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Page 25 text:
“
A First Valentine HE first valentine that I have cause to remember was received when I was six years old. On the morning of February the four- teenth of that year I was very much disappointed not to receive my usual valentine from my parents when the mailman came. Being assured that the St. Valentine Day ' s Santa Claus would bring it after I was in school, and as my brother was to allow me to go with him to spend all of ten cents for a valentine to be given his teacher, my disappointment was soon forgotten. Oh, the pleasure of purchasing that valentine! First we stood a long time before the gayly decorated drug-store windows, partly to determine upon the valentine we liked best, but most of all to enjoy the consciousness that we had more right than any of the other children to stare in at the beautiful love- offerings, for were we not to spend more money than any of them 7 Then after taking a trip of inspection to the windows of another drug-store in the vicinity, we decided on the first one. Although we entered pompously, we were overcome with nerv- ousness by the time we reached the counter and the grave-looking drug-store-man asked us what we wished. However, when one of us failed in words, the other was ready to take up the request, and between us the clerk was made to understand that we wanted the prettiest valentine in the window. But, alas, it cost more than ten cents. Then we had to make another choice and somehow there wasn ' t half as much time to make it in as there was when we were outside. Finally we decided on one, and what a brilliant one ! Every color of the rainbow was represented and the gold and lace paper were not lacking. Inside was written in beautiful verse, the undying love of the giver and the humble request that the recipient would be his valentine. Not that we selected it for what it said — oh no, for no one paid any attention to that ; all that was necessary was a pretty picture with lace paper, and the more colors, the better. How proudly my brother carried that valentine to school, holding it stiffly with both hands before him ! As a special favor he allowed me to carry it while he counte twenty-five. All that morning I found myself thinking of the wonderful valentine and how pleased the teacher would be with it. Imagine, then, how surprised I was wher I met my brother coming home from school carrying disconsolately under his arm, tb valentine. In answer to my excited questions I found that he Didn ' t like that teacher nohow, and after much diplomacy, that she had caught him whispering and had put him in the corner. And then came the joyous part of it all. He presented me with the valentine saying, Now Sis, I ' m going to give you this valentine, but you must promise never, never, never to tattle-tale on me, and you must always do just ezackely what I say, and you must give me half of all your cakes an apples for morether nor two weeks, So little to give for so much happiness! ®
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Page 26 text:
“
The Last Violin HE, sat there in the weird firelight, a quaint old man. His hair was long and silver white, and it hung in a fantastic way about an old, old face. There in the dancing firelight his aged form looked bent and worn with care and time, and only his deep-set, penetrating eyes danced and shone with the lustre of youth. The room was bare and small, and, in a word, quaint as he who lived and worked there. The light from the broad hearth shone here and there and touched gently the old, old things everywhere. But the fleeting light revealed the strange objects for but a single moment at a time, giving a weird, fantastic appearance to everything. Yet there was light enough, there being now no one to see save only the old man and he had seen the things often before. Perhaps some such thought as this dwelt in his mind now as he bowed his tired head upon his thin, white fingers, for now and again his voice rose in a dull murmur, above the crackling noise of the fire. 1 was not always so alone, he said softly, it was not always so quiet, so deathly still. There were friends ' voices once, but I was young then, young and care-free and that was long, long ago. There is no comfort now but work, my work. So speaking he arose and lit a single candle, and turned to a great chest by the wall. Lifting its lid, he took out a piece of carved wood, beau- tiful and quaint in the flickering light. He sought his work bench and setting down the candle near by, he worked, measuring and fitting with patient, firm hands. As he worked, his aged face beamed with joy. Ah ! This shall be the masterpiec e, he whispered. For months and months I have worked. The rest were beautiful, but you! Oh, I have never loved any as I love you, work of my old hands. They shall see that an old man can make vio- lins yet. The young men have not learned all the art. No, that requires years of work, real work. So he worked, murmuring words of endearment from time to time. The candle sputtered at times and the old violin-maker mended the wick, impatient that he must stop his work. And so he worked through the long hours, carefully, quietly for the most part, till at last the candle burned down and with a last flicker went out. Then he stopped and gently, by the dying firelight, put his work away and soon the room was quiet and the old man slept. So the days and weeks went on and the violin-maker worked from da y to day, patiently save when his aged hands refused to do his bidding. Then in a fit of strange anger he would walk up and down the quaint old workshop, where he had lived so many years. Day by day the work grew more beautiful and his face beamed with joy and pride. He had been well known in his youth, but now his friends were gone and the young did not know him. The people called him queer and laughed not alto- gether unkindly when they saw his quaint figure in the street or at the auctions which he frequented. The auctioneer knew him too, as the old fellow who bought rare bedsteads, and laughed good-naturedly when he was mentioned. In his workshop the rare old wood was carefully examined and only the best pieces were put into his Stradivarius model, so called because it was modeled after the beautiful instrument which he himself had owned for many years.
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