Melody The Story of a Child

and deep-chested, with a voice like a trumpet, and a general air of being the West Wind in person. He was not al

off Melody, eh? You needn't say no, for I know your musket-shot expression. Dr. Anthony, let me present you to Miss Vesta

r. Anthony, smiling. "Have you many such

s enough to ruin any practice, with her pernicious example of disgustin

d questions and answers, searching on one si

f an hour this morning," said the doctor. "I want h

ith Ned?" cried Melody, w

down mad enough, I can tell you; found the child's eyes looking like a ploughed field. 'What have you been doing to this child, Phffibe?' 'We-ell, Doctor, his eyes has been kind o' bad along back, the last week. I did cal'late to send for you before; but one o' the neighbors was in, and she said to put molasses and tobacco-juice in them.' 'Thunder and turf!' says I. 'What sa-ay?' says Phoebe. ''N' then old Mis' Barker come in last night. You know she's had consid'able experi'nce wit

ld you say that? But you don't think-you don't think Ned will really be blind?" The child

t the little fellow, who has been badly scared by the clack of tongues and the smarting of the tobacco-juice. Imbeciles! cods' heads! scooped-out pumpkins!" exclaimed the doctor, in a sudden frenzy. "A-I don't mean that. Comfort him up, child, and sing to him and tell him about Jack-and-the-Beanstalk. You'll soon bring him round, I'll

can always sing, of co

would you l

d Dr. Brown. "Give

o murmur with pleasure as the wind swept them lightly to and fro. Miss Vesta said something about her bread, and gave an uneasy glance toward the house, but she did not

e it was first sung, I say, men and women and children have loved this song. We hear of its being sung by camp-fires, on ships at sea, at gay parties of pleasure. Was it not at the siege of Lucknow that it floated like a breath from home through the city hell-beset, and brought cheer and hope and comfort to all who heard it? The cotter's wife croons it over her sleeping baby; the lover sings it to his sweetheart; the child runs, carolling it, through the summer fields; finally, some world-honored prima-donna, some Patti or Nilsson, sings it as the final touch of perf

on braes

rly fa's

ous for him, Dr. Anthony, to refuse to see and hear her when he came to pass a night with his old college chum; but his assent had been rather wearily given: Dr. Anthony detested juvenile prodigies. But what was this? A voice full and round as the voices of Italy; clear as a bird's; swelling ever richer, fuller, rising in tones so pure, so noble, that the heart of the listener ached, as the poet's heart at hearing th

of the skylark when she sinks into her nest at sunset

ong in the world, I don't care what the next is. Now run along, like my good maid, and sing it

e house to kiss Miss Rejoice, came out with her sun-bonnet tied under her chin, and lifted her face to kiss Miss Ves

nything about our cake," she said; "he isn't coming to tea to-night. I suppose

, sir," making a little courtesy to Dr. Anthony, who gravely took off his hat and bowed as if to

silent for a while. "Blind f

ut she's the happiest creature in the world, I do believe. How does she sing?

," said Dr. Anthony,-"li

Vesta, gravely. "She is a child of Go

in his intense interest in the child. "This lovely child is your o

arried her out of herself, she declared. The answer to the gentleman's question was one she never liked to make. "She is

aid Dr. Brown, kindly, "since the little one came

ear the wind now when I

," the doctor continued

g Irish woman, who cam

nd dead, consumption on

oorhouse, and left th

w it happe

ere, and he says the child is blind, and will be blind all her days, and we've got to bring her up; and I'd like to know if I haven't got enough to do without feedin' blind children?' I just looked at her. 'I don't know that a deaf woman would be much better than a blind child,' said I; 'so I'll thank you to speak like a human being, Liza Green, and not scream at me. Aren't you ashamed?' I said. 'The child can't help being blind, I suppose. Poor little lamb! as if it hadn't enough, with no father nor mother in the world.' 'I don't care,' says Liza, crazy as ever; 'I can't stand it. I've got all I can stand now, with a feeble-minded boy and two so old they can't feed themselves. That Polly is as crazy as a loon, and the rest is so shif'less it loosens all my j'ints to look at 'em. I won't stand no more, for Dr. Brown nor anybody else.' And she set her hands on her hips and stared at me as if she'd like to eat me, sun-bonnet and all. 'Let me see the child,' I said. I went in, and there it lay,-the prettiest creature you ever saw in your life, with its eyes wide open, just as they are now, and the sweetest look on its

n in her bed thirty years. She and Melody keep a small

is minute, Vesta. Don't wait; the Lord must not be kept waiting. Go, I tell you!' She looked so wild I was fairly frightened; so I tried to quiet her. I thought her mind was touched, some way. 'Well, I'll go to-morrow,' says I, soothing her; 'I couldn't go now, anyhow, Rejoice. Just hear it rain and blow! It came on just as I stepped inside the door, and it's a regular storm now. Be quiet,' I said, 'and I'll go up in the morning and see about it.' My sister sat right up in the bed. 'You'll go now,' she says, 'or I'll go myself. Now, this living minute! Quick!' I went, sir. The fire in her eyes would have scorched me if I had looked at it a minute longer. I thought she was coming out of the bed after me,-she, who had not stirred for twenty years. I caught up a shawl, threw anoth

was struck by lightning that night!" she said. "The cradle where that baby was lying was shat