courage, even at this late hour, to confess your fault. Now lie down and go to sleep, and to-morrow you will feel better." " Bress der Lor', M'sieu* 'Nidas ! Bress der Lor' ! You's mighty good ter me, an' I feel der misery a-goin' off a'ready. I's better a'ready. Tank der Lor'!" And Romeo laid his trembling old head back on his pillow, with the feeling of one who has been suddenly relieved of an oppressive burden. "What a noble soul the child has," thought Monsieur Nardi, as he went back to his shop. jgS SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. « She knew it was Romeo who took the money, and in order to clear Marc, and at the same tmie to shield her old servant, she preferred that I should think she was guilty. I knew there was something back of it all that I did not under- stand There would have been no mystery had 1 known that my yard had another entrance besides the gate which Cressy guards so faithfully. Well, I am glad it is explained at last. Now, if 1 could find Marc, I should be happy again." LE VIOLINISTE. who took the money, :, and at the same time ;, she preferred that I Ity. I knew there was that I did not under- been no mystery had I another entrance besides trds so faithfully. Well, ed at last. Now, if I be happy again." XXV. THE WHITE SHIP. TT was a year after Mare's departure, and spring had come around again. The fig tree in Monsieur Nardi's garden was putting forth its leaves, and the multiflora rose was one mass of pale blossoms. Nearly every evening Seraph came to play her Cremona under its fragrant shade, while Monsieur Nardi sat near by and listened dreamily. Sometimes Professor Vortman joined them, and often Louise was brought out in her wheel-chair to enjoy the sweetness and beauty of spring. Romeo, in his confession, had given Monsieur Nardi a hint for a very convenient and pleasant arrangement. Where the loose pickets had been, much to Seraph's delight. Uncle 'Nidas had put a little gate, and as it always stood open, the two yards were like one. Monkey romped in and out, and Toto, who appreciated beauty in a wise, serious way, passed most of his time on Louise's work-table, examining her flowers with a fastidious air, and »99 I 200 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. Ill sniffing at them a little disdainfully, as if he knew that they lacked perfume; and even Flute's cage hung as often on one side of the fence as on the other, while the best understanding existed between the domestics of the two small families. Cressy and Romeo were mutually interested, work- ing together in beautiful harmony for the general good. Seraph was practising with constant delight, and always improving under the careful instruction of her excellent professor, who now had as many pupils as he desired, but none who equalled in talent and beauty Cousin Franz's little prot^.gk. Louise worked cheerfully at her numerous orders, which yielded her a comfortable income. Owing to Madame St. Maxent's kindness, her health was improving, and each day she felt stronger, happier, and more hopeful. While there was only peace and harmony in the little cottage on St. Louis Street, Cousin Franz, in his larger and more imposing house, often found himself disturbed by small squalls and contrary wmds. Madge, the demure and docile Madge, was beginning to develop a character of her own, and much to her parent's astonishment, a rather light and frivolous character. vgm liiiiilii 'lOUNISTE. Eully, as if he knew even Flute's cage he fence as on the ing existed between families. illy interested, work- )ny for the general ith constant delight, e careful instruction now had as many e who equalled in Luz's little prot^.gk. er numerous orders, ble income. Owing less, her health was 3lt stronger, happier, and harmony in the jet, Cousin Franz, in ; house, often found iqualls and contrary d docile Madge, was ter of her own, and ment, a rather light ■-s^* THE WHITE SHIP, 201 ' Madame Araet, notwithstanding her stolid and P^cfcal nature, was not without vanity, a„d a k nd of envy, which she dignified with the name of a,„b.t,on. Since Seraph had made i„fl„e„t"I r,ends, she wished that Madge should also, the! o e she had p„t her little daughter at a kshil aWe school on Esplanade Avenue, where sh. assocuted with rich and dressy girls who h,^ hi: bro^ht up „ a manner entirely at variance with Cousm Frank's ideas and theories. And ouiet demure little K«.ge saw a great deal withTer »mall ea« nestled under her fawnK=olo„.d hair Madge said little, but she thought the more. She knew that she had money left her by her father she .magmed that she was rich, and she saw n„' m iier hats, and wear smart little silk frocks a, we^^ as the other girls in her class. Her tZte foT m.llmery was rapidly improving. From being a manufacturer of dolls' confections she became a con- '"T" ''"'^' '"'^^'"''' ^--^ "'•jected so stren- uously to her plain hats and equally plain frocks, ^ her mother and Cousin Franz were scandal- !iRw^i;'^.«M^.w»*;*«t"^-^>*'' 202 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. ^up: She suddenly announced a distaste for the solid language of her forefathers, and declared a prefer- ence for French and Italian, which was followed up by a fancy for china-painting. Really, Madge was developing in the most remarkable manner. It was very nuich as though a meek dove had unexpectedly changed into a gay macaw. Madame Arnet stitched away, outwardly calm, but inwardly floundering in deep waters of doubt and anxiety; while Cousin Franz, more perplexed than ever over the enigma of the human mind, wished devoutly that another Professor Vortman would turn up and solve the problem in Madge's case as easily and successfully as it had been solved in Seraph's. And while aU these little incidents were taking place, and the drama of each life was unfolding as the destiny of each decreed, nothing was heard of Marc, and Monsieur Nardi, although never recon- ciled to the thought, began to feel that the boy was gone forever, and it was a shadow on his life and on his heart that never could be lifted until he found the means of making some repara- tion for the wrong done the child. One lovely. evening, when twilight was drawing VIOLINISTE. listaste for the solid id declared a prefer- which was followed ,ing. Really, Miulge remarkable manner. 1 a meek dove had gay macaw. ^ay, outwardly calm, deep waters of doubt 'ranz, more perplexed of the human mind, r Professor Vortman problem in Madge's dly as it had been incidents were taking life was unfolding as nothing was heard of although never recon- to feel that the boy vas a shadow on his never could be lifted : making some repara- . child. twilight was drawing THE WHITE SHIP. 203 on, he wandered down to the levee, and stood in his accustomed place, hat in hand, while the delicious breeze fanned hig forehead. The conditions were much the same as on that night when he had first seen the honest eyes of the boy peering at him from under the fold of canvas. There was just such a pile of cotton bales, the fluffy little bunches sticking to the weather-worn tarpaulin,— the same little niches where a thin, large-eyed boy might hide; — just such a pile of old boards as had concealed his humble treasures. Great black ships lay with their bulwarks high above the levee, for the river, nearly even with its banks, was rushing and swirling along on its impetuous way to the Gulf. The Steamers puffed and groaned in raid-strJam, aiid now and then the shrill whistle of a tug echoed from the farther shore. There was the same saffron and rose sky, the same black, trailing smoke, the same sunset tints on the water ; all appeared the same. It seemed ^ if there had been no change, and that he might turn his head at any moment and see those great brown eyes looking at him. But no; there was not a living being near him. 304 SEKAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. Even Patsy had deserted his post. Perhaps he was away up the levee searching some new arrival. For the old watchman had not renoimced hope. At the sight of a foreign ship coming around the bend, his old heart always gave a throb of expectancy, he always felt that perhaps the long-expected traveller of the sea had arrived, bringing the little waif, or some tidings of him. Seeing no one near him, Monsieur Nardi turned his attention again towards the river; when sud- denly coming around the bend he saw a great white ship, so white and glistening, so majestic and stately as she proudly cut her way through the swift, strong current, coming nearer and nearer, until the steady throbs of her great heart were audible above the swirl and rush of the river. She was a beautiful image of strength and grace, and even of hope and happiness to Monsieur Nardi. As he watched her, his eyes kindled and his cheeks tlu.shed. "Ah!" he said to himself, "a white ship. I remember it was a white ship that took Marc away. I remember I stood just here and watched her disappear around the bend; only it was the morning sun that shone on her. The sky was ^e^^''saglia«'KaSisrfl&*a^'**^* ■^^^^^im^^ . VIOLIN 1ST E. THE WHITE SHIP. ao5 is post. Perhaps he searching some new m had not renounced foreign ship coming leart always gave a ays felt that perhaps ' the sea had arrived, Dme tidings of him. lonsienr Nardi turned the river; when sud- »end he saw a great glistening, so majestic cut her way through ling nearer and nearer, her great heart were d rush of the river. )f strength and grace, less to Monsieur Nardi. cindled and his cheeks ilf, "a white ship. I ship that took Marc just here and watched lend ; only it was the n her. The sky was blue, and the river sparkled like liquid gold. The water was not as high nor as swift. The trees on the farther shore looked as if they were sten- cilled in black against the silvery white clouds. It was beautiful. I remember that I was impressed with the beauty of the scene, but my heart was heavy at the sight of the great white ship taking the boy away. Now here comes a white ship, returning from 'a distance, and it may be the very one. The boy may be on her. Yes, even now he may be looking eagerly toward this very spot. Ah ! the white ship returning at sunset may bring back what she took away at sunrise." Suddenly there was a slackening in the speed of the great ship. She paused, shivered from stem to stern, and then rolled from side to side as if impatient at being checked on her onward career. A nmffled, harsh, discordant sound came faintly across the water. She was paying out her anchor chains. She was anchoring in mid-stream for the night. «.:.:«« '' |Hi mmrnKmnimUiimitSS^^ 1 XXVI. IN DANGER. WHEN Monsieur Nardi saw that the white ship had cast anchor below the city, and that there was no prospect of her arriving at the wharf that night, he felt deeply disappointed. Although he could not be positive, yet he felt quite sure that it was the same ship that had Uken Marc away, and the impression that he had returned with her grew strong upon him. After watching her for some time he still lingered m the hope that Patsy might appear, for he knew that the old watchman was well acquamted with every foreign ship that entered the river, and could tell him positively whether it was the one on which the boy had sailed. But Patsy did not turn up, and darkness was rapidly gathering every object into its dense gray folds The great white steamer looked as dim and ghostly as a phantom ship. The farther shore was no longer visible, all the color had faded out 206 IN DANGER, ao7 B. saw that the white below the city, and af her arriving at the eply disappointed. »e positive, yet he felt same ship that had mpression that he had ong upon him. After le he still lingered in ; appear, for he knew 3 well acquainted with sntered the river, and whether it was the one id. up, and darkness was ject into its dense gray jteamer looked as dim (hip. The farther shore the color had faded out of the sky, leaving it a mournful purple, while liore and there a pale star glistened like a touch of silver on a funeral pall. " The river complained and fretted against its barriers in sullen remonstrance, or now and then dii.shed angrily among the mas.sive piles as if im- patient to break its bounds and rush unimpeded over the fair land. The wind rose suddenly, and a chilling mist swept up from the Gulf. Monsieur Nardi drew his coat together and turned reluc- tantly away. He could learn nothing more until morning. He had not felt well of late ; he had been troubled with insomnia; and finding himself restless and sleepless when he reached home, he decided not to retire at his usual hour, but instead, to work on a catalogue which he was preparing; so he lit his reading-lamp in the sitting-room behind the shop and laid out his papers and books on the table. After working busily for a while he found that he needed a certain book of reference, and lighting a candle he went into his shop to search for it. He placed his candle on a lower shelf which pro- jected beyond the upper ones, and set about pulling ^« ao8 SERAri/, lUE LITTLE ITOLINISTE, out a great many Ijooks and papen in order to find what \\v was looking for. At last, when he had secured it, he returned to his sitting-room in a thoughtful, preoccupied mood, and loft the burn- ing candle where he had placed it. Then he drew up his reading-chair, and putting the book, which was heavy, on the movable desk in front of him, he settled himself comfortably to look up his authorities. For some time he worked on steadily, then h drowsiness began to creep over him. He had slepi little for several nights, and he was greatly in need of " nature's sweet restorer," so he let his head fall back against the comfortable cushion of the chair, and in a few moments he was sleeping profoundly. It was midnight, and in St. Louis Street every- thing was quiet. The neighboring families had all retired. There were no lights visible in the win- dows, and no sound broke the silence only the occasional step of a belated and solitary passer. It was a moonless night, and the dense mist filled the narrow street. There were watery halos about the lamps burning dimly at the corner of each square, and all else was enfolded in darkness. So desolate and deserted was the street at that t J ll jWP ' I ■ ■mmin. 'ii £ nOUNlSTE. nd papen in order to or. At last, when he to his sitting- room in )od, and loft the burn- ced it. Then he drew itting the book, which desk in front of him, ably to look up his d on steadily, then t er him. He had slepi he was greatly in need so he let his head fall 2 cushion of the chair, as sleeping profoundly. St. Louis Street every- boring families had all its visible in the win- the silence only the and solitary passer. It the dense mist filled ere watery halos about it the corner of each olded in darkness, was the street at that JN DANGER. 309 hour that a passer would have })oen startled to see .1 small (igure sitting in a door-way opposite to Monsieur Nardi's shop. His elbow was on his knee, and his chin rested on the palm of his hand. His narrow, pale face made a white .spot under ;i sailor's cap, on the ribbon of which faintly gleamed a silver anchor. A sailor's blue .shirt and trousers completed his costume, which appeared altogether too large and too mature for him. He looked a delicate, sickly boy of twelve, very neglected, and very forlorn. And as lie sat there, he seemed to have but one object, and that was to stare with unnaturally large eyes at the dark and forbidding front of Monsieur Nardi's shop. The wooden shutters were closed tightly under their iron bars, and even the blinds on the upjier rooms were " shut in " instead of being " bowed," as they usually were. " He's sound asleep," thought the boy. " Every one's asleep. It don't seem a.s if any one in the whole street was awake. There ain't even a p'lice- man about. It's enough sight lonesomer than aboard ship out in the stream. It's even lone- somer than on the levee. I wish I'd stayed aboard to-night instead of comin' off in the boat. I \-i 2,o SKKANf, THE UTILE VIOUNIHTE. thought IM fnxl Mr. Patsy on the wharf, an' I kiDWo'l he'd he gUul to Hee me, but he wasn't there. Oh I've been gone m long that lots o' things .nigiit of Happened. Perhaps Mr. Patsy's dead. Perhaps Mr. 'Nidas is dead. Maybe every one's dead. These houses don't look as if any one was alive in 'eui. I guess I'll go back to the wharf an' hunt up rny old bed among the cotton bales." Then, with a deep sigh : «'lt's all the home I've got to go to. I don't s'pose Mr. 'Nidas wants to see me; he don't want to see no thief. If he ain't found out that I didn't steal that money, he might run me in even now. Well, I ain't goin' to take no risks. I ain't goin to be locked up for nothin'. I've got to clear out pretty sharp. I mustn't be caught a-hangin 'round here. I must look up a vessel bound out early in the mornin' an' get out the way again, but I'd like to see Mr. 'Nidas ; I'd jest like to git a little sight of him, an' he not know it. If I could 'a come early, before the shutters was up, I could 'a saw him an' all them books, but I didn't darst to come up early, fear I'd git caught. I wouldn't mmd a puttin' off to sea again, if I could jest git a sight of him, an' Monkey, an' Toto. An' Seraph, VIOUI^ISTE, an the wharf, an' I me, but ho wasn't )ng that lots o' things Mr. Patsy's dead. Maybe every one's k as if any one was ) back to the wharf ng the cotton bales." )t to go to. I don't so me; he don't want lund out that I didn't run me in even now. risks. I ain't goin' I've got to clear out fiught a-hangin' 'round Bel bound out early in /ay again, but I'd like ie to git a little sight . If I could 'a come 18 up, I could 'a saw 1 didn't darst to come ;ht. I wouldn't mind if I could jest git a an' Toto. An' Seraph, AV PAXGER. 2\l too. Yes, Seraph. >f an' her was chums. She liked me. I wondvr ii nIio knowod they thought I stole. I'd 'a bri>iight her some beads from Cal- cutta, only I was afeard she knowed, an' wouldn't take 'em. Well, I gue.ss I'll go back to the levee. I can't see no moi* by stay in here." With a dis(!Ouraged sigh he arose and prepared to move on, when suddenly he saw through the mist a faint gleam of light that seemed to emerge from under the shutters of Monsieur Nardi's shop. As he looked, it spread out in pale, sickly rays, growing stronger and brighter each moment ; then, like spears of dull gold, they darted out from every tiny crack and opening, — above, below, all around. There must be a brilliant light within to emit such beams through the small chinks of those closely fitting shutters. In an instant Marc was across the street with his eyes pressed close to the crack from which the largest ray proceeded, but he could distinguish noth- ing save a bright, glaring, blinding light, as though the whole interior was in one blaze. "It's fire — fire!" he called. His voice seemed choked in the mist and darkness, but even while he shouted, he was scaling the high fence. He iiaiiiBiiii ,0 212 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. knew, when once within the yard, that he coul awaken Cressy and alarm the house. The blinds of the sitting-room were not closei and as soon as his feet touched the brick pavemei of the yard he saw the light from the window and through the muslin curtain he also saw Mo sieur Nardi lying back in his chair, — ghastly pa and apparently lifeless. The reading-lamp burn^ on the table, the door between the shop and t room was slightly ajar, and the baleful glare th shone through paled the light of the lamp, dense black smoke filled the room and hung li a cloud over Monsieur Nardi's pallid face, a already the odor of the burning books could detected, — that sickening, stifling odor of bui leather and paper. With one rapid glance, the boy took in the sit tion. Springing on to the gallery like a little tig he dashed in a pane of glass and unbolted the v dow. In an instant the horrible smoke met s surrounded him, seeming to grasp him as someth solid and tangible ; it repelled and buffeted h seizing him by the throat with a strangling clu • but he fought against it with fierce strength courage until he reached the side of the unconsci old man. »„At»«'i*MM^ .«MB«ti:-.- TTLE VFOLINISTE. the yard, that he could 1 the house. ting-room were not closed, )uched the brick pavement 5 light from the window, curtain he also saw Mon- in his chair, — ghastly pale The reading-lamp burned between the shop and the and the baleful glare that he light of the lamp. A I the room and hung like • Nardi's pallid face, and le burning books could be ing, stifling odor of burnt e, the boy took in the situa- he gallery like a little tiger, glass and unbolted the win- le horrible smoke met and g to grasp him as something repelled and buffeted him, 3at with a strangling clutch, it with fierce strength and d the side of the unconscious IN DANGER. -^13 There was not a moment to lose. A superhuman power seemed to be given him. Grasping the inert form with fingers which felt l-ke steel, he pulled liira from his chair and dragged him through the window, out of the smoke, out of the very jaws of death, on to the gallery, where the cool night air swept over him with life-giving freshness. Then he flew to Cressy's door and aroused her with violent blows and cries. She heard him, and called in a terrified voice, "What has hap- pened ? " Had not Marc known the place so intimately, he could never have accomplished what he did. He was aware that a bucket, always full of water, to be used in an emergency, stood under the faucet of the cistern. The cistern was close beside the gallery, therefore it was only a few steps to the burning books. Leaving Monsieur Nardi to recover in the fresh air, he plunged into the shop with the bucket of water, splashing and dashing it against the rows of burning books: They had been smouldering for some time before they blazed, which accounted for the density of smoke. By the time Marc had re- turned with his second bucket of water, Cressy \i 214 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. had come to his aid, and together they saturated the bookshelves until the flames were subdued. Then Marc and Cressy, almost at their last gasp from the smoke, threw the doors wide open, and a current of cool air soon relieved them from suffocation. Not until Marc had torn the burning books out of the shelves and thoroughly drenched them with water, did he go to Monsieur Nardi's relief. Cressy was already administering to his needs. She had placed a pillow under his head, and wet his nostrils with spirits of ammonia, while she slapped and rubbed his limp hands vigorously. After a few minutes, his chest rose and fell slightly with the labored breath, and with a shuddering gasp he opened .his eyes and looked around him wildly; he was safe, but he was not fully conscious. It was not until Monsieur Nardi had recovered his faculties, and began to understand that some- thing unusual had happened, that Marc realized how badly he was burned. His scorched hair and blistered hands and face showed that he had been through a terrible ordeal of fire. E VIOLINISTE. gether they saturated mes were subdued, (lost at their last gasp doors wide open, and relieved them from the burning books out [y drenched them with • Nardi's relief. Cressy his needs. She had ad, and wet his nostrils irhile she slapped and orously. is chest rose and fell breath, and with a 1 .his eyes and looked } safe, but he was not r Nardi had recovered understand that some- ed, that Marc realized His scorched hair and owed that he had been E fire. .1 XXVII. A LITTLE HERO. TT is only doing Marc justice to say that at first he did not know, and perhaps never fully understood, how he, by his heroic courage and promptitude, had saved not only Monsieur Nardi's life, and probably Cressy 's, but all of the most valuable books in the collection of the old hou- quiniste. The harmless-looking candle that had been left in the shop in a moment of preoccupation, had burned the edge of the shelf above it, and in this way communicated the fire to the under part of the row of books, where it must have smouldered for some time before Marc saw the blaze through the chinks of the shutters. Fortunately the fire occurred on the opposite side of the shop from where stood the glass case that contained the antiques, and in fact all of the really valuable volumes; therefore they were injured neither by fire, smoke, nor water. ais iMtuftiin lljK^.%.- an IM>-4F-mli6A.<* 2l6 SEKAPII, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. It was some time before Monsieur Nardi was sufficiently recovered to understand the full extent of the accident. The first person he recognized was Marc, who was anxiously bending over him, and confused and bewildered as he was, he showed no surprise at seeing him ; but he noticed at once how terribly the boy was burned, and his distress was so great that he did not think either of his own condition nor of his losses. Cressy had escaped with very slight injuries, and her first proceeding, when she saw her master recovering, was to run to the next yard, awake Romeo, and despatch him for a doctor. And it was not until Marc's burns were dressed, and he was in bed sleeping quietly mider the effect of an opiate, that the poor old gentleman began to collect his thoughts, and to wonder where the boy came from, and how it happened that he had ap- peared on the scene at such an opportune moment. Then he remembered the white ship that he had watched the preceding evening. "I felt that he was aboard of her," he said to Cressy, while tears of thankfulness filled his eyes. "Xe Un Dm sent him to save us. We owe him our lives; ne^t ce ^j«s, ma bonne? And we must show ,^ . wwiA> ,i» ilicate in any of the sufficiently strong to -4 L/TTLE HEHO. ,,7, "" "' '"" ""Iventures, and how it happened .at ho wa, „„ the ,pot when the fire b,.ri Ifefore th.s, however, Monsieur Nardi had fo^dt' really beheved h™ g„ilty of the act that had ansed so „„„h „„happiness, and that „ I h! n::at.''r;'r""^"™<""^*«-p 'uiew ajso; therefore he must fhmi. that unpleasant episode. "" "^''^ '' "I'm glad Seraph knowed I didn't steal," was Marc s rejoinder, " an' now I wish VA v. ul . beads from P^l^nH u '^''"«''* ^^^^ guess" ' '^' ^^^"'^ '^ *°«k them, I " Taken them," corrected Monsieur Nardi « You see, won cher pnfnr^t +1 ^ ^®" as aoon as .It"! ^'"' --' «» 'o -"ooi ^^^ These are Mare, iitt.e adve„t„.s as to.d b, "Yes, sir, I'll begin at that night I run awav that Znin when the white »tean,er wanted a oabm Z Mr Patsy 'vised me to dup, 'cause the steward Jdt'd be right good to me, an' »™« ™J.a.k ; an- Mr, Patsy said you'd have a ehan» » Jnd „„t while I was gone, and *™ y<""' -"t^;'™ „i„d-that's why 1 went, and I wa» m luck *':f:!:!t"o« grub a single day, that is I wasn't sea, ck The work wasn't so hard, an' the cap am Tt me -n.e books-, an' the old tars spun lots . 'Un,,. nirates flyin' Dutchmen, an' mare Ir^'^W S. enu« . make your hair : 'up ; an' they let me listen, 'cause they k^wed „e; all them old tars seen me runnm bout the "v^e, an' they called me the levee k,d stead o£ the wharf rat. It sounded more spectable. > On the voyage ont I had a fine time; but when „e Kot in Liverpool I found out the wh.t« sh.p we 8°^ ™ . '^ , shinned on a three-master, wasn't comm' back, so I shippea on a sailin'-vessel bound for Calcutta. An I wasnt :;:! boy, 1 was the cook's boy. there swhe. the hard knocks come in. I was always m ve^ body's way, an' when they wanted me to get out. p.M ^imy. i juKiHtift liii '" WW UNISTE. I knowed I was y I was; so that r wanted a cabin cause the steward i' bring me back; a chance to find rou'd — well, never I was in luck for ly, that is, I wasn't ,rd, an' the cap'ain old tars spun lots lutchmen, an' mare io make your hair 'cause they knowed J runnin' 'bout the levee kid 'stead of re 'spectable. fine time ; but when out the white ship jd on a three-master, utta. An' I wasn't » boy ; there's where was always in every- ,nted me to get out, A LITTLE HERO. 931 they just banged me over the head or kicked me ; but I had plenty o' sand. I didn't whimper, an' when they saw I wasn't no land-lubber they left off a-teasin' me. '' On the voyage back I was took with the ship- fever, an' I don't know how long I was laid up. When we got in Liverpool I was so weak I couldn't crawl out o' my bunk, so they sent me to the horsepital; there I had mighty good livin', a soft bed an' a nurse ; she was al'ays a-doin' something to make me feel better. An' sometimes she read to me out of a book, all about Daniel an' the lions, an' Joseph's coat, an' a man nailed to a cross, for the sins of the world, she said. They were fine stories— I liked 'em, an' I'll never forget them. "One mornin' I was well an' they turned me out. The nurse gave me a shillin', an' that book she read out of. It's named Holy Bible. I left it in my bunk that night I come ashore, and I s'pose it's lost. When I got out the horsepital, I had nowhere to go, so I started for the docks, an' the first thing I see layin' off in the river ready to start, was the white steamer. An' while I was lookin' an' wishin' I was aboard of her, down come the steward an' some o' the men. The launch ■3 :s\ 222 SKKAm THE LITTLE VIOUNISTE. was a-waitin' for 'em, an' the minit they see me they all hollered, * Why, there's the little levee kid! So they took me off to the ship, an' I worked my passage home. , u * t « That night when I got ashore in the boat, 1 looked all 'round for Mr. Patsy, but I couldn't find him, so 1 just run up here to see the old place. I 'spected to go away again, an' I wanted- well, I- — well — I didn't see no one it was so late an all the houses was shut up. So I set down in a door opposite to rest, an' maybe I went to sleep, it was so dark an' quiet. Then all of a sudden I seen the light shine out atween the shutters, an' I run across an' there was the fire. I yelled 'fire,' but nobody heard. Then I jumped the fence, an woke Cressy, an' Cressy an' me, we put it out. I couldn t 'a got it out if it hadn't been for Cressy's helpin . That's how I happened to be on the spot m the nick o' time, 'cause I couldn't help it, that's all. »<^ 'lOUNrSTE, minit they see me the little levee kid!' ip, an' I worked my hore in the boat, I , but I couldn't find «e the old place. I : wanted — well, I — it was so late an' all set down in a door went to sleep, it was a sudden I seen the shutters, an' I run , I yelled 'fire,' but d the fence, an' woke )ut it out. I couldn't 1 for Cressy's helpin'. B on the spot in the 't help it, that's all." XXVIII. J- » • ' AT MADAME ST. MAXENT's. TT was some time before the bums on Marc's face and hands were entirely healed, and even after they were quite well, the ugly red scars were a constant reminder to Monsieur Nardi that the boy liad risked his life to save him and hi.s property, and never a young hero was more praised and applauded than he. Patsy the watchman, Cressy, and Romeo almost disputed for the honor of serving iiini, and Uncle 'Nidas and Seraph vied with each other in their numerous attentions. Even Madame St. Maxent visited his little room to express her admiration for his courage and prompt action in saving the life of her valued friend. And when he was able to go out she took him in her carriage with Louise and Seraph, to drive in the countiy, or through the quiet, shady parks, where they loitered under the great oaks, drinking in delicious draughts of fresh, pure air, which gave new strength and life to the child's 223 ^ 224 sEKAPH, riiE urn.F. vwuniste, feeble, .hrunkcm fnune, and brought back the color to his pallid face. Son.eti.nos they drove to the West End, when, Madame St. Maxent would order a delicious lunch of fresh fruits and ices, served in one of the pav. - ions overlooking the lovely lake. Then Seraph and Marc wo.ild wander through the w»lks amo..j,' the trees and flowers, peeping into the grottoes, and hurrying, breathlessly, with much laugliter, through the intricacies of the maze, from whicl. they would en.erge as elated as though they had accomplished some remarkable feat. After they had visited all the shows, they would return home by the beautiful shell road, light-hearted and hap- pier for their day's outing. To Marc, who had been so cruelly buffeted by misfortune, these luxuries and pleasures were like glimpses of paradise. And in comparison the memory of those dreadful days on the East India ship, the fever, the dark noisome bunk where he lay suffering and neglected, were like a horrible nightmare, and the contrast made him so grateful and happy that it was a pleasure to do him a kindness. . , . * *' Bring the little hero and Seraph to tea next .1 \ ii.iV>iS?j)H <■: VWI.INtSTE. jrought back the color the Wost End, when; Drtler a delicious lunch 3d in one of the pavil- y lake. Then Seraph ough the walks aniong )ing into the grottoes, with much laughter, the maze, from whicli ed as though they hail able feat. After they ihey would return home , light-hearted and hap- \ so cruelly buffeted by and pleasures were like nd in comparison, the days on the East India noisome bunk where he 'd, were like a horrible ,st made him so grateful t pleasure to do him a and Seraph to tea next AT MADAME ST. MAXF.XT'S. 225 Saturday," naid Madame St. Maxent to Monsieur Nardi, one morning when he was in the shop. "Maurice wants to see him. Kxcu-so a mother's vanity, but I begin to think that Maurice ha.s a fine ciiaracter; he admires bravery, and the courage of the little fellow delighted him. Yesterday he surprised me by saying that he did not wish to go to college. His tutor says that he will never dis- tinguish himself in the humanities. Ho really does not like to study, yet he seldom fails in his lessons, because he is conscientious and ambitious, and he works very hard for what lie gets. He loves music and art, he has quite a talent for drawing; but his preference is for architecture. He tells me be would like to be an architect and builder. I do not encourage him in that idea. With his fortune there is no need of his going into business, and I shall not urge him to take a collegiate course unless he wishes to do so. "What is the use of a boy spending four or five years in honest or dishonest efforts to have the stamp of a university when he has no apti- tude for letters ? H he wishes, he can travel with a tutor, and gain his education by studying the world and his fellow-creatures. That will broaden „5 SEJ!^Pff. THE UTTLE VIOUNISTB. hun, and develop what U best in him. He loves Nature and I wish him to live near to her. A ^; Tto understands and loves Nature cannot be Txhen he has what I consider another fine trait of character-he loves animals. And I hold ^ ltonewholovesandish™l^dt.mb— es must have a good heart. I do not w.sn or curb any of his reasonable des.es; I only w h to cultivate what is best in him. 1 do not mean : ay that he is perfect, but his faults are all^on the side of thoughtless generosity. As h grow *L he will be wiser, and I trust he wrll make a fine man. . , , "Excuse a mothers weakness, mon ««• I know I talk too much about my son; but you see I am iUe a hen with one chick, and I make as much t: over my one as other mothers wou d over dozen. Mai., e» >, *r am, brmg h chdten Saturday. We will have t.a .« ^e ga"* . Seraph and Maurice can play a duet, and 1 w* show you the improvements I have made m my "Tri never looked prettier than on that Satu^ day, when she went to take .«a with Madame St illMCTilwvmww"™ VrOLlNISTE. jt in him. He loves live near to her. A ires Nature cannot be consider another fine animals. And I hold ind to dumb creatures do not wish to thwart le desires; I only wish him. T do not mean lit his faults are all on lerosity. As he grows i I trust he will make mess, mon ami. I know son; but you see I am :, and I make as much f mothers would over a ami, bring the children re tea in the garden, play a duet, and I will nts I have made in my jttier than on that Satur- ike tea with Madame St. ^T MADAME ST. M.tXFXT'S ^. 227 fcxent. Since her mother earned such a nice liUle ' ,T ^ '"" '"'''•' "''i* her mother had brushed u„t„ it shone lilce threads of gold " ■» «p.te of his sears, which were daifv t rnTriir^citthttfr^^""^-'""- ui i^drai telt that he had every reason to be proud of his two little protigl,. ' " When they arrived Maw, violin, the, L adii J;; z'lz ^r'' whose broad exDan,P nf r , *ootman, »ere only rivlued bv i T '"' *"' ''~"'«'°*'' 'v "vaued by the gloss of his skin ^.r,^ conducted very ceremoniously to th Zml garden, where, under a spreading orange t r w^ a mound f 1 ""'"' '" " ''"'" ^''^ ''-'' -- a mound of the same fragrant blossoms. The sun peeped through the branches, and glintin/™ 7 tea-kettle of „^«„,e' silver, m«.e thf , L ,1 1' and chma sparkle like jewels. * tt ■-J „8 SESAPH. THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. Madame St. Maxent wore a ro»e ^^"^ "^f^. Against the dark green of the fohage she lookM r,We a lovely Watteau. And Maurice was as ha^- some as a young lord, in a «,!.!/« su,t of the latest mode, his dark curly head bare and the ends of his blue scarf fluttering m the breeK. When they were seated at the Uble, they were a merry little group; for notwithstanding the un- accustomed elegance, the children were qmte a their ease. They were happy, -dyo"^'' ^^ „appiness can never be stiff and -kwarf. T>^ servant brought fruits and '-;- "'^^di while Madame St. Maxent and Mons eur Nard, : ped their tea and nibbled their "W up a charming conversation, simple and l«ht pnoutrh for all to enjoy. , . . u Aft the pleasant meal was over, Maur.ce took Sets aud Marc to show them the sU.ble, h« "Zl and dogs, and his other pet an^Os which he had an interesting collection. Then they :« dered about the garden, and over the lawn They saw the fountains full of gold and sdver fish S and Marc went into ecstasies over some ^„ funny Japanese fish, with iridescent scales ::/ two Lion's wiggling Uils. And there were (NISTE. e silk tea-gown, liage she looked ice was as hand- digi suit of the 1 bare, and the ti the breeze. table, they were istanding the un- n were quite at and youth and 1 awkward. The for the children, i Monsieur Nardi ir biscuit, keeping simple and light )ver, Maurice took jm the stable, his r pet animals, of lection. Then they id over the lawn; rold and silver fish ; jcstasies over some ,h iridescent scales, 3. And there were AT MADAME ST. MAXENT'S 229 that the y.oh„, were bn,„ght out, and Maurice and Seraph, wit, th^ir young head, ^1^^ turned, and twMted, and tuned their respective instrument, into accord for the duet While the children wen, interesting and araus- Z^tT'-: ''' «'-P-nage'„f „«:::, Ictin" the ""' """'■''" ''''«« -- i»- ^pecting the .mprovements in the library, enea«1 oen- sers, whde a mock.ng-bin) hanging on the twig of w 'ill' 230 SH/iAr//. TJ/E LITTLE VIOLINISTE. a red-bud tree, twittered faintly and sweetly until the last notes of the duet died away on the soft air, and then, whether intoxicated with the music, or in a spirit of rivalry, it poured out strain after strain of the most delicious melody, spreadmg its wings, and fluttering from branch to branch while it Ig on deliriously and wildly, until the sun had fairly set, the happy children had turned their faces homeward, and darkness and silence had settled down on Madame St. Maxent's beautiful garden. WISTE. a sweetly until ay on the soft with the music, out strain after [y, spreading its to branch while , nntil the sun lad turned their md silence had ixent's beautiful XXIX. THE REVOLT OF MADGE. IV/rONSIEUR NARDI had placed Marc at a -^-^ small private school on Conti Street, where he studied so well and made such excellent prog- ress, that the teacher, who was a friend of the old bookseller, often made a favorable report. " The boy drinks in knowledge as a dry plant drinks in rain," he said. " He loves to study, and he has a retentive memory ; he will make rapid strides, and will soon be of great assistance to you. The most serious difficulty I have is in correcting his faults of speech. It is not easy to overcome the habit of a lifetime." "Be patient with the child, mon ami" said Monsieur Nardi gently. "Remember that he has never been taught. He has grown up as neg- lected as a weed springing by the road side. We cannot expect him to blossom at once into a rare flower. I am sure he has the gifts and graces of an uncommonly fine character. Have patience, and we shall see. We shall see." 831 V: fl II 232 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. While Marc was fully occupied with his studies, and while Seraph was striving after greater excel- lence in her music, poor little Madge seemed to be deteriorating. She did not progress in the fashion- able school as her mother hoped she would do; and she had come to a decided standstill in her German, while her piano lessons were so distaste- ful that she resorted to all sorts of subterfuges to avoid them. Professor Vortman had long since told Cousin Franz that it was wasting time and money, that she had no music in her, and would never get beyond mediocrity. The only progress she made, if one dare call it progress, was in her love for fine clothes. The girls in her school dressed very fashionably, and she felt that she ought to do as they did. One day she came to visit Seraph, and the two little maids went out to the seat under the ole- ander tree for a confidential chat. "Mamma is awfully severe and so stingy," said Madge complainingly. "But you go to a fashionable school, and that costs a great deal of money," returned Seraph. " My mamma can't afford to send me to school. I have to study with her, and then I read some UNISTE. with his studies, iter greater excel- dge seemed to be jss in the fashion- d she would do; standstill in her were so distaste- rts of subterfuges lan had long since wasting time and in her, and would The only progress •ogress, was in her iris in her school she felt that she jraph, and the two seat under the ole- at. nd so stingy," said lie school, and that " returned Seraph. [id me to school. I then I read some THE REVOLT OF MADGE. 233 with Uncle 'Nidas and Marc. You have a great deal more than I do, Madge; you have a great many new frocks." "Yes, woollen and gingham," continued Madge discontentedly; "but I want a silk frock. All the girls in my class wear silk frocks on Sunday, and some wear them to school." " Mamma does not allow me to wear a silk frock either," said Seraph, "and I don't mind it. I really don't want one." "You would if you went to my school," replied Madge decidedly. "It's very unkind of mamma not to let me have one." "But, Madge, don't you think your mamma knows best what you should wear?" asked Seraph persuasively. "No, I don't! Mamma isn't fashionable. She doesn't know how fashionable people dress," con- tinued Madge, in a disrespectful tone; "besides, I have money of my own. My papa left me money, and mamma has no right to dress me like a child in an orphan asylum. The girls laugh at me, and say I look like one of the children of the house of the Good Shepherd." "Oh, Madge, they must be very rude girls to «»«««**»?sMi'« 234 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. say that. I should not mind theni," said Seraph, flushing. "I'm sure you always look neat and nice «i "But there's no style in just looking neat. 1 want flowers and feathers in my hats. I'm tired of only ribbon, and 1 mean to have a change," said Madge, with calm decision. "Why, what do you intend to do, Madge?" asked Seraph, in a surprised tone. "You know I told you my secret about the dolls' hats, and you never told any one, did you?" "No," said Seraph, "I never did." " Well, now I'll tell you another, because I can trust you. I've made up my mind what to do. If mamma doesn't buy me a pink and white checked silk frock, and a Leghorn hat with a wreath of pink roses, I mean to leave home and learn the millinery trade." "Oh, Madge!" exclaimed Seraph horrified. « Why, of course I shall. Didn't I tell you I intended to have a shop on Rue Boyale. I haven't changed my mind," continued Madge, quietly but firmly; "and before I go into business I must learn the trade. Then I shall have the money papa left me, and open a shop." f/ISTE. I," said Seraph, look neat and Qoking neat. T hats. I'm tired ave a change," , do, Madge?" ecret about the one, did you ? " d." r, because I can nd what to do. nd white checked ith a wreath of e and learn the )h horrified. In't I tell you I oyale. I haven't adge, quietly but ness I must learn the money papa Tf/F. REVOLT OF MADGE. 235 " But, Madge, you are too young. No one could go into business at your age," said Seraph de- cidedly. "I'm nearly thirteen, and I've got to learn my trade first. You know that modiste on Rue Royale; the largest, prettiest shop is the one I mean. Well,' she takes girls no older than I am and teaches them the trade. I've inquired; I know all about it." " Oh, Madge, don't do it. I wouldn't if I were you," pleaded Seraph. "There, Seraph! that's just like a girl. Didn't you promise to go into the business with me? Weren't we to have a shop together? and now you're going back on your word ! " exclaimed Madge hotly. "But that was before I got back my violin," replied Seraph, flushing and confused. "I can't go with you now; I don't want a shop now." " Because you've got what you want. If I could get what I want, I wouldn't have a shop either. Why, mamma and papa are even threaten- ing to take me away from Madame Claire's school. I want to learn china painting. No, I want to do Kensington. No, I want to take Italian. No, 1 1 !i^> »*w n iiKii »^ ■M.ieriW.ir' 236 SEKAl'U, THE LITTLE VWLLWISTE. 1 want a pink silk frock and a white hat with roses. No, no, no, I m tired to death of lectures, German, and darning; and, Seraph, I hate the piano worse than you do." "Oh dear, Madge, 1 wish you wouldn't feel so. I don't know how to help you," said Seraph, her eyes filling with tears; " 1 wish you wouldn't leave home, I wish you wouldn't be a modixter "Well, you'll see," said Madge oracularly. "If they are so severe with me, I shall have to do something. I can't live and breathe by rule any longer. If you could hear the girls in my class tell of the fun they have at home. Paula Lacostes' mamma gave her a real party, and they had supper at ten, and Marie Doize gave a lunch her birthday, just like a grown-up luncheon. They had favors, and everything, and Marie wore a white silk frock that her mamma ordered from Hortense. Now, did I ever have a party? Did I ever have a luncheon? And our house is just horrid." « Oh, Madge, such a fine large house, how can you say that?" cried Seraph, in astonishment. " Yes, it's large enough, and as dreary as a con- vent. There isn't a pretty thing in it, and the garden is like a cemetery with those shell walks JLINISTE. THE REVOLT OF MADGE. 237 1 white hat with death of lectures, sraph, I hate tlie I woiildn't feel so. ' said Seraph, her jrou wouldn't leave I, modiste." ge oracularly. " If shall have to do reathe hy rule any 1 girls in my class e. Paula Lacostes' ,nd they had supper lunch her birthday, They had favors, a white silk frock 3ortense. Now, did er have a luncheon ? 'ge house, how can n astonishment, as dreary as a con- ling in it, and the h those shell walks and stiff clipped trees. Oh, I hate it! I feel as though I was in prison. I want some freedom, and I want to see something pretty." Seraph was silenced by such strong arguments, but she wjw not convinced that the step Madge contemplated taking was at all right. Yet she felt dimly that there was fault somewhere, that some one was to blame for the barrenness of the child's life. She had always been a patient, docile little creature. What had so changed her? What had cau.sed the worm to turn? Seraph thought a great deal about Madge for several days after the visit ; but as the communica- tion was a secret of the most inviolable character, she could not speak of her fears and anxieties to her mother. Young as she was, she understood something of human nature, and she felt that Madge was a quietly stubborn little person, who, when once she made up her mind to do a thing, would persevere in spite of consequences. Therefore Seraph was not surprised when, one morning, Cousin Franz entered with a very dis- turbed manner, and a face more serious than usual, and before they had fairly exchanged the accustomed greetings, exclaimed excitedly, " Louise, mmammmati.,.^^. fV^^ 238 sj:a.i/'//, nil: unit, viousisrt. Seraph, l.avi- you seen Madge? Has she been here this mornuig?" Of course Madame BUuncnthal was greatly allocked and surprised when she heard what had happened, but Seraph surmised what was coming, iind she kept lier own counsel. ''Madge lias been very — very — I might say re- fractory," began Cousin Franz hesitatingly. *' For some time she has seemed to be inclined to revolt against o,ir authority, but the serious trouble began when we removed her, a few days ago, from Madame Claire's school. 1 never approved of her being sent there. It was entirely her mother's idea. All our trouble dates from that. The in- fluence was very harmful ; she received impressions of life totally at variance with my teaching. « Yesterday her mother refused to purchase her certain unbecoming articles of dress, and she was rebellious and disrespectful, and I might say she revolted against her mother's authority, and threat- ened to leave home. Of course we thought this idle talk until this morning, when she did not ap- pear at breakfast. Then we made inquiries and learned that she had left the house at an early hour. )U, visit. Has she been here thai was greatly B heard what had what was coming, — I might say re- [lesitatingly. *' For 5 inclined to revolt le serious trouble a few days ago, I never approved of itiroly her mother's roin that. The in- received impressions my teaching, led to purchase her dress, and she was i I might say she uthority, and threat- se we thought this hen she did not ap- made inquiries and , house at an early THE REVOLT OF MADGE. 239 "This letter was found pinned on her pillow." And Cousin Fran/ laid a crumpled .sheet of paper before Louise, who smiled as she read it, in spite of the gravity of the occasion, Dkar Mamma, — If I cnii't ro to Mfulaino Clair's 8ch»K)l, and if I can't have that, pink oliek Hilk and thiit wite legorn hat, I am goin away furever. Vuu needn't sunli for nio ; from tliiH time I am berried to you j\iHt as if I was dead and in my graiv. I am goin to take the money in my mishunery i)ox, and my new shoes. VTour dutiful daughter, Madge. llillliHIBlllWJfWMi'^ XXX. FOUND. " -\rOU see how difficult it is for me to act in X this matter," said Cousin Franz, aft^r Louise had read Madge's letter, "for the reason that I do not wish to give publicity to a child . foolish escapade. Her mother thought that sh( might have come to you, or that she possibly saic something to Seraph, during her last visit, tha would give us some idea as to her whereabouts « Seraph did not mention to me that Madg spoke of leaving home. I think if she had m child would have told me," and Louise looked ii quiringly at Seraph, who appeared to be great! distressed and confused. "Madge was very unhappy. She said h^ mamma was severe and -and- unkind," repli. Seraph evasively; "but I can't repeat what s told me. It is. a secret, and I promised not tell." - But you must tell. If you know anything, y up 7-"-^;^iS!T','-.-: FOUND. 241 UD. It it is for me to act in d Cousin Franz, after letter, "for the reason ^e publicity to a child's aother thought that she or that she possibly- said iring her last visit, that as to her whereabouts." ition to me that Madge I think if she had, my e," and Louise looked in- appeared to be greatly unhappy. She said her 1__ and — unkind," replied I can't repeat what she st, and I promised not to If you know anything, you 340 must tell. It is of the greatest importance," in- sisted Cousin Franz. " Please don't say that I must tell, when I prom- ised not to," pleaded Seraph. '^'' Ma chere, don't you see what a very serious thing it is for Madge to leave her home in this way. If you know anything, I beg of you to tell Cousin Franz," urged Madame Blumenthal, some- what annoyed at Seraph's reticence. " But, mamma dear, how can I when I promised not to tell ? I promised. It is a secret between Madge and me, and if I told it, she would never trust me again." Louise gave Cousin Franz a discouraged look, and then she said, " Very well, my child, since you think it so important to keep your word, can't you think of some way to help us find Madge? You surely don't want the poor child disgraced ; you don't want her advertised in the journals. You won't oblige us to employ the police to search for her if you can do anything." Seraph remained silent for some moments. She seemed to be thinking deeply. Her soft little fore- head was drawn in a frown, and her lips were firmly pressed together. At length she said cautiously: 1 r\\ -bsHM SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. 242 "Mamma, perhaps I can find Madge: if Cousin Franz will wait, I may be able to find her and fetch her home." . " But her mother is so distressed," said Cousm Franz uneasily, " she will not be willing to wait ; she will insist on immediate action." "It won't be long," replied Seraph. "If I can't find her, I will come directly and tell you. But if I do find her and fetch her home, won't you prom- ise dear Cousin Franz, not to be severe with her? Won't you forgive her, and won't you ask Cousm Rachel not to punish her?" Cousin Franz looked very severe and unyieldmg, but at length he said reluctantly: «I will leave her entirely to her mother. I will trust her mother to deal justly with her. Leniency is not always kindness. However, I am convinced that I have no influence over Madge. I am mistaken in hor Character ; she probably inherits her perverse disposition from her father. If she were my own child, I could cope with her; as it is, in future I shall leave her entirely to her mother. Now I shall return home and wait to hear from Seraph before I take any other step toward findmg the undutiful, misguided child." lOUNISTE. I Madge-, if Cousin ale to find her and ressed," said Cousin be willing to wait; ction." Seraph. "If I can't nd tell you. But if me, won't you prom- be severe with her? on't you ask Cousin 3vere and unyielding, ,ntly: "I will leave I will trust her ler. Leniency is not [ am convinced that dge. I am mistaken J inherits her perverse If she were my own ; as it is, in future I her mother. Now I to hear from Seraph p toward finding the FOUND. 243 Then with a hurried good morning, he went away as abruptly as he came, leaving Seraph to prepare for her quest. " I shall ask Uncle 'Nidas to go with me, mamma,' so you need not be anxious, and I shall find Madge and bring her to you. She will be very unhappy, and you will be sweet to her, won't you, chlre petite mmnan?" said Seraph, as she kissed her mother and hurried away, feeling intensely the im- portance of her mission. "Dear me!" murmured Louise when she was alone. "Who would have thought that quiet, de- mure little thing had so much self-will and inde- pendence. I wish she had not made a confidant of Seraph. I don't like to have my child mixed up with such an affair." A little later in the day Monsieur Nardi and Seraph were standing before the show window of a fashionable modiste on Royal Street. They were discussing the best means of procedure. "I think she is here, in the workroom of this shop," said Seraph, trying to peer between the hats and bonnets, set pertly on wire frames, before the glass. "But, ma chhre, why do you think she is here?" ■MM r 244 ^^^^^"' "^"^ "'^'^^^ VTOUmSTE. asked Monsieur Nardi, anxious to know if there wafi any foundation for such a supposition. Seraph was still guarding the saxjred secret with all her little moral strength, and not even Uncle 'Nidas could wrest it from her. Therefore, with a noncommittal smile, her eyes still searchmg the rear of the shop, she replied, " I can't tell why, but I think she is here. There's a workroom back of the shop, and when they pass in and out, I can get a glimpse of a long table, with a great many young girls on each side of it; but I don't see Madge. Still, I think she's there." "Well, ma chlre, let us go in and ask:; that is the best way to settle it," said Monsieur Nardi, turning toward the door; and Seraph followed, her heart-beats audible to her own ears. It was a moment of intense excitement. If Madge should not be in that workroom! Where could she be? The poor child dared not think of the altema- '""as they entered, a pleasant-faced, overdressed woman came forward, bowing and smiling. ^'Mon- sieur et mademoiselle, h voire service." ^^Merci Imn, madame;' returned Monsieur Nardi, also bowing and smiling. "Will you kindly teU lOLINISTE. to know if there supposition. 1 sacred secret with nd not even Uncle r. Therefore, with } still searching the "I can't tell vohy^ here's a workroom ley pass in and out, table, with a great 2 of it; but I don't s there." in and askr; that is aid Monsieur Nardi, ,nd Seraph followed, • own ears. It was it. If Madge should SVhere could she be? hink of the altema- ant-faced, overdressed and smiling. ''Mon- service" irned Monsieur Nardi, 'Will you kindly tell i A'-". T-^E■, ENTERED, A PHEASANT-FACED, -VELL-jRESSED .70MAN CAM; FOR.VARD, BO.VING, SMILING." JL I FOUND. »45 me if you engaged a young girl this morning, by the name of Madge ? " *^I do not know, monsieur. My forewoman engages the girls, but I think one came in this morning who gave the name of Maggie. I will inquire." And she touched a silver bell that stood on a table covered with delicious bits of silk, rib- bons, and flowers, as harmoniously blended as though they were growing in a garden. When the door into the workroom was about to open, Seraph craned her neck so as to com- mand a good view of the interior; but, to her astonishment, it was Madge herself who opened the door, but Madge so changed and transformed, that one less well acquainted with her than was Seraph would scarcely have recognized her. The most important change was in the fashion of dressing her hair. She had drawn her fawn- colored locks forward, and cut them off in a thick fringe close to her eyebrows ; then her glossy braid was curled and fluffed, a finger or more below the red ribbon that tied it, leaving a thick tuft at the end, after the style of a clipped poodle ; and she certainly must have made heavy inroads on her " mishunery box," in order to purchase the 1 246 SEKAPJf, THE I.ITTI.E yiOUX/STE. red ribbons tbat adorned her drab little person. It was tied ai)out her neck and hung in long ends behind. It was tied about her waist and hung in long ends in front. In fact, it was obvious that Madge had gratified her inordinate taste for red ribbons to its fullest extent. But just at first Seraph did not notice the eccen- tricities of Madge's dress, for her eyes were lixed on the troubled, tear-stained face. The embryo modiste had evidently been handling a great many dusty articles, and using her fingers, instead of her handkerchief, to wipe away the too obtrusive signs of sorrow, for a smudgy circle under each eye gave her usually stolid face a very pathetic expression. Before she wa? half through the opening of the door she saw Seraph and Monsieur Nardi. A flood of crimson swept from brow to chin, and she was about to shrink back, panting and trembling like a hunted hare, when Seraph darted forward and laid hold of her with a vigorous clutch. " Oh, Madge, Madge ! I'm so glad to find you. Come with me, come home ! " she cried entreatingly. Then ensued a little struggle, Madge trying to retreat into the workroom, and Seraph clinging to her with all her might. 'Jsl \UMSTE. rah little person, lung in long ends waist and hung D, it was obvious [Ordinate taste for t, notice the eccen- jr eyes were lixed ice. The embryo ling a great many jers, instead of her too obtrusive signs ider each eye gave athetic expression, the opening of the eur Nardi. A flood chin, and she was and trembling like larted forward and s clutch. 3 glad to find you. B cried entreatingly. !, Madge trying to Seraph clinging to FOUND. 247 "I don't want to go, and I shan't," protested Madge, the tears starting in a torrent. " But you must, you .shall," insisted Seraph, look- ing appeal ingly at Mon.sieur Nardi, who stepped forward, smiling serenely, but .saying calmly and decidedly, — '* Come, come, my dear child ; this is foolish. Get your hat, like a good girl, and I will explain to Madame. I am sure she will excuse you and allow you to go with us." Then Monsieur Nardi, in a few polite and pleasant words, informed the modiste that her little appren- tice had left her home without the permission or knowledge of her mother, who was highly respect- able and quite rich, and that he and her little cousin had come to fetch her back. "^/i, oui, monsieur, I understand; a self-willed little thing," said the modiste, smiling and bowing them out, as pleasantly and politely as though they had bought a dozen hats. Seraph glanced pityingly at Madge, who followed them reluctantly, looking very forlorn in her un- accu.stomed finery, crowned by a hat, in which, in the first moment of her freedom, she had trium- phantly placed a large bunch of cheap red roses. XXXI. IN THE FOLD. SERAPH thought it judicious, before she returned the wandering lamb to the fold, to freshen luT up a little and make her more presentable. Therefore she insisted on taking the little rebel to Louise, whose sweetness and kindness, she knew, would have a softening etfect, and tend to subdue the pride and self-will of the penitent more effect- ually than severity or even maternal authority. Madge lagged behind, still affecting a stubborn resistance toward those who desired to return her to the fold. She was a soiled, tired, whimpermg lamb, and heartily glad to be saved in spite of herself; yet she thought she would be lacking m .lignity if she yielded too easily and acknowledged herself conquered in her little battle for freedom. However, her small comedy of opposition was very transparent, and even Seraph felt that Madge did not mean it when she protested that she did not wish to return home, that she had left home for- 348 ,*^*>*-^ ■'!»**'**•• tN THE FOLD. 249 , before she returned the fold, to freshen r more presentable, ig the little rebel to kindness, she knew, and tend to subdue penitent more ett'ect- aternal authority, affecting a stubborn esired to return her ;d, tired, whimpering e saved in spite of would be lacking in ily and acknowledged ! battle for freedom. f opposition was very felt that Madge did ted that she did not le had left home for- ever, n!ul if tlu^ insisted on taking lior back, .she would go whore they would never Hnd her. To all of which .Monsieur NardI replied (|uietly, "«^M, imx {Y/, ma chhe, pm {•,«. You don't mean what you are saying, and you don't know what you are doing." When they reached Madame Blnmenthal's door, Seraph could .scarcely persuade Madge to enter, for suddenly .she seemed overwhelmed with shame, and hung back in the greatest confusion. '•Come in, dear child, come to me; I want to talk to you," called Loui.se, in her sweet, persuasive tones. "Come to me just as Seraph does when she is unhappy." And the little invalid held out her arms. Madge could not resist that invitation of heart- felt tenderness. With another burst of tears, and a great sob, she threw herself beside Madame Blu- menthal, and hiding her swollen, smiidgy little face ill her grimy hands, she confessed herself subdued, if not conquered, and heartily sick of the freedom •she had longed for. " And now, my dear child," said Loui.se, after she had soothed and petted the little penitent until she was somewhat compo.sed, " your mother is very If i mriin r HM i im i ii w fi mm 250 5£^^^//. THE LITTLE VIOUNISTE. anxious and unhappy, and you must go to her as soon as possible. She loves you. Never doubt her love again, and she will take you into her heart and forgive you freely. Be patient and docile, even if you are crossed and thwarted, and some day you will learn, as I have, that what seems a cruelty is often a blessing in disguise. Cheer up poor little heart; go to your parents in a spmt of submission and love, and all will be well.^ Now, dear, bathe your face and eyes, and won t you chkie, to please me, take off those red ribbons, and that bunch of roses from your hat. You are i good, modest little girl, and I am sure you don wish to look common and vulgar. You are no old enough to wear such gaudy colors. And le me trim your fringe a little, to show your fore head, and this rough tangle at the end of yo« braid is very untidy. There! now you look like little lady." Madge suffered herself to be despoiled withoi a murmur, and so contrite was she that she eve regretted having sacrificed her front hair to h spirit of insubordination; but her regrets m th direction were useless. She could not restore h fawn-colored locks to their original condition. \^ I LE VIOLIN ISTE. you must go to her as 3 you. Never doubt her ike you into her heart Be patient and docile, bnd thwarted, and some lave, that what seems a in disguise. Cheer up, (ur parents in a spirit of all will be well. Now, id eyes, and won't you, iff those red ribbons, and I your hat. You are a tnd T am sure you don't nd vulgar. You are not I gaudy colors. And let little, to show your fore- ngle at the end of your lere! now you look like a f to be despoiled without ite was she that she even •ed her front hair to her ; but her regrets in that She could not restore her sir original condition. But IN THE FOLD. 251 Louise reassured her by telling her that the fringe was pretty and modest when cut a proper length, and she was sure that Madame Arnet would not object to it. Ever since she could 1 -^member, Madge had longed for a fringe ; therefore she felt that she had gained one small victoiy, even if the skirmish had been disastrous. Returning to the fold was a terrible ordeal for the little penitent ; but it had to be done before she could expect pardon and peace. Strengthened by Louise's sensible advice, and encouraged by Seraph's confidence in Cousin Franz's promise, Madge turned her face homeward, a sadier and a wiser .hild. She would not allow Seraph to ac- company her. She felt that the meeting and reconciliation would be more effective without spectators. Before she reached the gate of her home, she saw her mother pacing the front gallery restlessly, stopping, now and then, to look into the street with an air of anxious expectancy. Madge never could remember just what took place; but before the gate was fairly closed behind Iier, she was clasped in her mother's arms, and I I' '1. ,^2 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOUNISTE. *i V were crying together. Then her papa came the:y were cry ng g ^.^^ ^^^ forward and kissed her graveiy, u y ;:; mtle was said; but the pemten chOd feu «./f«n blessing 0. pardon and ^^^^^^^ ^^„ That evening, when Madge was agam .n her own ,itt,e white room, her mother -- ; ^^y.^^ ^>-r'"i^tint"::tirsLrthe :Srr^^:ort: unbutton her ow^frc^s, ^he said with a little tremor m her voice fer eregation. However, mj or.a T have decided to huy you a new frock :ratghor:hat,butIthinUbl«ewou,dbe .™efs congregation heg^ to .^r.^on th^ TTr m f^that she might do a daughter. ^"^^'J introducing the religion little missionary worK, oy „{ beauty into a heart ignorant of its reiin g it' rOLINISTE. len her papa came y, but kindly, and penitent child felt reconciliation. Ets again in her own came in softly, and iting in the prepara- 1 not done since the tton her own frocks, in her voice, "Per- erhaps I have dressed )W a minister's wife a her husband's con- r, I have thought it buy you a new frock think blue would be St as you like," was linine portion of Mr. I to remark on the e minister's wife and that she might do a introducing the religion norant of its refining W THE FOLD. 253 influence, presented Cousin Rachel with one of the charming flower-bonnets which her little fingers fashioned so exquisitely, and when Madame Arnet placed the dainty wreath of violets on her pale brown hair, she looked ten years younger, and so well that Madge exclaimed admiringly : "Oh, mamma! how pretty you look! It suits you perfectly. Now you must have a gown of violet silk and black lace to wear with it." Madame Arnet readily accepted the suggestion. Her eyes were open at last to the dignity and charm of a suitable and becoming toilet, and even the austere Franz was forced to admit that, when one could afford it, there were many advantages i)i being well dressed. Lying dormant in many characters is a spark of love for the beautiful, which, when once fanned to a flame, burns brighter from having been so long repressed. This seemed to be the case with Madame Arnet. She not only dressed more be- comingly and more fashionably, but she made her house more attractive by adding many little orna- ments and refinements which she had always con- sidered frivolous and useless; and Madge was allowed to do china painting, and to dabble in J54 ^^-^w. '■** ""'■^ vioumsTE. water colors to her heart's content. Alter a while :r the objectionable .usic and ™ wh^n it was no longer compulsory, became a pleasu^, and Professor Vortman was heard to declare that :; pupil had a fair chance of getUng beyond "1v:;\y the friendship '^-een^^trS Seraph grew stronger and more tender, beraph had proved a trustworthy friend in the hour of adversity. She had kept the secret and — d the reconciliation so well that Madge could never t geTto be grateful. And now life wa« so much ZL and brighter to the child since the rehg.o„s of beauty and duty were combined. •,,f^Dg^llg0m,tmii'e*mmKa>«^-' roLlNISTE. ,ent. Alter a while md German, when became a pleasure; lard to declare that of getting beyond )etween Madge and 3re tender. Seraph end in the hour of secret, and managed t Madge could never ow life was so much ild since the religions ibined. XXXII. • MAURICE AND SHTLOCK. T^HE three years of Seraph's training with Pro- fessor Vortman were nearly over, and already he was discussing the necessity of foreign study for the little violiniste. "It is absolutely necessary," he would say in His strong, urgent voice. " She must have another master; she must study in a foreign school." To the frail little mother, who was satisfied with her present condition, but could see no pros- pect of improving it, foreign study for her child .seemed simply an impossibility. Through Madame St. Maxent's influence, she had built up an excel- lent business. Still, by constant labor, often as- sisted by Seraph, she could earn only enough for their daily needs. How, then, could she give up her work, her only means of subsistence, and live in Paris with her child ? Besides, her crippled con- dition made travelling a serious difficulty. Seraph, was growing more beautiful every day, »5$ m*'i>'' ,56 ^«^™ '•'"'' "'■"•^ "'»•'""■^• .„d there was no doubt that she had rare m«»ical talent. The few who had heard her pUy felt t TT . S. Maxent and Maurice were enthusiastic rir^The' a" atreadyher fame had gone abroad for they had spoken of her to tlieir ir lor vn^y r audience would prodigy, and at any tune a lar p„_f„ggor have been delighted to listen to her; but Professor VoTtln woufd not hear of her playing in pubhc until she had completed her studies. Monsieur Nardi and Cousin Franz often dis cussed the child's future. ^ ^^^^_ " Certainly, she must go to fans, tne ij an^ it seemed to Cousin Franz :"i;:r:'Ht'h:saia. .certain., .c ™fB:tt:o:;rera.raea. She could not ,o jLut her mother, and LouWs lamene. would make it still more expensive ..Yes it would cost more, certainly, replied Monsteur Nardi reflectively; "but then there is frZce of Madame Blumenthal being cured. - "rfidont that the celebrate Doctor Duplan could cm-e her lameness." ..It is true, she might be cured >« *« ^ ^ there, but there is no chance of her going. Poor^ VIOLINISTE. he had rare musical ard her play felt it. •ice were enthusiastic me had gone abroad, to their friends as a large audience would to her; but Professor her playing in public studies, sin Franz often dis- ) Paris," the old book- emed to Cousin Franz said, "Certainly, she 3on. at deal; she could not Mid Louise's lameness xpensive." ,ore, certainly," replied r; "but then there is lumenthal being cured. slebrated Doctor Duplan be cured if she were nice of her going. Poor MAURICE AND SHYLOCK. 257 little Louise ! " and Cousin Franz sighed. « I wish I had the money to send her, but, unfortunately, I am poor." Then Monsieur Nardi would rub his forehead reflectively, and say in a preoccupied tone, "Yes, yes, they must go. I don't see clearly how it is to be accomplished, but they must go. Seraph's future depends on it. Two years or more in the Paris consermtoire, and then what a brilliant future for the Cher petit ange. Yes, it must be arranged. She must go." One day Maurice St. Maxent made a tour of all the music shops, bric-a-brac shops, and pawn shops, in New Orleans. He wished to find a certain vio- lin that he had heard of, and that he had reason to believe was in one of the above places. The morning before he and Seraph had prac- tised together for some time, under the instruction of Professor Vortman. Their duets were charming because of the perfect sympathy between them. They both loved the violin, and when they played, it seemed as if one soul and one hand controlled the instruments. Since Maurice had known Ser- aph he had grown more ambitious to excL'l. The child's constant and patient study was a reproof MWiilBiMMSt^- ?! t I 258 SEJiAP//, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. to him ; and he often thought, " Ah, if I had her touch, her feeling, I might become a second Joachim. As it is, I can only try to follow her lead, to emulate her industry and perseverance." On this occasion. Seraph spoke for the first time to Maurice of her father's violin, the wonderful del Gesti. "A genuine del Ges(i!" cried Maurice, in aston- ishment. " Why, I did not think there was one in this city." "Yes, my papa had one. He came from a family of musicians, and it had been for a long time in the family. I never shall play as well on any other violin," she said sadly. "Why, what became of it?" asked Maurice, greatly interested. « It was sold," returned Seraph briefly. "And don't you know who bought it?" " No, Cousin Franz did not tell me. I think I didn't care to know, I was so unhappy at losing it." *«I don't wonder," said Maurice, with ready sym- pathy "One doesn't come across a del Gesii every day. It was horrible to sell it. Mr. Arnet could not have known its value." ILINISTR. 'Ah, if I had her Decoine a second try to follow her d perseverance." for the first time , the wonderful del Maurice, in aston- k there was one in He came from a d been for a long lall play as well on ? " asked Maurice, iph briefly. bought it?" tell me. I think I > unhappy at losing rice, with ready sym- across a del Gesii > sell it. Mr. Arnet le." MAURICE AND SHY LOCK. 259 "Oh, yes, he knew that it was worth a great deal, but it was a necessity," returned Seraph, lier cheeks flushing hotly. Maurice said no more, but he determined to find the purchaser of the del Gesii. First, he called on Cousin Franz and learned the name of the dealer who had bought it. Then he wont to hi« estab- lishment, but the member of the firm wiio jiad negotiated the sale with Cousin Franz was at that time in Europe, and there was no one who could give him any precise information. However, as he was about leaving the shop, somewhat disappointed at his failure to learn the' name of the purchaser, a young clerk entered who remembered the transaction. His employer had sold the violin to a French violinist named Felix, who had formerly played with Carl Blumenthal,' and who knew the value of the instrument. This artist had bought it as a speculation, intending to take It abroad, where such a rare instrument would command a high price. Whether he had done so the clerk could not say, as after they sold the violin they heard no more about it. Maurice St. Maxent was not a boy to be easily discouraged, so he immediately hunted up the ^TV-Ayra,^,.^^..,-- I If ■J ,60 ■«*•"'■"• ""• '■'""■ """■"""• ]^,^r of the orchestra in which the violim,t 1 nKved who remembered Fehx perfectly, b»t hKt N w Orleans two years before under he had lell iiew _^ unpleasant circumstances. He had aiway , 11 = (..How who had wasted his dissipated, reclileas fellow, wno „onev and made debts right and left He Jcnew mU bought Carl BlmnenthaVs "oUn, becau he believed it to be a Guarn.er. ; but fo that It^:, the leader of the orchestra^t,.ught one good violin as valuable as another. Ther for^^ h considered that egani Felix .nsane to put all could get hold of in that old mstrument^ Thefe had been a great deal of talk about >t _»t J tae He had been obliged to discharge the , Tand after that had seen nothing of h.m; r rh::::" that wh. Ken. got into^oub. ^^•"^r^TdtX Ho::er:hrt:o':;tit wVipre he could not say ,11""^ .. „„ uS he had pledged it instead of selhng .t, ^ he would be unwilling to give up all clarm to o valuaUe an instrument after he had made such an effort to get possession of it. "I shouldn't wonder, my young fnend, added , ,«r "that if you search the pawn shops the cmdmtmr, that you down town, you'll come across it. Felix has ,-.«<«s*«B««l»«(«««*^-- OUNIS'IE. Arhich the violinist 'elix perfectly, but years before under lad always been a had wasted his nd left. He knew .hal's violin, because lieri; but for that chestra, thought one ither. Therefore, he nsane to pub all he instrument. 1 of talk about it at red to discharge the leen nothing of him; ?elix got into trouble violin. To whom or wever, he thought it tead of selling it, as e up all claim to so r he had made such E it. young friend," added search the pawn shops ss it. Felix has never MAUKICE AXD SHY LOCK. W^ returned since he left, and it's likely to be ju8t where he plm-ed it. If it is, you'll get it for what they loaned on it; and it won't be mucli, for those people don't appreciate things greatly be- yond their intrinsic value." Maurice thanked the ronductmr for his val table information, and went away deterniiiied to continue his search. After spending the best jmrt of the day going from one obscure place to another, he came upon a dingy pawn shop on Bourl)on Street, kept by an old Shylock who looked as if he had stepped out of the Middle Ages. It was not ft promising place to look for anything of value, but Maurice remembered that it is the unexpected which oftenest happens, so he entered, not wiiliout some qualms, so dingy and dark was the place, and so sinister was the appearance of its occupant, who, however, came forward fawning servility. " Gute tay, my vriend. Vhat can I do vor you ? " " Good day, monsieur," said Maurice politely, while he glanced about in a cursory sort of way. " I am interested in curios, antiques ; I was passing and I just looked in to see what you have." "Much, much, my rriend; all here is curio, all here is antique, and faluable, faluable," he replied, ^ ?; ^62 StiKAl'.'/, THE I.ITTLE VtOLINlSTE. i';!;i with a cuinpreliensive awei-p of tho hand, and a voracious cunning in his bead-like eyes. "Yes, I see," said Maurice, glancing from one thing to another with an amateurish rir, ?.nd oi '. asionally pricing a bit of trash, to which he wnnl«1 not give house room. The old Jew, judging from Mie boy's dress that he was rich, and thinking that he had an easy victim in one so young and inexperienced, plied him with the few articles of value whii b he pos- sessed, urging and pleading in the n: iit vehe- ment way tlL^t. he wosM buy something of his "faluable collection, for tlse lofe of heafen, as he was poor, fery poor." After suflicielitly exciting the old man's cupidity by displaying a fat pocket-book, which he took out for the apparent purpose of consulting a memoran- dum, Maurice turned toward the door, saying care- lessly, " Yes, monsieur, you have some good things, but nothing I care to buy to-day. I will call again." But before the boy could reach the door, the Jew was at his side, holding out his claw-like hands imploringly. " My vriend, my gute young vriend, you hafe not seen all my antiques. I hafe yet i 4v lUNlSTH. thu hand, and a e eyes. lancing from one ateurish r. ir, and ash, to which he W^ e boy's dress that he had an easy lexperienced, plied ue whi.Jt he pos- the n; iit vehe- sometbing of his of heafen, as he old man's cupidity which he took out ulting a memoran- door, saying care- some good things, day. I will call I the door, the Jew lis claw-like hands ;ute young vriend, iques. I hafe yet memm-mmmmmiM ^ \^ ^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I i:i|M ■ 50 ^^^ 2.5 2.2 wuu 12.0 I. H |L25,|,.4,,.6 < — 6" » '/] >>4 Photographic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 145S0 (716) 872-4503 m \ 4 CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/ICIVIH Collection de microfiches. jt» *• Canadian Initituta for Hiatorical Microraproducilont / Inatltut Canadian da microraproductiona hiatorlquaa ^'•A*^*'*'^'"*.«;11'**^*. MAURICE AND SHY LOCK 263 to show you von fery rare fiolin. Vill you vait vhile I show it to you?" Maurice almost sluiddered at the clutching fingers ; he was near the door and he felt a strong desire to escape, but at the mention of the violin, he turned back, saying, with well-assumed indifference, " I am afraid it is not one I should care for, but I don't mind looking at it." The old man ran behind the counter, still keeping his eyes on the boy, as if he feared he might give him the slip, and get out before he could prevent it. Taking a big bimch of keys from the pocket of the old dressing-gown he wore, he proceeded to unlock a heavy chest, from which, after rummaging some minutes, he drew out an old violin and laid it before the boy. On the under part of the neck of the instru- ment was a small silver plate, worn thin with age, and on it was engraved in nearly effaced letters, "Gustav Blumenthal, Berlin, 1727," and under- neath, in newer characters, " C. B. 1868." "There, my vriend, you see how old this fiolin is," he exclaimed, eagerly pointing with his grimy finger. "This faluable fiolin vos made in Berlin in 1727, more than von hundred j'&ars ago, by a 264 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. vamous fiolin-maker, Gustav Blumenchal. This fiolin is von vamous Blumenthal. Look at it, my vriend, look at it." Maurice could scarcely control his usually steady young nerves, as he turned the instrument and ex- amined it for the mark of the maker. Yes, there it was, the peculiar Guarnieri seal. It was the del Gesu, beyond a doubt. "Look at it veil, examine it," urged the Jew. " It is von vamous fiolin." " Oh, I'm afraid I'm not a judge," said Maurice, putting the instrument down with an air of indif- ference. "I have a little friend who's learning to play; she wants a violin. I daresay it might suit her." "Puy it vor her, puy it!" interrupted the old man eagerly. "I vill sell it sheap, vor nothing; there, for nothing." As he spoke he shrugged his shoulders, and spread out his hands, palms downward. " You don't mean that you will gim it to me ? " laughed Maurice. "The same, my vriend, the same. Von French fiddler pledged it more than two year— two year and I hafe not seen my gute money. He borrowed Sj^ji;i,v. ffm VIOUNISTE. Blumenchal. This lal. Look at it, my rol his usually steady e instrument and ex- e maker. Yes, there seal. It was the del it," urged the Jew. judge," said Maurice, with an air of indif- 3nd who's learning to daresay it might suit " interrupted the old b sheap, vor nothing; J spoke he shrugged >ut his hands, palms ! will give it to me?" le same. Von French two year — two year I money. He borrowed MAURICE AXD SHYLOCK. ««5 vor von month, and now it's more than two year, and I liafe not seen my gute money." It would take too long to repeat in detail all the bargaining that took place between Maurice and Shylock. The finesse employed on both sides would furnish a chapter useful to a diplomat However, for once, Shylock was hoisted by his own petard. Not knowing the real value of his property, he tried to give it a fictitious value by declaring that it was "von vamous Blumenthal of Berlin, made in 1727," which date was probably the year when it came into the possession of Carl's great-grandfather, Gustav Blumenthal. This undervaluation delighted Maurice, as it made it possible for him to purchase the violin After something like an hour's parleying, and when he had been induced to return at least a dozen times, he finally left with the Guarnieri, wrapped m greasy paper, under his arm, and a collapsed notebook in his pocket. Maurice got the violin, but Shylock got every dollar the boy had with him, and double the sum that he had loaned to Felix, the former owner. xxxin. A LITTLE ROMANCE. -OEOFESSOK VOKTMAN had been Bitting jj* r Madame Blumenthal fo.- an hour or more t„i„g to impress upon her mind, already burdened Sthe same subject, the importance of Seraph Ttudying abroad, "I have carried her as far as I :f^e said candidly. " I -.,y can't ..A h« any longer. She is going beyond me. Her tech nie is excellent. Now, all she needs . style Tflnish, and that she can get only m a fore.gn rll. My dear madame, it is of the utmos nn- portance. Her future success de^nd' "Pon ^ .Yes, I know, I understand fully, returned Lonise piteously. "But what can I doj I hav^ not the money to take her to Pans, and I am so tepts If I -re well. I might do someth.„g> ': tl there is no possibility of my bemg able ^rrta•i, madame, I understand your position I «« that you cannot accomplish .t alone, but 266 jn Bitting with our or more, ready burdened ice of Seraph's tier as far as I can't teach her nie. Her tech- needs is style dy in a foreign the utmost ira- ids upon it. fully," returned I do? I have is, and I am so t do something; f my being able nd your position, ih it alone; but ^ LITTLE ROMANCE. 267 could not your friends — those interested in Made- moiselle — would not they assist in carrying out our plans?" "Oh, no! please don't speak of that. I could not be indebted to charity for my child's musical education!" exclaimed the invalid tremulously. "There is no one but Cousin Franz on whom I have any claim, and he is not able. I could not accept such a favor from a stranger." "Would you not accept a loan? It could be repaid later." ' "That would be worse than charity. I should not be honest if I borrowed money which I know I could never repay." "But your daughter could repay it herself," urged the professor. "She has a great future before her, and that means wealth. She will soon be able to earn money through her own efforts." "I could not have her begin life hampered with debt. It would be a cruelty to one of her proud, sensitive nature," returned Louise decidedly. "Then I can think of no means of assisting Mademoiselle to complete her studies," said Pro- fessor Vortman a little impatiently, as he went away. ,68 iiW'W rm uttle vioumsTE. A little later, M«n,ieHr Narfi and tl,o professor were closeted in earnest conversation, «hicl. ended by the old bookseller saying, " AV. W», .«» «»'. you have done all yon can. T wanted you to Lmd her a little; 1 wanted to know how she wonld take it. Yes, she is proud, very proud_ She is an honest, self-respecting little woman and I think the more of her for it; but I must try ^ ,„ake her feel that she must ye" -me o her pride for the child's good as well as for her "™Smph had gone to take tea with Madame St. Ma.ent, and Louise was alone in the tw.hght thinking very sadly of her interview "th P™fe^or Vortman, when Romeo knocked at her ^OO' and told her that Monsieur Nardi was waitmg t« see - her " Ah, I am so glad ; t need him 30^ a* *>>« moment," thought Louise. " I can talk to htm, and he will understand how hard .t .s for me. When the old gentleman entered, one quick glance into the invalid's tear^tamed fa» told h.m that she was very unhappy and anK,ous. Poor child; poor little woman," he thought;" she m« not be troubled any longer, I must take th,s Hotter in my own hands and settle tt for her. (NISTE. A LITTLE ROMANCE. 269 nd tliii professor on, which ended \ Uen, won ami, wanted you to , know how she jud, very proud, ittle woman, and )ut I m\ist try to leld some of her well as for her with Madame St. in the twilight, iew with Professor at her door, and i^as waiting to see d him just at this can talk to him, rd it is for me." mtered, one quick lined face told him td anxious. "Poor .hought; "she must I must take this settle it for her." So he said cheerily, "All alone? Seraph not here ? C'est ban ; I want to have a quiet, friendly talk with you, my child." "How good you are," exclaimed Louise, her face brightening, and a smile shining through her tears. " You must have known that I was in trouble and needed a friend. Professor Vortman has been here talking about our going abroad, and I am so worried, so perplexed." "Yes, ma chlre, yes; but don't let that worry you. I have arranged all that, and you have only to consent to go." " But the money, cher ami. Where is the money to come from?" asked Louise, looking puzzled and frightened. Was her old friend los- ing his senses? "The money? Oh, the money. Why, Seraph has the money. L'Onde 'Nidas made his will to- day, all regular, and legal, done before a notary, and left twenty thousand dollars to Mademoiselle Seraph Blumenthal and her heirs forever. She can't inherit it until Leonidas Nardi dies, and that, I hope, will not be for some time. But rOncle 'Nidas has the care of her little fortune, and he will constitute himself her guardian, with i:fi I iiHiiiii ■fli"! 270 sERArii, rni'. inri.E vioumsTE. her mother's permission, of course, and this same Uncle 'Nidas has decided to send his ward to Paris, to the consermtoire, for two or three years, Louise was too much surprised to find speech. She could only stare helplessly at the old book- seller, who was patting her hand and laughmg softly. At length with a sob she cried, "Dear friend! Good, noble soul ! Ah, you crush me with your kindness, but I can't take it ; I must not 'take it. We must not rob you in your old age. '. Yes, that's it. It's just because I am old that I can do this. I have a nice little fortune, and I have not long to enjoy it. Some one must have it when I am done with it, and I have only these two children, just these two in the whole world o ' leave it to: Seraph and Marc. They are both very dear to me, and they are mine because I love them. Marc will have my name, a name I have tried not to disgrace, and he will succeed me in - business, and a nice little amount of money beside. 1 have divided it pretty equally between the two; so, my dear friend, your child is fairly inde- pendent. Now I only wait your consent to go to Paris with Seraph. Professor Vortman leaves '.INrSTE. le, and this same snd his ward to or three years, 1 to find speech, at the old book- nd and laughing she cried, "Dear you crush me with j it ; I must not in your old age." ,use I am old that ittle fortune, and I Tie one must have i I have only these the whole world to c. They are both nine because I love ne, a name I have will succeed me in mt of money beside, y between the two; lild is fairly inde- lur consent to go to 3r Vortman leaves A LITTLE ROMANCE. 371 next month for a visit to Europe; he will take charge of you, and Madame St. Maxent knows of an excellent woman to serve you. A French steamer, with good accommodations, sails for Havre from this port early next month. Feeling sure that you would agree to my wishes, I took the liberty to engage passage for you and Seraph and your maid." Louise looked around the little room, at hii- familiar furniture, at her table covered with her pretty work, and covering her face with her hands she sobbed convulsively: "Oh, my friend — you are good; you are angelic; but it is like tear- ing me up by the roots. I am so lame and help- less. How can I leave my little room where I am so comfortable, so contented ? How can I give up everything to go so far from my only, my best friends?" A few tears crept into the corners of Monsieur Nardi's eyes, but he brushed them quickly away, and said in the sanie light, cheerful tone : " ^yez tranquilky ma chlre ; calmez-vous. It will not be long, and you will return well and happy and find everything just as you leave it." "How can that be? I cannot expect to keep VM ,72 SEA'APff. THE LITTIE VIOUN!STE. this cottage," returned Louiso, wiping her eyen, and trying to regain her composure. i' Wliy not ? It is yours. Leonidas Nardi hought this cottage a few days ago, and to-day in his wdl he left it to you for your life, to go to beraph if Hhe survives you. Romeo will take care of it dur- ing your absence, and when you return, you will jind your home ready for you." ^< I don't understand, 1 can't under.stand, how you can be so good to us, who are almost strangers to you," said Louise, looking gratefully into the old bookseller's gentle face. , , ^ ,, , . ,, Something in the limpid, troubled depths of her eyes made him turn away from their gaze. Then he said softly, and almost solemnly: "My chdd let me tell you what made my heart tender toward « vou I once had a great sorrow. I was a boy, a poor, homely boy, but I had a nature that craved affection, and 1 had no parents, no sisters, no one to fill my hungry heart. Ignorant and obscure V though I was I dared to love one as far above me as heaven is above earth. She never knew I loved her, but she did not scorn my humble devotion; she was my friend, and her goodness and purity ennobled me. wiping her eyes, ire. idas Niirdi bought to-day in his will ,0 go to Seraph if tke care of it dur- i return, you will iderstand, how you ilmo8t strangers to efuUy into the old ibled depths of her I their gaze. Then }innly: "My child, tieart tender toward w. I was a boy, a nature that craved i, no sisters, no one norant and obscure )ne as far above me i never knew I loved ly humble devotion; goodness and purity /t 1 ITri.l: ROMANCE. Vi " For her T became ambitious. I .studied, I toiled, I hoarded, to mak(^ myself worthy of her. One day I learned that she was to marry the man of her choice. Then, poor fooli.sh boy that I was, I thought life was over for me. My sun soemed to have gone out at noon ; but I struggled out of the darkness and dared to live. The memory of her friendship, her kindness, made it possible. That was more than forty years ago. Since then for her sake I have loved all who suffer, and especially you, my child; for the woman I adored was your mother, the good and beautiful Marie Paulette." t, a I :: ^t:,/ XXXIV. lAEPARATlON. ( u was known that through Mon- i S soon as it was know ^^^^^^ XX sieur Nardi's generosity berapn wd . o Paris to complete her musical education, ::/;:r::re anxious to assist her in every ^^^ ^'''''^^^" r . Madame St. Maxent and Maurice For some time Madame b ^^ ^^^^^ give the little vio ^^^ ^^^^^ ■,„i,.e-e «.mcate for her he-efit. ^^^^^^ P^fessor Vortman and — ^ortman was and soul into the detaas. Profe ^^ ^ *°— rrp«^icr::lan/a£t.rward ri!:-Ma::e. — ---- rririrrrcraiif..^^^^^^ was arranged. 274 fi that through Mon- Seraph was enabled r musical education, ist her in every way Maxent and Maurice by which they could substantial token of will, and they had ore her departure, a laurice entered heart »rofessor Yortman was ' once Seraph was to a solo, and afterward adame St. Maxent had . to add the charm of a delightful programme PR EPA R A T/OfiT. 275 The days preceding the sailing of the steamer were busy days in the little cottage. There was so much to do, and so much to be thought of, that the poor little invalid was almost overwhelmed with the weight of her new responsibilities. In the emergency Cousin Franz, Madame Arnet, and Madge came forward with hearty good will, and did their share toward completing the arrangements. Cousin Rachel, with sensible forethought, made warm wool- len gowns for the invalid, and a thick cloak and hood for Seraph to wear in stormy weather on the deck of the ship; Cousin Franz bought them comfortable deck chairs, and had a hamper packed with many little delicacies to tempt Louise's feeble appetite; and Madge made them each the handiest toilet-cases, fitted up neatly with all the necessary articles. Every one was interested and ready to do something to speed the voyagers on their way. Cressy and Romeo displayed much culinary skill in making cakes, bon-bons, and sugared fruits, in such large quantities that one would have thought the little party bound for a land where these tempting edibles were unknown ; and Marc spent all his spare time in going over books for girls in order to select those which he thought Seraph would like best. ::m ,j6 SERAPH. THE UTTLE yiOUmsTE. • , ■ During these preparation,. Monsieur Nardi found his days full of new duties, and son.etxm^ lus heart was very heavy at the thought of losing Seraph f- the dear little maid was the sunshine of his We, but he had Marc, and Marc was a great comfort Tteboy was developing well. He had refined perceptions and intuitions, and such a retentive memory that he proHted by all he heard and saw^ Maurice St. Maxent was his 6e«« i« of boyj* perfection-, therefore he tried to be as inuch like him as he possibly could, and Monsieur Nardi en- couraged him in all his little ambitions. A father was !ever more devoted to an only son than was the old bookseller to the son of his adopt^n. Their affection and admiration tor each other seemed to equalize, in a manner, their years. ■ Marc became more mature in order to reach up to his benefactor, and Uncle 'Nidaa, m his happi- ness, was often boyishly bright and companionable. When Patsy saw them walking on the levee, side by side, as they often did, talking earnestly :^ inamately, he would say to himsel in mute admiration, "He is as fine a lad as J he had been born in a palace. Who would o thought rsTE. :• ir Nardi found times his heart ing Seraph, for le of his life; great comfort He had refined ch a retentive heard and saw. ideal of boyish e as much like isieur Nardi en- tions. A father ly son than was f his adoption, for each other ler, their years, ier to reach up as, in his happi- d companionable, ig on the levee, talking earnestly himself in mute ad as if he had would o' thought PREPARATION. 2TJ that a poor little kid like he was could o' made hisself all over in a few years. I'm proud of him, that I am, an' we're jes' as chummy as ever. He ain't spoilt a bit 'cause he goes to school an' - wears good togs. I al'ays know'd he'd make a fine man, an' be a credit to me." Patsy felt a sort of ownership in Marc, seeing that he had been the guide and protector of his infancy, and had taught hin^ the rudiments of the knowledge which was leading to such lofty results; and he scarcely allowed a day to pass without congratulating the boy on his good fortune in finding such a friend as Monsieur Nardi, usually ending his kindly comments with the same little set phrase: "I al'ays know'd you'd make a man, if you only had half a chance." Not long before the soiree musicale, and just when Louise was debating in her mind what toi- lette would be suitable for the little violiniste to wear on the important occasion, Madame St. Max- ent called in her carriage and took Seraph away to Hortense, a fashionable modiste, the same Hor- tense who sold the silver jewel box that belonged to Lady Jane's mother. " Here is a iittie friend," said Madame St. Max- 278 SERAril, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. ent pleasantly, when Hortense entered, all smiles and bows, "for whom I want a white costume — all white — and the daintiest and prettiest that can be made. It must be a very simple and a very artistic creation. I'm sure you understand per- fectly, and know exactly what I wish." "Will Mademoiselle please to remove her hat?" And Hortense stood off and examined Seraph criti- cally, who, under the close scrutiny, blushed a soft pink over all her delicate little face. "Mademoiselle's coloring is uncommon, but it is charming. Golden hair, brown eyes, and a clear, pale complexion; but in the evemng, with artificial light and a little excitement, she will be pink, as she is now. Well, we will select pure white chiffon, over a white surah slip, white dlk stockings, and white shoes of qvos gram silk," . „ ., " I should think that would be charming, said Madame St. Maxent approvingly. " And would Madame like tiny buckles of rhine- stone on the shoes?" a.sked Hortense, walking around, and looking at Seraph from another point of view. „ " Not the buckles, please, chlre madame, whis- ,i|!l' NISTE. ered, all smiles ^hite costume — rettiest that can iple and a very understand per- (Tish." move her hat?" ined Seraph criti- y, blushed a soft ce. icommon, but it «rn eyes, and a lie evening, with tement, she will i, we will select surah slip, white s of gros grain e charming, buckles of rhine- 3ortense, walking rom another point ce madame, PREPARATION. Wf!^ pered Seraph. "I know mamma would not like me to wear them." Madame St. Maxent smiled indulgently. "No, no buckles; plain white shoes, — not slippers, tied with a tiny bow on the instep; and the frock is to be high, and the sleeves long, very simple and childlike." " Old, oui, madame; I understand perfectly. Mademoiselle will be charming in the toilette I shall send her. It will be a dream, a perfect dream." Then Madame St. Maxent walked apart with Hortense, and gave her some orders in a low voice: "A costume du voyage, — frock, hat, and coat; take the measure now, and send it with the white toilette. I wish the color to be brown. Select the material you think the most suitable; but simple, very simple." After Madame St. Maxent finished her business with Hortense, she took Seraph home with her, in order that she and Maurice might practise the duet for the soiree musicale. Professor Vortman was there to play an accompaniment, and after they had rehearsed each part over and over, until they played it without a fault, they lunched mer- it i .1 SEKAell, THE Lnil.r- t *>,P irallery, and while they rily i„ a corner of «- l^f^f 5-' .^^^ ^^^^ W>od and — -'I'^tTi^ iasmine, tanned ,o£t wind, ragvant «« J ^^^ ^^^^^^^ them, and happy birfa fl»tlered 8 ^^^ Hinging as though life were all sprmg, and joy. ( isrE. [id while they i and ices, the jasmine, fanned ,ng the flowers, tng, and youth, XXXV. A SOIREE MUSICALE. "T^THEN Seraph was dressed for the soiree musi- vv cale, in the dainty white costume that Madame St. Maxent had ordered for her, she looked like a lovely little fairy. The soft folds of chiffon clung to her slender figure like the silken down of a thistle; her small, usually pale face was flushed a tender pink, and her beautiful hair hung below her waist like a veil of spun gold. Madame Blumenthal was delighted with the delicate richness and refinement of Madame St. Maxent's selection. It suited her artistic taste, and enhanced the beauty and grace of the child. Cressy and Romeo were as interested in Seraph's appearance, as though they were to assist at the important function, and their expressions of ad- miration were original as well as forcible. "Miss Seraph, honey, yer suttenly does look like yer jes' wants wings ter fly away," cried Romeo, clasping his gnarled old hands reverently. "I's neber seed 281 mmmmmm tsma 282 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VIOLINISTE. a live angel, or no oder angel, ter tell der trufe, 'til jes' dis yere min'it, an' I neber s'pects ter see anuder 'til I's done got ter heaben. Now, Miss Cressy, don't yer 'gree wid me dat my lit 1 Miss am a mighty lubely chile?" ^^ ^'Yes, Romeo, yes, die est charmante. And Cressy's grim old face relaxed in a smile of com- plete satisfaction. " She will do Monsieur Leonidas, and all of us, a great deal of credit." Then Uncle 'Nidas had to be brought m to look at the little fairy. '^ Trh Uen; trls hien. It is wonderful. Ah, cherie, what can I say ? You are perfect, simply perfect." And Monsieur Nardi s happy face showed his pride and gratification. When he returned to his shop he remarked that there was only one thing lacking in the perfection of Seraph's toilette, and he suggested to Marc that he ought to present his little friend with a bunch of flowers. The boy needed only a hint ; hasten- ing off to a fashionable florist, he soon returned with a cluster of lovely white rose-buds, which he presented to Seraph, blushing furiomly. He was unaccustomed to the little amenities of life, but he took to them gracefully and naturally. Madame St. Maxent sent her carriage early for naity" """"'*"'** """'^ I fSTE. ell der trufe, s'pects tor see I. Now, Miss my Ut'r Miss ^mtey And smile of com- isieur Leonidas, ight in to look fls hien. It is say? You are onsieur Nardi's ratification. ! remarked that D the perfection jd to Marc that d with a bunch a hint; hasten- e soon returned j-buds, which he loudy. He was ties of life, but aturally. Eirriage early for tmffMitfB'ff***''** '^ A soikAe musicale. 383 the little party, so that Louise could be assisted in and comfortably seated before the other guests arrived. " We are off at last," cried Seraph joyfully, as the caniage turned into Rue Royale. '• I am so glad ; I want to be there ; I want to play. My fingers are impatient to begin. You will hear. Uncle 'xNidas, you will Xxh-ax, petite mnmmi, how well, how beautifully, I shall play. With all the flowers, and the lights, and the toilettes du soir, it will be like my old concerts, and I shall be just as happy as when I wore a train and played for Romeo, while he sat under the oleander and threw flowers to me when I finished." When they arrived at Madame St. Maxent's the children were wildly excited at the festive appear- ance of the beautiful house and grounds. " Chinese lanterns among the trees and flowers ! " cried Marc, thrusting his head out of the carriage window to get a better view. " And the house is a blaze of light ; it looks like . a palace of rose and yellow crystal!" exclaimed Seraph enraptured. "Ah, it is like fairy-land!" said Louise. Some of the glamour of old days was upon her, and it li & m t m ,8^ s, the good fa.ry "»» ^f > / J^ j p,,^„, ,, for it, I found it, I bought it, and now i p ^^ to Mademoiselle with my Hfe-long devotion- Seraph could ..ot speak. She eould ,^t tak him w th words, and she did not w.sh h m to ^e Ctlrs that started to her e^es •, tears of - ^^^^^ iov and gratitude. Holding the v.olm m her arms, TeUa away her — . -'j-^^ to recover her composure. When eeeded, she said sweetly and simply .^ "This makes me perfectly happy- i y ^ Ml to thank you now, M^-^' "^J play the allegro in my solo, you wdl know how Ld I am to have my dear violm agam- K half.hour later, when the large ;«<";;-- Jed and the murmur of voices had softened t VIOUNISTE. ,g is!" Seraph ex- eyes to M.iurice, as le table. Before she mched it, she felt its n-ed glance she cried, tis is the del Gesu'. low did it get here?" 3 hide his emotion, and boyish frankness, said, ut it there. I searched tt, and now 1 present it fe-long devotion." She could not thank lid not wish him to see f eyes ; tears of mingled r the violin in her arms, mlous face, trying hard e. When she had suc- nd simply- tly happy. My heart is ,w, Maurice, but when I olo, you will know how ear violin again." a the large audience was 3f voices had softened to A SOIRAe MUSICALE. 289 expectant whispers, the curtain was drawn aside, and Professor Vortman played a selection from Liszt with great success. Then Madame Estr^s sang a new song, and afterward the little violiniste appeared amid deafening applause. Madame St. Maxent's guests thought they had never seen a prettier picture than she made when Maurice led her on to the stage, and they certainly had never listened to more delicious strains than the child drew from the wonderful instrument. When she came to the allegro in her solo, she pressed her little inspired face closer to the violin, which fairly throbbed with joy. It was like exul- tant heavenly voices, a whole choir of child angels singing songs of praise and thanksgiving. Maurice understood it, and felt the child's grati- tude to be stronger than words could express, and the- audience listened spell-bound. As the last ten- der, delicate strain died away, the violin slipped from her shoulder, the bow hung loosely in her fingers, while she glanced around like one just awakened from a delightful dream, her eyes wide and full of light, and her lips smiling tremulously. Then bowing timidly and gracefully, she took Maurice's hand and turned P,way amid an enthusiastic burst of. applause. v-i ,^ SERAPH. THE UTTLE VlOUmSTE. There .as .notl.er selection ^^ ^^"^^l^X. ,„a„,a„aa.„„.o.singi„g»aby t..e.h^ in perfect harmony, and with mnch aei j "Tf "e St Ma^ent was delighted, and her guests Madame St. Maxem wa s violiniste. were wildly enthusiastic ove »>« >'">^ J ^ ..What genius', what feeling what vigor .J^ . 1 Tt is remarkable ! wonderful — angelic . was touch. It'^^'^'"*' J „^ ^„ unheard-of sue ::!: tHS— and -v-nt -^ -• ; who received the P-"y ""X '""l^TZ^, heart ::::rrl^Uy and self sai^-^ Tbe soiree mwsicaZe was a success m many w y ! ho sat near the basket, already gener- ^\ Tu :i riTp bank notes, noticed that many ItClhli given when they entered, r. Ln^ to make an additional offermg. ?.^ ^f Maxent was much pleased at the Madame St. Maxeni ^^^ o «f Vipr Dlan, and tlie nexi. ucvj ;C:gr:; ^011 'of notes in Louise's hand, she ■,a88W»**«»**"' ■ill! ISTE. 'rofessor Vort- that tin\e the iolin duet by jred exquisitely, eh delicacy of , and her guests little violiniste. • vigor! what a — angelic!" was I unheard-of suc- jry one present iment the child, lat were said to Her little heart it emotions that self-satisfaction. iss in many ways. :et, already gener- oticed that many they entered, re- offering. ch pleased at the ext day when she Louise's hand, she A SOIR&E MUSICALE. 291 said, as if the money were a matter of no conse- quence: ''A nice little sum to help Seraph through, but it is the smallest part of the success. She made a reputation last night that will last, and when she returns, people will throng to hear her play. I am satisfied, and so is Professor Vortman. He says her future success is assured, and that is all we can ask." A few days after the soiree mimcale a sad-faced little group stood on one of the wharves watching a great ocean steamer pull out into the river. They had come to. say good-by to Madame Blu- menthal and Seraph, who sat on the deck beside Professor Vortman, looking with tearful eyes toward the shore. Poor Louise looked pale and dejected. She dreaded going out into the great unknown, and her heart lingered in her little home, and clung to those she loved and was leaving. And Seraph was trying to appear bright and happy as she waved her handkerchief and called au revoir as long as her sweet voice could reach their ears. "Parting is bitter sorrow," said Madame St. Maxent, a little dolefully, "but I always comfort myself with the thought of meeting again." il ! ,,^SS«iWJi«»lW»-^' .„r I riTLE VIOLINISTE. SERAPH, THE LllTLE J\ I . A .V.at will be before long," remarked "And that win ue ^ Maurice, his eye, Wlow.ng the ^.P^ Yo this morning that we .hould be m Par.s months." ^ ^ „ g^^ie^ Madame u Vo« that is my ntention now, repueu St M::e!::Va„a^I shon,a not wonder i. we spent the next two or three y-- ^^^^.^^ ,.^ „ext .It is my '»'-*'»\*°f ;;,!„„ to look eheer- looking at Cousm Fra». .^ ^^^^,^ ^^ Seraph are there pleasant," returned peering over the rail ot ^^^^^ indistinct Hots, -* »* ;";:^ ^„ai„i„g until ::\r:re rtirla^er haa aisappearea aa^una the bend in the river. ..M^nm^f^ l--'-T-«.^.'C».;''t: ISTE. g," remarked p, «You said Paris in a few replied Madame der if we spent i." other trip next r to look cheer- oUection by that I Madame Amet, .rnet's father has link it would be lousin Louise and iasant," returned like to see the rated, for the faces tner were becoming ent his way sadly, c remaining until r had disappeared XXXVI. A LETTER FROM PARIS. ■jV/TONSIEUR NARDI had just received a letter from Paris, from Madame Blumenthal, and Madge had come in to hear the news. "Yes, yes," said the old gentleman, rubbing his hands gleefully. "They are already on their way, and they ought to be here about the first of next month. You see they had to come by the way of New York, because Madame St. Maxent and Maurice won't travel by our line of steamers. They're slow, too slow, and it is very nice for Louise and Seraph to travel in their company." "And is Cousin Louise still improving?" asked Madge. " Oh yes, she improves every day. When I left Paris — let me see— that's more than a year ago " "Yes," said Madge; "it is a year and a half, for we returned just before you did." "Well, I suppose it is. I can't keep up with Time. He has wings, and I have only feet, and it 393 :]; i«itt«8l<«-l n *. jg4 SEKAPH. THE LITTLE VIOUXISTE. is hard to make .oyxeU believe that they have been gone three years. However, as I was saying, wnen I left Paris, Louise was just b.,ginning to stand without any support. Poor little woman! how fc- lighted she was when she conld take a tew steps. Seraph on one side and I on the other. Now she can walk short distances without help. The cur^ is slow, very slow, but Doctor Duplan says she wdl be perfectly well in a year or so." jlt then Marc came in, -a tall, pleasant-faced M, who blushed and looked a little shy when he greeted Madge. They ha.1 become fast £r,en during Seraph's absence, and as Madge bought he. books and stationery at Monsieur Nard.s shop, they saw eaeh other frequently. And sometimes m1 came to take tea with them, and talk ooks with Cousin Franz, who had taken a great mterest in the bright, clever boy, while Madge, who was crowing up a nice, intelligent girl, sat near and Ls- Tened attentively. The six months she had passed m Europe, the greater part of the time bemg spent .n Oermlny,.aveUera„ewi„^e.sti„^e-^^; and she now bids fair to make as gooa as Cousin Franz predicted she would before she took it into her stubborn little head to be a module. mmm i mi* A LETTER FROM P.tR/S. n% y have been saying, when ng to stand lan! how de- a few steps, r. Now she X The cure says she will pleasant-faced shy when he fast friends ladge bought Nardi's shop, nd sometimes ,nd talk books great interest idge, who was b near and lis- e had passed in being spent in 1 the language, good a scholar before she took a modiste. After Madge had talked a few moments with Marc,. she turned to Monsieur Nardi, and said, in a very satisfied voice, " Oh ! but I have some good news to tell you. Papa's congregation have de- cided to build him a handsome new church; and it's to be on a fashionable street. You know so many rich people have come in that we are not as poor as we once were, and the old church is far too small for our congregation." " Ah ! that does not surprise me," returned Mon- sieur Nardi, his good old face reflecting Madge's satisfaction. " I knew it would come soon. Recog- nition and appreciation are sure to follow talent and industry. Yes, yes, I knew it would come." "Papa certainly does deserve his popularity; he works so hard, and is so good and conscientious," said Madge proudly. «I don't think his people can do too much for him." Then she turned again to the subject of the letter. "Well, I suppose Seraph has received her diploma and medal from the Conservatoire, and is now a full-fledged pro- fessor of the violin." " Yes, indeed, she has," replied Monsieur Nardi, with the greatest satisfaction, "and she is the youngest pupil who has ever received such marks 11! \[ B \ jtJS'crWi^ikfc-j.--^ j: ii-i li H If 296 SEKAP/l, THE LITTLE VIOI.INISTE. of distinction. Professor Vortman wrote me of a wirh mmicale given by Madame St. Maxent, when the most distinguished people in the American colony, as well as many of the French and English aristocracy, with a number of famous composers and professors, heard her play, and she had a great success, a great success. They were enthusiastic about her, and predicted the most brilliant career for her. Ah ! she is a lovely, talented child. How can we expect to keep such a rare creature in this obscure little cottage?" " By the way," laughed Madge, " have the work- men completed the renovation of the ' obscure little cottage'? If they have, and you do not object, mamma and I would like to superintend putting it in order. You know women understand the needs of women so much better than men do." "Thank you, my dear; that is kind and thoughtful of you. Marc and I have done the best we could; but you and your mother will understand just how Louise and the child will like to find things. I want it all to be just as they left it, as far as it is possible. It will seem more like coming home. Step into the garden and see what has been done there. Romeo and Cressy i,(BieMuiii«>i.».fj&^ -I'-wv ISTE. >vrote me of a Maxent, when the American ih and English ous composers lie had a great re enthusiastic brilliant career jd child. How ,re creature in have the work- B ' obscure little do not object, rintend putting inderstand the m men do." is kind and have done the ir mother will 1 child will like )e just as they will seem more garden and see aeo and Creasy A r.ETTER FROM PARIS. 297 are especially interested in that department, and they are very proud of the improvements." " Why really, it is lovely!" cried Madge. " You have .nadu this little wilderness blossom like the rose, and the court is charming. How happy Cousin Louise and Seraph will be when thev return ! " ^ " Do you think they will be happy, ma chlre ? Oh, I hope they will. Yes, I hope they will. I don't mind telling you, my child, because I am sure you are discreet, but I shouldn't want them to know. Lately, I have worried a great deal for fear Seraph will be discontented and unhappy in tbis quiet place after living so long in Paris." "Don't be afraid of that, dear Uncle 'Nidas." He was uncle, now, to Madge, as well as to all the others. "If you have that idea, you don't know Seraph as well as I do. In all her letters she says she loves her little home better than any spot on earth. She is a sweet, sincere girl, and you must remember that she is sixteen, and quite old enough to know her own mind. I know she loves her friends dearly, and you the best of all." "Thank you, my dear, thank you," returned the old gentleman, with a tremor in his voice. fi*sui ^1 I 298 SERAPH, THE LITTLE VWLINISTE. "Yes, I'm sure the child loves me, but she is so beautiful and talented that I cannot expect to keep her always. She will be known. She will be famous. Genius cannot be hidden. It is the light of the earth. It belongs to humanity, to one's country, to the world." '""ilM k rsTE. but she is so lot expect to wn. She will en. It is the humanity, to H^. A. m;ir &• Co., riihihhtri. (y. moni 77/ F. A'.IJVG/i. A Story for Cirh. Uy TilKoiM>KA K. Jknnkss. 315pp. llluNtrated, Cloth. i2mo. I1.25. An Indian nlory dir KJrls. A mliaiiin «ch(Mil tor llie ilaiiKhlcra of the Dakota Iribai it moit IntereiiinKly i:d. 'riie mrange idean and Iwlii-fB of iliene wild iieoiile ars woven inlolhi! ihreail of iju- story, wliirli lells how a little white ijlrl wai lirouuhl up as an Indian child, educated at a mission ichoul, and wai finally discovered by her parents. CiEJiAPH, rilK LITTLE VIOLINJSTE. Uy Mr.s. C. ^ V.Jamison. 298 pp. Illustratotl. Cloth, |i. 50. A most charminK .md delightful story of a little girl who had inherited a mott re- "Mfaable musical talent, which luuud ii» natural expression throuKh the medium of the violin. The picturesiiucness of Mrs. Jamison's stories is remarltable, and the reader unconsciously becimies Seraph's friend and sym|iathlier in all her trials and triumplit, CUTT GrRL.S; or. One Term at the Academy. By Charlottk M. Vaile. 316 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, Ji. 50. I ^''' y*"* K'*'" "* a •'"'■y I'efe which will become faminis as a description of phaaa ol New Kngland educatinnal history which has now become a thinR of the past — with an (xception here ami there. The Academy, once the pride and boast of our fathers, haa given way to the High .School, and girls and boys ol to-day linaw nothing ol th« •xperienccs which " The Orcutt Girls " enjoyed in their " One Tor.n at the Academy." Ti/f'^^f- VERN. A Neighborhood Story. By Ellen Doug- ■*■'■*■ LAS Delano. 341 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. A most attractive and interesting story by a writer who has won a vast audience ol youiig people by her stories. Malvern is a small suburban town in New Jersey. The "••Shborhood liimishes a queer assortment ol boys and girls. How they Icit and acted, what they did, and how they did it, forms an interesting narrative. AD Y BETTY'S TWLNS. By E. M. Waterworth. With 12 illustrations. lib pp. Cloth, 75 cents. A qiulnt little story of a girl — a little girl — who had a propensity for getting into trouble, because she had not learned the lesson of obedience. She masters this, how- ever, as the story lells, and in doing so she and her brother have a number ol expari- eocea. "HE MOONSTONE RLNG. By Jennik Chappell. With 6 full-page illustrations. 116 pp. Cloth, 75 cents. An old ring plays an important part in this charming little story. It brings together a spoiled child, the granddaughter of a rich and indulgent old lady, and a happy little family of three, who, though poor, are contented with their lot. This acquaintance proves to be ol mutual advantage. "HE MARJORLE BOOKS. 6 vols. Edited by Lucy Wheelock. About 200 illustrations. Price of set, 1(1.50. A new set of books for the little ones, better, if possible, than even Daft Library, which has been so popular. Full of pictures, short stories, and bits of poetry. Boston : IK A. WMe <&• Co., 35 Brorn field Street. jr. .-f. "'/7''fiZi:'t^^^^^^^ piclur. of, and th« part whiih mir I ree ^f "'"»', "y" ,,;;'*;, „ i,e „ ,,u.hi..g .l.ftat brc:;r;l^J■ttb»c.:':!^u--l;s';ui.;^,. .ro « .h. co..... . mure determined uffdrl. •^'OTHHK rOLUMKS IN I'KKI'ARATION. TRAVEL ADVERTURE SERIES. Uy Col. Tiios. W. Knox. /A^ ffV/Z) AFRICA. Adventures of 'l^vo Boys in the Sahara Desert. 325 PP- Ulusfatecl. Cloth, $..50. reaVlert. - Tht Riligimt TeUtco/n, Dayton. rllE LAND OF TILE KANGAROO. Adventures 4 Two Boy, in the Great Island Continent. 3«« PP- IHu^tratt^l. Th.'^lTcol/liS.WKnoxwa.af^^^^^^^^^ travel and adventure. Hi» laM b'«ik (fi">»hed on'y ^,^,",;^„e,t. and of whid. liotle i. 2rrnt, ?h\:cr.t? .'"a:,';;! ;i.e'gre',T ^1^:1^^ >.nd of th. kan^roo. andTcountry of contradicUon,, i. most Interestingly described. UOOTHER VOLUMES IN THIS SERIES ANNOUNCED LA 1 ER. QUARTERDECK &- FOK'SLE. By Molly Elliot Q SEAWELL, author of "Decatur and Somers." etc. 272 PP- ^"^ Illustrated. $1.25. Ml.. Seawell U..xc.ption.Uy P«.ed in ttj. »"V,Urrrhe"*,ot:,d IT'^TLIV^^ people at the «m. lime, and many » .^"^ ?' f.f^'^S tirSe in. ruclive and high.pirited l'„1„t'.!°^r'on,"lm^uI.'aY^"«nptatro^wy^^ win b. r.«l with ..«.r intere.t. — CttHgrtgatioialist, Boston. Botton: W.A. lyitUe &'Co., 13 Bromfield Street. htrs. SERIES. >N. Sforjf of the Timts M.5"- Biiln iif 111" llm«»; In palrlollc, iiciriiiK I". I •'• iKfiw" »'• . iiitrnilucctl. ill* leitom "I hill day. ■ HdiIom /'ruiiJiri/l. 4/.S. A Story of the lied. Cloth, $1.50. •rits Klvet n vivid and accural* ' iiiok In, the evenU which ltd ihu lime ill tie a i ruihlng defeat IS before hie iiidden diealh) t inlerest. .-ind of which liotle i» linent. the land of the kangaroo, icribed. 4NN0UNCKD LA TER. :. By Molly Elliot [ Somers," etc. 272 pp. inatructing and ainiising youiig ears at the sound of her name, 111 me instructive and high-spirited II, and will b« read with eager W. A. miili > ,'"., I'uhlishtr' bumih mho afiMwit series. Hy Wii.i lA • Drvsiiai.K.. '//A YOi'NG A'/'l/'Oh r/iA'. A Story of J'rinting Ihiist Squ,irt. 298 p|i. Illustrated. Clotii,#l.50. If allbiiv»area»lnlereiiledlnlhUi kaslheiwrllcular Ixiyin orrowiifimlly, lllelh* success of the season. Hick, the hor.., > a s|il«ndid fellow, who wcrks hi« wav up from reporting ini.ill m.illcrs to a high iiimltlon as an aiithir and journalist. It teachM lessons of industry, Hdellly, and tem4i«rance. — /.i^ritrj" HhIUHh, New York. *J//': FAST MAIL. The Story of a Train Hoy. 398 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1,50. The birthright of every American boy Is the aapeclalion that he might some- time become President of ihe I'niled Stales. Ilert Walker did not aspire as high as this, but he had the deleiinln.ilicm, pluik, and rommon sei»e which enabled him to (« a successful train boy and a railroad man. Any boy can make a» niuch of * success of himself as Hert W.ilkcr ilid, and " The K.i»l Mail " will be an Inspiration ol Iht right kind to thousands of boys who are just starting out in life. \*OTHER lOLUMKS IN I'RKI'ARAnOff. FIOHTIRQ FOR THE FLMO SERIES. By Chas. Lkdyard Norton. C^ACK BENSON'S LOG, or, Afioat with the Flag in '6 1 . J 276 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. An unusually Interesting historical story, and one that will arouse Ihe loyal Impulses of every American boy or girl. The story is distinctly superior to anything ever •tlempled along this line before. — THt IndtftncUMi. A MEDAL OF HONOR MAN; or, Cruising among Blockade Runners. 280 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, |i. 25. This second of Fiehling for Ike Flag books takes Jack into a series of excltliig adventures along the Horida Sounds, lie interviews Ihe famous Alabama in a night chase down the coast, and finally is decorated by his captain with Ihe Navy Medal ol Honor. •,»OTIfER VOLUMES IN PREPARA TION. rHE MYSTERLOUS VOYAGE OF THE DAPHNE. By Lieut. H. P. Wihtmarsh, R. N., and others. 305 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. This volume, mechanically beautifid as to type and paper, i« an unusually good col- lection of short stories, and is well and freely Illustrated. Lieutenant Whltmarsh ctn- tributed two unique sea stories, which are instructive as well as very interesting. Others are by the best-known writers for young people In the country. — A'/*i«tfrM Herald, Chicago. Bromjield Street. Boston: W. A. IViUe &' Co., ij Bromfield Street. IV. A. IViliie &• Co., PiiHisliefS. r |l F FOREMAN JENNIE. A Young Woman of ^"""f"- By AMOS R. WELLS, editor of The Golden A'uL: A new edition. 268 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25. This is a book Cor .h..c «ho are called .he ^;^workmg peoj,k p.N°p,P wSl hail rhoTand^wllh^'of^reVeTl^^^^^^^ riAP'N THISTLETOP. By Sophie Swett, author of C "Mate of the Mary Ann," etc. 266 pp. Illustrated. «i.25- This claim, to be a girls' book, but the boy "h^j^" se\hf |i;l?wii^"ke^u^^^^^^^^^^^^ rkTG CYPRESS. By Kirk Munroe, author of "Fur 5 SeaVsToVth;""CampUes,"etc. .64 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, The*sti°"is so fascinating that it will hold the absorbed attention of every boy and ^'''rt^^Cl^^;^I:t::o{X^^^<^^i and helpful for girls as for boy..- Golden Rult. "HE BEACON LIGHT SERIES. I so\^- Edited by NATALIE L. RICE. Illustrated. Each book, 96 PP- Cloth. Price of set, $2.50. A collection of bri|ht, attractive stone, from the best-known writer, for young people in the Junior and Intermediate classes. prS LIBRAR Y. 10 vols. Edited by Lucy Whee- LOCK. 400 illustrations. Price of set, $2.50. Without question the most delightful set of books for little ones. Over 400 illu.- trstions. _____ PuTnTTKTfT'S. ^FLECT NOTES. By F. N. Pelou- ^B^T n D Tnf nS moUHET. A Commentaryon the In.er- ^a^'oid Sunday-school Lessons. Illustrated. 340 PP- Cloth. ^1.25. rAYS OF WORKING; or. Helpful Hints to Sunday^ School Workers of all Kinds. By Rev. A. F. Schauffler. D. D. 216 pp. Cloth, III. 00. D W Boston: \V. A. Wilde &- Co., 25 Bromfield Street. %% f ^^ , _ k ''iiHishers. ittg Woman of Business. loUen KuU. A new edition. 'working people." No people of ndname. All good people will hail focher, Nashville. JoPHiE SwETT, author of 6 pp. Illustrated. jSi.25. does not take it all in, and then wish f course the girls will like it; isn t it Iphia. [UN ROE, author of " Fur , 164 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, absorbed attention of every boy and ,nd helpful for girls as for boys.— [ESSIE E. Wright, author 264 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, mothers, -that God will be with the ■ be passing through the fires of temp- York. IRIES. 5 vols. Edited •d. Each book, 96 pp. Cloth. im the best-known writers for young . Edited by Lucy Whee- of set, $2.50. books for little ones. Over 400 illus- 'OTES. By F. N. Pelou- r. A Commentary on the Inter- , Illustrated. 340 PP- Cloth, r. Helpful Hints to Sunday By Rev. A. F. Schauffler, 0., 25 Bromfield Street. 3i *>■?■ *•' X