The Argosy — page 365: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

344 In the Primrose Time. and then she would have strange fits of restlessness, roving away for the whole day, coming home at night weary, foot-sore, and hungry. It was impossible either to follow or to restrain her. Nor did she ever come to harm, till one stormy day when young Philip Reynholt, riding home across the downs, found the child miles away from the village, huddled up insensible under a furze bush. He thought at first she had been struck by lightning, but she was only panic-smitten, and he was able to carry her home before him on his horse. The fright and exposure brought on an illness, after which those about her noticed a change in Nansie. She grew more awake to things around her; she recognised people ; she remembered what was told her; but above all she became possessed of a spirit of dog-like attachment to Philip Reynholt. It was not shown obtrusively ; in fact, he was never aware of it. She would wait for hours in the lanes round the Manor House to see him go out or in, insisted on being taken to church with her mother, so that she could watch him in his place beside his old father in the Manor House pew ; and treasured up a.glove that he had dropped one day, putting it under her pillow every night. Philip came to inquire after her during her illness, and when her mother complained of her trick of roaming, spoke sternly to her and forbade her to do so more. She trembled, but looked him steadily in the face, promised, and kept her word : But a great change was coming for Nansie. ‘The old Vicar died, and the new one came. He was a devoted parish priest, which did not concern Nansie ; he was a musical genius, which did. Sitting on his low vicarage wall one day, thinking with downcast brow of the three plain, voiceless, tuneless daughters with which it had pleased Providence to afflict him, he was aware of a party of children in the field beyond practising the Harvest Thanksgiving Hymns. Suddenly a voice joined in which made him start and listen, and smite his hands together with a mighty ejaculation, and then run to his garden-gate to see from what nightingale’s throat came ssuch wondrous music. And behold it was Nansie. Off to her parents he set in hot haste. Did they guess what a treasure they had in their keeping -—this marvellous song-bird, every note of whose voice in the days to come should be worth golden guineas ? She must be doubly watched and cherished. The organist must train her voice under his—the Vicar’s—anxlous superintendence. The parents, simple village folk, took it all calmly. They could not love her more than they did, their only one. ‘They had always viven her of their best. ‘They were much obliged to the Vicar, and that was all. Down came a celebrated London physician at the Vicar’s instance, who examined the child, questioned her parents, spoke oracular words of encouragement, and departed, leaving instructions for the training of her deft fingers, and for the lessons and exercises to be Eomichbooks.com