United States or Tuvalu ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
When it was over and the audience had begun to disperse, Sergia came out. She approached Uncle William, scanning his face. "How did you like it?" "They all done?" he demanded. "Yes. Did you like the sea pieces?" "I liked 'em. Yes I liked 'em." Uncle William's tone was moderate. Sergia was smiling at him a little. "The 'Depths of the Ocean' you liked that best, didn't you?"
Uncle William looked at him over his glasses. "Didn't you hear me say so?" There was a long silence. "I thought you meant Sergia." "Sergia! What!" Uncle William looked down at the letter. A light dawned slowly in his eye. He fixed it on the young man. A chuckle sounded somewhere and grew in little rolls, tumbling up from the depths. "You thought I meant her!" Uncle William's sides shook gently.
"If he'd 'a' read off the names, or stopped quite a spell between the pieces, I'd 'a' done fust-rate. He was playin' 'em nice. I could see the folks liked 'em." He smiled at her kindly. Sergia smiled back. "Yes, they like MacDowell. They think they understand him when they know which it is." Her smile had grown frank, like a boy's. "But which did you like best of all?"
The Frenchman's look cleared. "Ah ! It must have been there. It is a privilege to have met you again, sir." He held out his long, slim hand. "I wish you would come and see me. You have my address." He motioned to the card. Uncle William looked down at it. "I'm startin' for home to-morrow," he said dryly. "Indeed! And your home is " Sergia interposed a graceful hand. "Good-night, M. Curie.
"A tribute to our hostess," he said. "A tribute to Beethoven," returned Sergia. Then, after a moment, she laughed softly. Sergia was not addicted to MacDowell. Uncle William crept into the rooms like a thief, but the artist was sleeping soundly. He did not stir as the latch gave a little click in the lock. "That's good," said Uncle William.
"Sergia Lvova, Teacher of Piano and Violin." He knocked gently. "Come in." The call came clear and straight. Uncle William opened the door. A girl sat at a table across the room, her eyes protected by a green shade from the lamp that burned near and threw its light on the page she was copying. She glanced up as the door opened and pushed up the green shade, looking out from under it inquiringly.
"I don't suppose you have the least idee how you look," he said. "I cal'ate to have you look a sight better'n that 'fore Sergia sees you." The artist's face flushed. "Give me the glass." Uncle William shook his head. "I've got to hustle to get these things done." He drew the sailor's knot firmly in place. "I cal'ate to have everything ready so 's to get an early start."
They climbed the steep path, with many pauses to look back on the gleaming bay and the boat riding at anchor the boat that was to carry them away to the ends of the earth. "We will go to St. Petersburg," said Sergia, watching the shining light. "And Italy." "And build castles there." "Castles! And then we will come home at last " "Home!" He said the word under his breath.
There's things about her I don't know," he nodded toward the picture. "She may not go to church and I don't doubt but what she has tantrums, but she's better'n we be, and she What did you say her name was?" "Sergia Lvova." "Sergia Lvova," repeated the old man, slowly, yet with a certain ease. "That's a cur'us name. I've heard suthin' like it, somewhere " "She's Russian." "Russian jest so!
The young man stretched out his hand. "How did you come to know I needed you?" Uncle William took the hand in his, patting it slowly. "Why, that was nateral enough," he said. "When Sergia wrote me, sayin' you was sick " "Sergia wrote you?" the young man had turned away his eyes. "She should not have done it. She had no right " "Why not?" said Uncle William. He seated himself by the bed.
Word Of The Day