一切似乎都很高兴,尽管多长老,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 Child