Laura E. Richards

“ When the meal was over, and the tea-things put away, Melody came out again into the porch, where the fiddler sat smoking his pipe, and leaning against one of the supports, felt among the leaves which hid it. "Here is the mark!" she said. "Am I really taller, Rosin? Really much taller?"
"What troubles the child?" the old man asked gently. "She does not want to grow? The bud must open, Melody, my dear! the bud must open!" ”

“ A little girl is needed here, isn't she? And there is no need at all of another woman. I can't be like Aunt Vesta or Auntie Joy; so I think I might stay just Melody." Then shaking her curls back, she cried, "Well, anyhow, I am just Melody now, and nothing more; and I mean to make the most of it. Come, Rosin, come! I am ready for music. The dishes are all washed, and there's nothing more to do, is there, Auntie? It is so long since Rosin has been here; now let us have a good time, a perfect time!"
De Arthenay took up his fiddle once more, and caressed its shining curves. ”

“ Suddenly De Arthenay stopped short, and tapped sharply on his fiddle, while the dancers, breathless and exhausted, fell back by the roadside again. Stepping out from the porch, he made a low bow to Miss Vesta. "Chorus Jig!" he cried, and struck up the air of that time-honored dance. Miss Vesta frowned, shook her head resolutely,-- rose, and standing opposite the old fiddler, began to dance.
Here was a new marvel, no less strange in its way than Melody's wild grace of movement, or the sudden madness of the village crowd. The stately white-haired woman moved slowly forward ”

“ I don't want to grow up, ever, at all."
"I should like to know what you can do about it," said Miss Vesta, smiling grimly. "You'll have to stop pretty short if you are not going to grow up, Melody. If I have let your dresses down once this spring, I've let them down three times. You're going to be a tall woman, I should say, and you've a right good start toward it now." ”

“ At length the child Melody, with one superb outburst of song, lifted her hands above her head, and springing out into the road cried, "A dance! a dance!"
Instantly the quiet road was alive with dancers. Old and young sprang to their feet in joyful response. The fiddle struck into "The Irish Washerwoman," and the people danced. Children joined hands and jumped up and down, knowing no steps save Nature's leaps of joy; youths and maidens flew in graceful measures together ”

“ De Arthenay," said Miss Vesta. "do play a little for us, while I get supper. Suppose I bring the table out here, Melody; how would you like that?"
"Oh, so much!" cried the child, clapping her hands. "So very much! Let me help!"
She started up; and while the fiddler played, old sweet melodies, such as Miss Rejoice loved, there was a pleasant, subdued bustle of coming and going, clinking and rustling, as the little table was brought out and set in the vine-wreathed porch, the snowy cloth laid, and the simple feast set forth. There were wild strawberries, fresh and glowing, laid on vine-leaves ”

“ I'll gi'e John Ross anither bawbee To boat me o'er to Charlie. We'll o'er the water an' o'er the sea, We'll o'er the water to Charlie, Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, And live and die wi' Charlie.'" And now Rosin the Beau proves the good right he has to his name. Trill and quavers and roulades are shaken from his bow as lightly as foam from the prow of a ship. The music leaps rollicking up and down, here and there, till the air is all a-quiver with merriment. The old man draws himself up to his full height, all save that loving bend of the head over the beloved instrument. ”

“ I wanted to hear "Rosin the Beau," the cradle-song of the fiddle,--the sweet, simple, foolish old song, which every "blind crowder" who could handle a fiddle-bow could play in his sleep fifty years ago, and which is now wellnigh forgotten. It is not a beautiful air; it may have no merit at all, musically speaking ”

“ You'll never get anything better to eat in this world."
The child flushed with pleasure.
"You're praising her too much to herself," said Miss Vesta, with a pleased smile. "Melody made those biscuit, all herself, without any help. She's getting to be such a good housekeeper, Mr. De Arthenay, you would not believe it."
"You don't tell me that she made these biscuit!" cried the old man. "Why, Melody, I shall be frightened at you if you go on at this rate. You are not growing up, are you, little Melody?"
"No! no! no!" cried the child, vehemently. "I am _not_ growing up, Rosin. ”

“ His long slender foot, in its quaint "Congress" shoe, beats time like a mill-clapper,--tap, tap, tap; his snowy curl dances over his forehead, his brown eyes twinkle with pride and pleasure. Other feet beside his began to pat the ground ”

“ Alone in the midst of the gay throng (as strange a one, surely, as ever disturbed the quiet of a New England country road) danced the blind child, a figure of perfect grace. Who taught Melody to dance? ”

“ Does she see his look of dismay, of incredulous anger, when she told him that her life must be given to her crippled sister, and that if he would share it he must take Rejoice too, to love and to cherish as dearly as he would cherish her? ”

“ De Arthenay, all this time? I'm sure you have a great deal to tell us. It's as good as a newspaper when you come along, we always say."
The old fiddler cleared his throat, and settled himself comfortably in a corner of the porch, with Melody's hand in his. Miss Vesta produced her knitting; Melody gave a little sigh of perfect content, and nestled up to her friend's side, leaning her head against his shoulder.
"Begin to tell now, Rosin," she said. "Tell us all that you know." ”

“ All the while not a muscle of their faces moved, not a gleam of fun disturbed the tranquil sternness of their look; for dancing was a serious business thirty years ago, when they were young, and they had no idea of lowering its dignity by any "quips and cranks and wanton wiles," such as young folks nowadays indulge in. ”

“ De Arthenay. It is always a good day that brings you."
The old man sprang up from his seat in the porch, and made a low bow to the window. "It's a treat to hear your voice, Miss Rejoice, so it is," he said heartily. "I hope your health's been pretty good lately? It seems to me your voice sounds stronger than it did the last time I was here."
"Oh, I'm very well," responded the invalid, cheerfully. "Very well, I feel this summer; don't I, Vesta? ”