Bear-Tone meanwhile was teaching his singing schools, as usual, in the
rural districts of Maine. Once or twice during those two years of study
he had managed to send a little money to Helen, to help out with the
expenses. Now he postponed his three bi-weekly schools for one week and
made his first and only trip to New York--the journey of a lifetime.
Perhaps he had at first hoped that he might meet her and be welcomed. If
so, he changed his mind on reaching the metropolis. Aware of his
uncouthness, he resolved not to shame her by claiming recognition. But
he went three times to hear her sing, first in Aida, then in Faust, and
afterwards in Les Huguenots; heard her magic notes, saw her in all her
queenly beauty--but saw her from the shelter of a pillar in the rear of
the great opera house. On the fifth day he returned home as quietly as
he had gone.
Perhaps a month after he came back, while driving to one of his singing
schools on a bitter night in February, he took a severe cold. For lack
of any proper care at his little lonesome, chilly house, his cold a day
or two later turned into pneumonia, and from that he died.
The savings bank took the house and the musical instruments.
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