SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3513, 12 July 1921, Page 58

SHORT STORIES.

WHEN IHE HEART IS YOUNG.

By

Elizabeth C. Waltz.

[Copyright.]

An houi' -liter buuuey morning service was over .it the church of 6t. John the Evangelist, the vestry door opened, and a spruce figure passed slowly down the asphalt walk to the street pavement. It was Monsieur Auguste, the little organist. Monsieur Auguste had come to a determination within the past hour. The sun of prosperity was beginning to shine upon this middle-aged Alsatian, and he lelt elation of spirit. He had a good position as organist, he had a large music class, he had composed a, successful march, he had a bank account. He would have more: he would share his happiness, he would marry. Practical thought came back to him with the eating of his Sunday restaurant dinner. Jlis pint bottle of cheap wine stimulated him to an act courageous. He would seek the wife of the minister, and ask her to help to find him a suitable mate. He had heard that she made many matches among the church people. In this state of mind he went to the house of the minister, Dr Dahl, and was announced to the wife of that gentleman to her great surprise. She had merely a speaking acquaintance with the spruce little organist, but she oame to him at once and expected to hear a tale of woe or distress. Her surprise may be imagined when the excited Alsatian, in a compound o t bad English, German, and French, poured forth his heart’s desires, his thoughts, his hopes, and besought her assistance in finding him a proper life com- . panion. The hopelessness of the task struck her at once, but tiro earnestness of the organist gained her sympathies. She questioned, she deliberated, hesitated, and was lost. Ere an hour had passed she had promised him her assistance. “I will introduce vou to such ladies as would be suitable, you understand,” she said, “you must do your own courting, etc.’ “O yah, suitable,” he nodded smilingly, “zat iss suit you an’ suit me, as great affaire for me, you un erstand. Mrs Dahl watched him away in the direction of the park with misgivings. Shrewd she might be, but she could not fathom the feelings of this poor alien who felt that now, at a late day, he might build a nest and find a heart mate. Mrs Dahl was a systematic woman. She entered the interview in her diary and memorandum book. On Monday she discussed the matter for a half hour with her husband, then prenared a list from the church record of such widows, and maidens »of uncertain years, as she thought suitable to Monsieur Auguste’s age and circumstances. The next step was to bring about meetings. She arranged some for a coming church social; she secured a widow as piano pupil for him; she asked two spinsters to tea on a certain evening, and invited Monsieur Auguste to meet them. The seventh and last candidate she would ask to ride out with her, and include the organist in a drive to a distant park. Then Monsieur would confide in her his choice, his emotions. The rest could take care of itself. No fault could Mrs Dahl find with Monsieur’s conduct. He appeared at the church social obedient to her hints as to appearance and deportment. He was soon presented to several ladies, whom he treated with reverential politeness, but his gaze kept wandering to the bouquet of •young maidens who laughed and joked with the youths of the Luther League and the Endeavour Circle. At Mrs Dahl’s suecestion he even escorted one o? the widows to her home, and was cordially invited to call upon her in the future. The widow-pupil was exceediuglv kind to him. but he regarded her with curious eve 3, eyes that had something pathetic in them. On the occasion of Mrs Dahl’s tea. Monsieur Auguste met the two maiden ladies of cood family upon whose virtues Mrs Dahl had discoursed to him the dav before. One played the piano for him very well, the other was a paragon as far as housekeeping qualities were concerned. Still Monsieur rewarded not Mrs Dahl by a sign of preference. Luite puzzled by his reticence, the minister’s wife chose the next fine day for her drive, and placed by the side of the sensitive organist the last of her list of seven eligibles. This candidate was younger, handsomer, and more worldly than any lady the aspiring musician had met, Bhe was merry, she was pleasant, and exerted Herself to amuse Monsieur. He smiled freely, he -.vas even voluble, but he made no sign to the astonished Mrs Dahl that he had any choice. Instead, his eyes Kept their puzzled expression during the whole drive. Mrs Dahl requested Monsieur to call upon her the next daj r and, at the hour, swept into the room with something of indignation in her mind. The little organist stood at the window and bowed quite as gracefully to her as ever. “Well, Monsieur, and have you found a suitable lady among those you have met?” Monsieur looked at the minister's wife as a terrified child looks at is tormentor. “Goot madame, are doze all ze ladies zu haf /elected for me?” he stammered. * Why, you’ve seen seven. That is a great many to select from, is it not?” “Zey air all old ladies, iss it not? Zey air not fraish, zu call it; not full of feeling.” “Man alive!” cried Mrs Dahl, forgetting her politeness in her vexation, “did you expect to meet young girls—to marry as If you were young and fresh voureelf; Why, man, look at yourself! You are

past middle age. ft-ou are not attractive to young s-’.rls. Look at yourself!” She pushed him in front of the long mirror. The poor little organist looked long and hung his head. Then he sought for his hat and, as he took it, he turned and spoke: “Madame, zu haf been kind, verra kind. Zu speak truly. I am nicht young; ze work, ze Study, ze poverty has made me old, but I forgot, for ze heart has yet ze youth. I may liefer find ze lady dat I seek—l grow old. Madame, I will return to my inusique. Forgif me, Madame.” “I wanted to cry, and yet I never was so provoked,” said Mrs Dahl to her husband. 1 Is he or is he not a fool?” He husband did not reply. In the dusk of the evening Monsieur Auguste leaned from his attic window. The magnificence of sunset was in his face, the silvery moon rode high in the east. Ilis eyes showed that he had wept. Now a calmness was in them, the calmness of a resigned hope. A pile of music lay on a chair near him. He would soon go down to the church and, by the single gas jet lighted in- the vast room, give his whole soul up to his goddess, music. She would be richer by the death of a hope, the rude demolition of a foolish but ecstatic dream. There was a timid knock at the door. When he opened it there stood a tall, s ight girl there. She was very young, and very timid. On her arm hung a basket, from which she took a bundle for him. “Zanks to zu, Madamoiselle Marguerite. Could not ze small brozzer com wiz ze articles? Nicht zu?” The girl coloured, and tears came into her eyes. “He is sick—there was no one else. Mother hopes the mending will suit you and that you will have more.” “Fah, oui, I mean yes,” said Monsieur Auguste, gravely. “I will come to see small brozzer to-morrow. It will be ze great plazzir to me. Tell him. I will go down ze stairs wiz ze, Madamoiselle. Zu air one brave girl, one goot girl.” They proceeded down three flights to the street door. In the light the organist saw the traces of tears on the girl’s cheeks. His heart imelted. Another wept in sorrow, one so young and who would, were it not for grinding poverty, be fair, be happy. His voice was very gentle. “Go home, my child,” he said. *Ve must all suffer mooch. I will not 'orget to see ze small brozzer to-morrow; if he -is in great dangair, come to ze church for me zis evening. I plav ze organ to ease mv soul. Good-night, I will not forget to pray for ze happiness of one so young, so sorrowful.” He turned up the street, but, as she hurried away, the girl smiled at him through a verv rainbow of tears. That, smile went with him, and after he lighted the gas iet in the church gallery, he turned to organ and once more played out an ecstatic, improvised chant to Love, to Home, to Peace, to his hungry heart’s best wishes.