Floretty's Musical Contribution

All seemed delighted, though the elders more,     Of course, than were the children. - Thus, before     Much interchange of mirthful compliment,     The story-teller said his stories "went"     (Like a bad candle) best when they went out, -     And that some sprightly music, dashed about,     Would wholly quench his "glimmer," and inspire     Far brighter lights.         And, answering this desire,     The flutist opened, in a rapturous strain     Of rippling notes - a perfect April-rain     Of melody that drenched the senses through; -     Then - gentler - gentler - as the dusk sheds dew,     It fell, by velvety, staccatoed halts,     Swooning away in old "Von Weber's Waltz."     Then the young ladies sang "Isle of the Sea" -     In ebb and flow and wave so billowy, -     Only with quavering breath and folded eyes     The listeners heard, buoyed on the fall and rise     Of its insistent and exceeding stress     Of sweetness and ecstatic tenderness ...     With lifted finger yet, Remembrance - List! -     "Beautiful isle of the sea!" wells in a mist     Of tremulous ...         ... After much whispering     Among the children, Alex came to bring     Some kind of letter - as it seemed to be -     To Cousin Rufus. This he carelessly     Unfolded - reading to himself alone, -     But, since its contents became, later, known,     And no one "plagued so awful bad," the same     May here be given - of course without full name,     Fac-simile, or written kink or curl     Or clue. It read: -                 "Wild Roved an indian Girl             Brite al Floretty"             deer freind                 I now take     *this* These means to send that Song to you & make     my Promus good to you in the Regards     Of doing What i Promust afterwards,     the notes & Words is both here Printed SOS     you *kin* can git uncle Mart to read you *them* those     & cousin Rufus you can git to Play     the notes fur you on eny Plezunt day     His Legul Work aint *Pressin* Pressing.          Ever thine             As shore as the Vine             doth the Stump intwine             thou art my Lump of Sackkerrine                 Rinaldo Rinaldine                 the Pirut in Captivity.         ... There dropped     Another square scrap. - But the hand was stopped     That reached for it - Floretty suddenly     Had set a firm foot on her property -     Thinking it was the letter, not the song, -     But blushing to discover she was wrong,     When, with all gravity of face and air,     Her precious letter handed to her there     By Cousin Rufus left her even more     In apprehension than she was before.     But, testing his unwavering, kindly eye,     She seemed to put her last suspicion by,     And, in exchange, handed the song to him. -     A page torn from a song-book: Small and dim     Both notes and words were - but as plain as day     They seemed to him, as he began to play -     And plain to all the singers, - as he ran     An airy, warbling prelude, then began     Singing and swinging in so blithe a strain,     That every voice rang in the old refrain:     From the beginning of the song, clean through,     Floretty's features were a study to     The flutist who "read notes" so readily,     Yet read so little of the mystery     Of that face of the girl's. - Indeed one thing     Bewildered him quite into worrying,     And that was, noticing, throughout it all,     The Hired Man shrinking closer to the wall,     She ever backing toward him through the throng     Of barricading children - till the song     Was ended, and at last he saw her near     Enough to reach and take him by the ear     And pinch it just a pang's worth of her ire     And leave it burning like a coal of fire.     He noticed, too, in subtle pantomime     She seemed to dust him off, from time to time;     And when somebody, later, asked if she     Had never heard the song before - "What! me?"     She said - then blushed again and smiled, -     "I've knowed that song sence Adam was a child! -     It's jes a joke o' this-here man's. - He's learned     To read and write a little, and its turned     His fool-head some - That's all!"         And then some one     Of the loud-wrangling boys said - "Course they's none     No more, these days! - They's Fairies ust to be,     But they're all dead, a hunderd years!" said he.     "Well, there's where you're mustakened!" - in reply     They heard Bud's voice, pitched sharp and thin and high. -     "An' how you goin' to prove it!"         "Well, I kin!"     Said Bud, with emphasis, - "They's one lives in     Our garden - and I see 'im wunst, wiv my     Own eyes - one time I did."         "Oh, what a lie!"      - "'Sh!'"         "Well, nen," said the skeptic - seeing there     The older folks attracted - "Tell us where     You saw him, an' all 'bout him!'         "Yes, my son. -     If you tell 'stories,' you may tell us one,"     The smiling father said, while Uncle Mart,     Behind him, winked at Bud, and pulled apart     His nose and chin with comical grimace -     Then sighed aloud, with sanctimonious face, -             "'How good and comely it is to see             Children and parents in friendship agree!' -     You fire away, Bud, on your Fairy-tale -     Your Uncle's here to back you!"         Somewhat pale,     And breathless as to speech, the little man     Gathered himself. And thus his story ran.