"
A shade stole over the child's bright face, and she was
silent,--seeming only half to listen while the others chatted, yet
never forgetting to serve them, and seeming, by a touch on the hand
of either friend, to know what was wanted.
When the meal was over, and the tea-things put away, Melody came out
again into the porch, where the fiddler sat smoking his pipe, and
leaning against one of the supports, felt among the leaves which hid
it. "Here is the mark!" she said. "Am I really taller, Rosin? Really
much taller?"
"What troubles the child?" the old man asked gently. "She does not
want to grow? The bud must open, Melody, my dear! the bud must open!"
"But it's so unreasonable," cried Melody, as she stood holding by the
old man's hand, swaying lightly to and fro, as if the wind moved her
with the vines and flowers. "Why can't I stay a little girl? A little
girl is needed here, isn't she? And there is no need at all of another
woman. I can't be like Aunt Vesta or Auntie Joy; so I think I might
stay just Melody." Then shaking her curls back, she cried, "Well,
anyhow, I am just Melody now, and nothing more; and I mean to make the
most of it. Come, Rosin, come! I am ready for music.
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