The Old Homestead. Ann S. Stephens

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      "But we don't know how, like him," answered Mary.

      "I am worse than that, it makes people sad to look at me, but you have done something, I dare say, to help make them happy?"

      "I helped get the supper and make that," said Mary, pointing to the birth-day cake which still lay glistening white beneath its wreath of evergreens.

      "Ah, that was a great deal for you. Now what if I try a little? Bend down your head. I have a violin up stairs. Father bought it for me new year's day. It did not cost much, but there is music in it, and I have learned to play a little. Now I will just steal away and bring it down without letting them see me. Won't it astonish them to hear the music burst up all at once from our corner?"

      The boy's eyes sparkled, and he seemed quite animated with his little plot.

      "That will be pleasant," replied Mary, equally delighted with the idea. "Let me go! Where shall I find the violin?"

      "In the corner cupboard—there is a little fire-light—you will not miss it," answered the lad, smiling gratefully.

      Mary stole away and soon returned with the violin. She contrived to reach the boy without being seen, and the two sat close together, while he noiselessly tried the strings and fixed the bow.

      There was a momentary hush in the conversation.

      "Now!" whispered Mary, "now!"

      The boy drew his bow, and such a burst of music poured from the strings, that even Mary started with astonishment.

      "Ha, my son!" said the artist, "that was well thought of! now do your best!"

      The boy answered only with a smile, but his slender fingers flew up and down on the strings, the bow flashed across them like lightning, and the apartment rung with music.

      Spite of all its good resolutions, the Canary bird had gone to sleep, with its head under one wing, but with the first note of music it was all in a flutter of delight, and set up an opposition to the violin that threatened to rend its quivering little form in twain.

      Isabel, light and graceful as the bird, sprang from her seat and began to waltz about the room, her curls floating in the air, and her cheeks bright as a ripe peach. She looked like a fairy excited by the music.

      "Come, what if we all get up a dance?" said Chester, approaching the needle-merchant's wife.

      She looked at her husband.

      "A capital idea!" cried the little man, all in a glow, seizing upon the hand of the widow.

      "Indeed, I—I—my dancing days are over," faltered the widow, half withdrawing her hand, but looking provokingly irresolute.

      "Oh, aunty, let me see you dance once, only this once!" cried the boy, breaking the strain of his music.

      The widow turned a look of tenderness upon her charge, and with a blush on her cheek was led to the floor.

      "They want another couple—who will dance with me?" said Mrs. Chester, casting a smiling challenge at the old gentleman.

      "Oh, father, do," cried the boy, "see, they cannot get along without you."

      "I shall put you all out—I haven't taken a step in twenty years," pleaded the old man.

      "Never mind, we will teach you—we will all teach you—so come along," broke from half a dozen voices, and Mrs. Chester laughingly took the old man captive, leading him to the floor with a look of playful triumph.

      Isabel, after a vain effort to persuade Mary to join her, took a side by herself, quite capable of dancing enough for two at least.

      Then the violin sent forth an air that kindled the blood even in that old man's veins. The dancers put themselves in motion—right and left—ladies' chain. It went off admirably. The old man was rather stiff and awkward at first, but the young folks soon broke him in and he turned, now the little girls then Mrs. Chester, and then the tall lady with the cameo; true she was on the side, but then the old gentleman was not particular, and his ladies' chain became rather an intricate affair at last, he added so many superfluous links to it.

      But nothing could daunt him after he once got into the spirit of it, and he went through the whole like an old hero; the only difficulty was, he never knew when to stop.

      Just in the height of the dance, when the needle-merchant was all in a glow, balancing to every lady, and getting up a sort of extemporaneous affair, made from old remembrances of "The Cheat" and "The Virginia Reel," the whole company stopped short, and he exclaimed—

      "Bless my soul!"

      And drawing forth a red silk handkerchief, he made a motion, as if his forehead wanted dusting.

      "Bless my soul!" he repeated, "Laura, my dear, have the goodness to look, my love."

      Mrs. Peters turned, and spite of her cameo defences, blushed guiltily.

      "Dear me, my nephew, Frederick Farnham, who would have expected this?" she exclaimed, instantly assuming her dignity, and gliding from among the dancers.

      "I couldn't help it, Aunt Peters, I know it is very impertinent for me to follow you up here, but how could you expect me to stay down yonder, with the floor trembling over head, and that violin—? I beg your pardon, sir," continued young Farnham, addressing Chester, "but the fact is, everything was so gloomy down stairs, and so brilliant; up here besides you left the door open as if you'd made up your mind to tempt a fellow into committing an impertinence."

      "Don't think of it, there's no intrusion—my wife has found a birth-day, and is making the most of it," answered Chester, advancing toward the door with his hand frankly extended.

      The youth stepped forward, and the light fell upon his face. His eyes lighted up splendidly as they fell on Chester.

      "What, my fine fellow, is it you?" he said, with a dash of young Americanism that was only frank, not assuming, while Chester exclaimed—

      "I'm glad to see you—heartily glad to see you—come in, come in."

      "Allow me," said Mrs. Peters, with a stately wave of the hand, "Mr. Chester, allow me to present Mr. Frederick Farnham, my nephew, and only son of the Mayor of New York—Mrs. Chester, Mr. Farnham."

      "Never mind all about that, aunt," said the boy, blushing at his pompous introduction, "this gentleman and I have met before—he knows my father."

      "Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Peters, coming out from his retirement, "I am delighted to hear it; nothing but this was wanting, my dear Chester. I'm charmed to have been found enjoying your hospitality. Laura, my dear, we are both charmed; my brother-in-law, the mayor, will be charmed also—in short, Fred, we are having a charming time of it."

      "I'm sure of it," answered Fred Farnham, pressing his uncle, and looking earnestly at Mary Fuller till his face became quite serious, then, turning to Chester, he said in a low voice, "so you keep the poor girl; I'm glad of it—that was what brought me here."

      No one had observed the artist while this interruption took СКАЧАТЬ