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To the two old musicians, it was just a little exercise; a piece of music to practice their skills. There was no emotion, no imagination, no real joy. But the music was not for them alone. So engrossed were they in their art that they did not realize the effect that the sounds were having on the young woman cleaning the room.

As the music began, she briefly paused, listened a moment as she continued to work, then abandoned all thought of anything except the memories evoked by the sounds which surrounded her. She could smell the flowers in the garden, she could hear the laughter spilling out from the ballroom, and she could see him. Oh, he would never see her, but she could never forget him. He was so tall, so handsome. Her mind had been filled for weeks with dreams of dancing in his arms, talking to him while dining in the grand dining room, laughing together at something some small child had said or done.

But she had not allowed her dreams to interfere with her work. She knew that she must continue on in the way she always had, never seeing him again, never hearing his voice.

But then the music began, and without even realizing what had happened, she had been transported to that other time, that other place, where it had seemed that anything could happen and her life would change forever. She knew that her dream would only last a moment, as had the glimpse she had had of him earlier. But for now, that moment was enough. She was happy to the center of her soul, and if this memory had to be all she ever had of him, she could be content. Many had never had such a marvelous night; she would cherish it forever.

Linger in time. in basic terms the brave stay to tell the story Vase of youthful human beings anybody can use somebody adult men could be left on my own. Ants are miniature Kites can chase the plane Ever take a seat and think of of the universe? Softly and gently is the turtles %.. Time is of essence Hurry to the marriage limitless sky is blue. wintry climate is white and chilly embellishes are no longer in basic terms for Christmas. Roll over Rocky. previous by using type isn't stable Dolls are no longer continuously human beings.

It was different, this place called Illinois. It was green, but nothing like the green of home. This was a soft green, a green that changed colors when the weather turned cool, and disappeared entirely when winter set in. In the spring the green came back, and the brown earth smelled of newness, and birth and growing things.

She missed her Ma and Da. They had stayed behind in the tidy white cottage on the terraced hills. She had Seamus, of course, and Fergus, but Seamus had stayed behind in Boston, and Fergus was so busy now that he was keeping company with Brigid Leary. She supposed they would marry in the spring. She thought that would be nice. She often sat with Brigid in the afternoons, and already considered her a dear friend. She thought she would like very much having her for a sister.

Mr. Clooney was a good employer. He was from Northern Ireland, and Protestant, but he had given generously to the building fund for the new Catholic church, and he always said he liked to have fresh fish for supper on Fridays. He had spent that first winter teaching her and Fergus their letters, sitting by the fire, a kind and funny teacher. He was now teaching her to do sums, and he said when she was ready, he would have her work at the store in the afternoons. Mrs. Clooney's hands had grown so misshapen that she no longer worked at the store, but she still insisted on taking Mr. Clooney his lunch pail every day. She liked the way they looked at each other, and she hoped that when she married, she and her husband would do the same.

Mr. Clooney played the flute. He still knew all the old songs, the ones from home. He often sat in the evenings, and played for her and Mrs. Clooney. Sometimes Mrs. Clooney joined in with her warbly voice, gesturing to Molly to join her. It was a comfort to sit like that, singing by the fire. It reminded her of her Da, playing outside when he took breaks from cutting peat. Her Da was famous for his playing, and all the men would stop cutting, and stand with their hands easing the knots in their backs, listening to the soft music as it drifted on the air.

Lately the music had not been so sweet. Mr. Clooney was trying to teach his friend Dr. Clarence to play a clarinet. While the music flowed gently and evenly from Mr. Clooney's flute, Dr. Clarence's clarinet sounded more like a sick calf. Often, when they practiced, she would go upstairs and sit with Mrs. Clooney, mending socks and talking about all sorts of things. Mrs. Clooney made funny faces when the lesson was particularly bad, and teased Mr. Clooney afterwards, but they both agreed that it was this kindness of his which was one of his nicest qualities.

Today they were working on a song for which they had music. Dr. Clarence had ordered it when he ordered the strange ticking box called a metronome. He had bought a copy for Mr. Clooney, as well, but she knew that he already had the song by heart. Ever kind, he graciously looked at the music as he played. It was a sad song, about two lovers forced to meet in secret. She had it by heart as well. It was one of her Da's favorites. She found that if she listened carefully, she could block Dr. Clarence out entirely. She found herself listening dreamily, the broom in her hand forgotten. She heard the flute, and the words in her head. She smelled the peat fire, and the smell of the cattle in the byre. She knew she had only to close her eyes, and she would be home.

hey! will u stop playin that infernal racket?

no! us likey wacket!

oh all right. whatever. i'll just tune it out...

srry best i can do right now. so i'll get a few thumbs downs. but i didn't add u as a contact for nothin.