Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1866-10-04

and she strings them--so. She makes
these crosses, too. She is very feeble, but
she does all that for me-"
And then you come and sell them,
Christine?" lie said, quickly. "Do you
know, | have mother, too, and work for
her. we are not very rich, and | make
drawings and sell Them"
"God bless you, then, monsieur she
answered, fervently, "you viii never be
sorry for doing that -
He was touched by her genuine tone of
sympathy. {
"-No, know shall not. Twould rather
help her than do anything else in the
world, = he said, and the color roseup to his
cheek.
She smiled, looking in his face as he
spokeAl 4Afteria moments silence she said,
simply and earnestly: 5
at is sometimes hard to me to earn q
Iiving-hardcr than hope it will ever be to
YOU, monsieurpd butl would rather be Just
o poor girl as / am, and have my mother
with me, than be the greatest lady in Rouen
Without her" And then she glanced up.
with sunny look that cleared away the
tears which had risen for q moment to her
eyes, and said: !" But even me--the world
does not treat me very badly. 1t is only a
little hard to'ifienow and then, and when it
,ib, 1 goin there and pray to the dear Virgin,
and before long the sunshine comes back
again. It never stays long away. There
are many good people in the world, mon
sieur, to keep the poor from starving.3
She had sweet voice, lower and softer
than Frenchwomen's yoices often are. The
face, too, had sweetness in it. He saw that
now, though he had only noticed its bright,
pleasant honesty before.
HBut / I'm keeping you from your pic
ture," she said smilingly, after moments
silence. ~
That was true 80 with few more words
he turned away, and stationing himself in
his place, began TO work. IL was a calm,
gray summer day, windless and sunless, yet
with O softened brightness in it that shone
through the thin clouds. He sat and
worked, and, as his sketch went on bit by
bit, he seized and made d possession for
himself of the loneliness before him, in the
very Joy and lightness Of his heart e,oould
have sung aloud. He had worked so well
yet upon no other day; he had been 80.
happy upon no other; all life seemed full
of gladness to him, and has life especially,
his glorious painters life, SO great and
noble. He had no genius, probably, this
boy Frank Liston but his cheek could
burn and his heart could beat With the love
of all noble things! He never made the
world ring with his name, butin his bright
youth there were days-and this was one of
them-when il almost seemed as if the pow
err was given him to cut his way through the
diamond gates. bI
He worked till it was growing late. All
day, amongst the many things that had
made himnhappy, one thing had been the
presence of Christine. A bond of sympa-
thy had sprung up between him and the
simple, untaught, poor French girl,-real
human sympathy, such as made even the
sight of her across the square thing that
kept his young heart warm. He liked to
look up now and then and catch her smile;
il was as good as sunlight to him. The old
stones had their voices for him and tales to
tell him, noble and sweet and sad, but while
he listened to Them it was good also to lift
his eyes up sometimes and look upon o
friendly, living face. He knew it was; he
knew as he sat at work that his day had
been the brighter for Christine.
Nor was it the last, by many q one, that
she helped TO brighten for him. From this
time forward she became his one friend end
one companion in itouen; and no gentler
friendship, no more honest and pure COM
partnership ever existed than that between
those two stray wanderers-the girl, whose
portion in this world was the selling of her
beads at the church porch, and the boy,
whose reckoning beacon light was burning
on The high hill.
He made his sketch of her. It was a
feeble little sketch, yet like enough toaher,
and true enough to fill them both with
pleasure and pride. She sat to him morn
ing after morning till he had finished it,
He drew her just as she was, in her COM
mon dress, with her basket by her side, and
the grey sculptured wall beside her, and he
rnade her talk to him all the time he worked.
She had tried to begin at first by sitting stiff
and prim, with her eyes immovable and her
lips closed, but he had soon laughed her out
Of that. III
II shall never make anything of you I'M
less you begin to talk, he told her. ~
But how can monsieur draw my mouth
if / talk 2" she asked.
"Oh, never mind that; I'll tell you when
/ come to your mouth" he said, and by de-
preeg he got her to talk, and presently she
talked so cheerily and heartily-for hy-na-
ture she was no lover Of silence, but could
chatter and chirp like any bird-that she
often altogether forgot that she was sitting
for her picture, which was exactly what he
wanted her to do.
And so at last the little sketch was fin
ished, and they looked at it, holding it be-
tween them, with proud, bright, happy
eyes. 0'
..Ah, if my mother could see it," she
said. with a sigh of simple delight.
swell, why shouldn't she see ib?l2h he
asked. {" Let us take it to her together,
Christine"
s.Would monsieur wish it?" she said, half
timldly. HE
a"I should like to see your mother, and
she would like to see this, I am sure; and
then he paused and looked at the little
picture cenderly: swell, you see, don't
think 1 could exactly give it to her, Chris
tine,'' he said, "because | want SO much to
keep it myself, but Twill tell you what I
will do, if she likes it, I will make copy Of
| it for her"
| "Oh, monsieur is too good'' But the
color flushed up into her face with pleasure.
81 shall like to make copy, and you
know it would be unfair not to givey one;
so that's settled. And now will you take
me home with you to see your mother?"
They had before this had more than one
walk together. She knew the old town well,
and on several evenings, after the cathedral
doors were closed, they had rambled side
by side for little while about the streets,
seaching out the old houses that he loved,
or had fingered, young and hopeful as they
were, TO- look in at bright shop windows.
But he never yet had gore home with her.
She had talked about her mother, to him
often, but with intuitive delicacy she had
/ never even limited at q wish that he shnuld