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Show 1 Listening Ears jl l! 5 1 !! jl ! 51 ' '8 I' By Dorothy Douglas : ! i?oD5Tisht, 131". by the McClure Newspa-1 Newspa-1 per Syndicate.) Mildred lilted a soft nlr as she wound her great coils of coppery hair about her small heiul. It framed her oval face like a burnished braid of old old. Uer eyes were wistful and her sons drooped, like a tiny bird that flatters wearily home to the uest. Sometimes the quaint airs that Mildred Mil-dred sang were light and happy ; then jjaio they told of a heavy heart that lJnsed for rest, and yet again there was tremendous grandeur In her song, us if some great emotion held her in its grip. Mildred could not have repeated the quaint airs that her heart fashioned Id tier brain. They were little snatches of expression in song that were as spontaneous as they were tuneful. &e did not realize that her notes nere herding themselves together In dainty compositions that were full of sentiment and harmony. To the white-haired musician that sat 1')' his window in the room above Mildred. He drank them Into bis music-tuned soul as a thirsting animal laps the sparkling water from a mountain moun-tain brook. The notes bubbled and laughed at times, and it was then that the old nan smiled and his eyes were bright. And when the voice drooped and the notes fell heavily on the air, then did his heart beat dully with an ache that turt. And in the hours that the song bird ms away from, her room and down at the office where she worked, the old raan sat at his desk and transposed the notes of her songs from his brain to the staffed paper on his desk. He dotted in notes here and there, makin? changes, adding a hint of te hniqne here and a sense of rhythm 1 Ali llfSlI Little Snatches of Song. ere. Each page as it fluttered from Ms pen held a dainty score of music D'Jtes that a generation to come would 'll be singing. They were exquisite ll's of melody, some for the voice and 'iters for the violin. The old man pondered hour upon 6lr as to the identity of the girl nose voice gave to his listening ears ' J,"e wonderful notes. Id his own lifetime he had com-d com-d songs that would live and live 1 re-live, and now he was weary. e had drained his own cup of in-'Mration in-'Mration to the dregs, and now this ji" to the room above had flung Into 3 soul snatches of melody that it a crime to have lost. He wondered from whom she had '"med that gift of original herding i w notes. ! e-(T'lf'ro has been music somewhere, t'"ryvhere about her, and yet I hardly . she is conscious that she has .'"poser a score or more Qf wonclerl "il songs." Ami beoanse David Ward was a roth'""0 ro-th'""0 fll'l rnan, with a soul filled to 'rim with fantasy, he pondered on Picturesque way ln whicn to ac. mt the gir wjtn ner own gift Ue m i Songs for tl,e volce bouncl in - dainty volume, and those for the ln 'n another. Slilr"1 WhUe the 0,d n,an rendered M "h' t0' was worryinK Iler brain tied mln fistful-eyed and trou- jm can't stand it any longer," auk hfel'self' tearfully. "I must ,e some money. Everyone else Is ' m'6 the soldiers, and I don't even have five dollars extra a month to help with." That evening her song was sad ; so sad that David Ward swept moisture from his eyes as the notes stopped abruptly in the room above. Something told him that sobs had choked the songbird's notes. An hour later, when the sad little melody was down on paper, David's door was flung open and his big nephew bounded ln, a wonrlerful smile on ids face and his shoulders erect. lie was wearing khaki. The old man gasped, turned a bit white, then, like the soldier that he too was at heart, he clasped the great boy in his arms. "Oot my commission to-day." an nounced the boy proudly, and then for a second was silent. Finally he said with a catch in his voice: "Sly violin, uncle, I want you to keep it for me! I couldn't trust it to anyone else." "I'll treasure It, my boy," David told him softly. "You're giving up a great career (he world Is beginning to listen lis-ten to your fiddle." He put his arm across the khaki shoulders. . "But you have taken up a greater career, brave Soldier." Young David laughed off the moment mo-ment of emotion that threatened his recently acquired manhood, and picked up his violin. David had but lately passed twenty-one. He played something rollicking and happy to sweep away the tears, and when his uncle was smiling he smiled. "My boy," said the old composer, "just run over those gems in that gray book. I want you to hear them." The ymmg soldier picked up the book, and glanced quickly through it. They were the snatches of melody captured cap-tured from the throat of the songbird upstairs. David breathed heavily while he drew his bow over those quaint notes, and his cheeks became flushed and his eyes brilliant. lie was the temperamental tempera-mental musical genius while he played. His soul was fluttering among the poets, breathing their breath, gripping their emotions. Yet his ' body was clothed in khaki. "Uncle!" he demanded breathlessly, "where did they come from? Are they your own? They're gems gems polished pol-ished by spirit breath. I have never played anything more human, more divine." He was fingering the pages lovingly while he spoke. At that moment Mildred rose from the bed on which she had thrown herself her-self in misery. She shook back her shoulders and held herself In scorn for having given way to so slight a grief. There were big things being done ln the world, and she was a pygmy. She knew that, with faith in the good of all things, she would find a way of helping the brave fighting men. And in the ecstasy of a newly found strength with which to fight on her throat unpinioned its notes and a grandeur of song pierced the twilight. The old composer and his nephew sat below with hushed breath. "There," whispered the one, "there is where they came from, and she doesn't know it." He smiled quietly in the shadowed room. The picturesque way with which to acquaint Mildred with her own genius suddenly came to him. He Jioked fondly at the black rumpled head of his big nephew. That the soldier's spirit was already up there meeting with the girl's was quite evident from the exalted look ln his eye. And in her room Mildred suddenly felt a hot flush stinging her cheeks. Someone seemed to have taken her closely within his arms, and when her glowing eyes could see through the scarf of love that enveloped her she saw that the arms were khaki-clad. And looking a little beyond she saw a violin lying on the table, and beside It, sitting with a wonderful smile in his dear blue eyes, was a white-haired man. Mildred looked at her cheeks In the mirror. Yes, there was) color there. A door opened in the room below, and presently she heard a knock on her own door. When they stood looking at one another, an-other, young David and Mildred, the old man below fancied his listening ears caught the soft swish of souls as they scurried into the meeting place of all lovers. . And out in the world these little snatches of melody were to be wafted from one heart to another, to take their proper place among the compositions com-positions of the century. |