Salome's burden

by Eleanora H. Stooke

"No. Margaret has gone to the gate to see if she is coming. I thought we would have tea out here, for it is cooler and pleasanter in the garden than in the house, and it will be more informal. I should like you to hear this lame girl sing, Henry! I think I never heard a voice which touched me so deeply as hers. But you are not listening—"

"I beg your pardon, my dear. I confess my thoughts were wandering. The fact is, to-morrow I shall have to go up to town for a few days, and I would far rather remain at home. But I am obliged to go."

"You can leave with an easy mind," his wife told him reassuringly. "I am really quite strong now, and capable of managing the household, I believe I shall be better for something to do. By the way, you cannot think how much I enjoyed my drive this morning to N—" mentioning the nearest town. "I wanted some trifles from a draper's, and the shops were much better than I expected. Oh! Here come the children. They are bringing Salome with them."

Mrs. Fowler rose and greeted the lame girl very cordially, placing her in a chair next to her own. Salome was looking her best, neatly attired in a clean cotton frock. There was a flush born of excitement on her cheeks, and her brown eyes shone with a happy light as she gave herself up to the enjoyment of the present hour.

Tea was served beneath the lilac tree, such a luxuriant tea as Salome had never partaken of before, and everyone appeared determined that she should make a good meal—Gerald pointing out to her the most delectable of the dainties which he pressed her to eat, for in the depths of his selfish little heart, there was a warm spot for the lame girl who had so often given him flowers from her garden when he had certainly not deserved them.

Salome was inclined to be a trifle shy at first of Mr. Fowler. From what she had heard of him she had imagined he must be an exceedingly stern, strict sort of man, but he talked to her so kindly and pleasantly that she soon grew at ease with him, and answered all the questions he put to her unreservedly. She told him she had only been a member of the choir during the last six months, and explained that she had not known she possessed a really good voice until the Vicar had informed her that such was the fact.

"I always loved singing, even when I was a tiny thing," she said, "but I never thought of joining the choir till one day when Mr. Amyatt suggested it. He was passing our cottage, and heard me singing, and he came right in and said he would like me to come up to the Vicarage and let him try my voice. Father said I might go, so I did, and the next Sunday, I sang with the choir in church for the first time."

"You must not sing too much," Mr. Fowler remarked, "for you are very young, and might permanently injure your voice if you strained it now. You must nurse it a bit."

"That's what Mr. Amyatt says," Salome replied with a smile, "and I'm very careful."

"It is a great gift to have a beautiful voice." Mr. Fowler looked with kindly interest at his little guest as he spoke; then his eyes wandered to the crutches which she had placed on the ground beside her chair, and she caught the swift glance of sympathy which crossed his face, and from that moment, he stood high in her estimation.