The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1866-12-15
WIDOW GREY'S LODGER.

CLAIRE Gray had been sitting by the
little window Of her own small room,
stitching and looking out by turns, and
signing rather dolefully at times for
very dulness; for she was but young,
and fond of pleasure. as any girl could
be, and such quiet, un-eventful life
was wearisome. More especially that,
one week before, she had escaped from
it and spent three days in a whirl of
gayety with q city aunt, whose New
York home seemed very splendid to
poor Claire, who was now working in
her small bedroom, with no further
prospect of jollification.
"It's DREADFUL" thought Claire; SO
much pinching, and contriving, and
stupidity. / don't wonder ma is so
doleful; 1 fancy begin to look exactly
like her-poor dear"
1t was not exactly pleasant pros
pect. Mrs. Grey having been widow
for fifteen years, and all that time in
the most narrow of straitened circum-
stances, had turned into statue of woe,
and was never seen without a wrinkle
on her brow, tear in her eye, and a
handkerchief in her hand. So Claire
put down her work and peeped into the
glass.
There she saw no sallow visage, but q
wondrously lovely young face of eight
cen, with dimpled cheeks, all roses,
blue eyes and black lashes. About her
head mass of golden curls danced and
glittered, and brow and throat, and
dainty lip and taper waist, were each
a heart-snare.
Poor ma had not relic Of dimples OF
roses, but was melancholy pale brown
from the crown of her head to her black
Grape collar.
81 don't look like ma" said Claire
"but / feel as if 1 did. Oh, dear
it's dreadful to be poor"
She sat down to her stitching again
and watched the great empty house
opposite, where a boy lover of hers
when she was baby, had once dwelt
and the great orchard and wintry lawn
lying desolate; listening to an upper
shutter blowing to and fro with an irri-
tating iron clank, and the branches of
the trees whirl against the house and
rattle on the roof.
"Oh" thought Claire, chow wish
come kings son would come wooing me,
as they used the poor maidens in fairy
tales, and make me queen with robes
of velvet and cloth of gold, in land
where sugar-plums grow upon the trees
Heigho! my little sweetheart is almost
Us rich as fairy-tale king now.
wonder Robert Balff never thinks of his
home"
Then bending over her work, she
stitched for dear life.
The windy March day drew to an end
The sun went down in the lead-coloret
sky without pretence OF sunset, ano
an unpleasant evening drizzle came or
as though day had parted from light IL
a tiff, and night were crying over it.
When it was too dark to see, Claire
put away her work and went down t.
the parlor where Mrs. Grey was setting
the table, and their only boarder, Mrs
Scraggs, waiting with hunger in he
eyes.
They sat down together, and began
talking of Claire's visit, and OF Aun
Munsen's grandeur, and of the kin'
gentleman at the station who sayet
Claire's baggage from being spirite'
away, and of the Colonel's empty hous
D,l nn1f did
come back to live there.
"The families were intimate in on
prosperous days." sighed Mrs. Grey
with the handkerchief at her eyes again
"Nly silver teapot cost twenty dollar
more than Mrs. Balff's; and Robert
who was ten years older than Claire, ha
often carried her about"
And the words set Claire thinking o