Melody The Story of a Child

s very peaceful, very quiet,-too quiet, thought Mandy Loomis, the good neighbor who watched by her, fulfilling her little needs, and longing with a thirsty soul for a good di

y times a day. "Where do you s'pose she is? Ef we only knew, 't wou

cared for, Mandy, we must believe. All we have to

is' Penny, now I tell ye. Settin' here with my hands in my lap, and she so quiet in there, well, I do want to fly sometimes, seems 's though. Well, I am glad to see you, to be sure. The' ain't a soul ben by this day. Set down, do. You want to go in 'n' see R

's though if there'd ben such a good lookout as she thinks,-well, there! I don't want to be profane; but I will say 'twas a providence, Mr. De Arthenay happenin' along. Well, they went, and not a word have we heard sence but just one letter from Vesta, sayin' they hadn't found no trace yet, but they hoped to every day,-and land s

ance of getting in a word. "He's terrible slim; I heard Doctor say so. They're afraid

awing in their breath

ndy Loomis. "Such a likely boy as he was gettin' to

s of Melody?" asked Mrs. Penny

nees, and leaned forward; it was good to list

y interest to say it," she cried, with a sudden change of tone, putting her apron to her eyes: "goodness knows it ain't my interest to say it. What that child has been to me nobody knows. When I've had them weakly spells, the' warn't nobody but Mel'dy could ha' brought me out of 'em alive, well I know. She tended me and sung to me like all the angels in heaven, and when she'd lay her hand on me-well, there! seems's though my narves 'ud quiet right down, and blow away like smoke. I've ben a well woman-that is to say, for one that's always enjoyed poor health-sence Dr. Brown sent that blessed child to me. She has a gift, if ever any one had. Dr. Brown had ought to give her half of what he makes doctorin'; she's more help than all the medicine ever he gives. I never saw a doctor so dretful stingy with his stuff. Why, I've ben perishin' sometimes for want o' doctorin', and all he'd give me was a little pepsin, or tell me to take as much sody as would lay on the p'int of a penknife, or some such thing,-not so much as

e stress of feeling Mandy Loomis had raised her voice higher and higher, till the last words rang through the house like the wail of a sibyl. But above the wa

sick woman. "I see th

save

tretched, pointing-at what? Involuntarily they turned to follow the pointing finger, a

terrified. "What do you see? Is it

the whole face softened to its usual peaceful look; the arm drop

f! they comfort me." And for the first time since Melody