The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1868-08-14

| face even. And there was Lilly an
Joe and everybody else, it seemed t
me. There were silks aud velvet
and soft white shawls. | thought O
my Sunday bonnet, with the PIN
flowers inside, and Rugged the shoe
tight while | hurried home.
As l opened the sitting room door
little Tins cough struck my eal
sharp and shrill, as if he were cough
ing into bell. The worn out shoe:
were steaming under the stove, anc
his little, wet, stained stockings huns
over a chair to dry. | said nothing
only united the parcel and set the
copper toes where the trst rays OF the
morning sun would strike them, close
by the head of his bed. Mother
looked up into my face as L came into
the sitting room, with her eyes full oil
tears. She knew it all.
Now" said l, with a cheerfulness
I was only beginning to feel, for the
glare of the lights, the fash of silver
and jewelry, and the sound of happy
voices were fresh in my mind, I" we
will have Dickens, too" / took out
a card photograph of him, with his
hand thrust into the pocket of his
embroidered coat, photograph which
Joe had given to Oily, and stood il
upon the table before US. Then |
brought out a torn copy of Pickwick
from among fathers old books. and
turned over the leaves until [ found
the trial scene"
But you mustn't sew" said /,
and you must be dressed in your
best. He has come a long way, and
we'll honor him with our best"
I threw white knit shawl over her
faded mouslaine delaine dress, and
smoothing her hair = she has soft,
pretty hair-cOvered it with her last
Summers bonnet. 1t was crumpled
and yellow, but rather more dressy
than the old brown velvet. / should
have insisted upon gloves, but her
best were brown wooden, and as that
would never do, neverl we overlook
ed the deficiency, and she tried to
cover the pricked, toil-worn fingers
with the ends of the shawl. Then I
began. l think for a time | out
Dickensed Dickens, until, looking
upon the audiance for a response, l
met my mothers plying eyes, and
then
Well. it was a poor, little, dingy
room at best, which even our kero-
sene oil lamp and a frumpish last
Summers bonnet could not enliven.
| could not make it the opera house.
| laid down my hook and went out
crying. and we did not make believe
any more.
'You had better go to bed, DEAR"
said mother, you'll feel better in
the morning"
And when l took the bonnet from
her head
You've been a good girl" That
was worse than all, for | did not de-
serve it.
When l awoke in the morning it
was showing furiously. The storm
kept Mr.. Dickens in town over Sun
day, you know, and that was how |
CHANGED to see him, for [ am coming
to it at last. 1t was Saturday and
there was no school. Tim trotted
about the house, hoarse, but trium-
plant In his shoes, and [ was happier
than | can tell Even when billy
braved the storm to come in and talk
it over, | was not in the least envious
or unhappy. She had not much to
tell of Dickens or his reading, but
they wore Rnt rrs~s-s5raUeTul Tor
even the crumbs.
In the afternoon it ceased showing,
and the wind died away. There was
a great drift across our front steps
which / prepared to attack. 1t was
almost dusk before / was ready, how
ever, for Saturday is always a busy
day; and for that reason, because the
light was dim and everything in
distinct, | may have been mistaken,
as Oily says-but you shall hear 1t
all.
I tied Tins red comforter over my
head, put on a pair of mothers gloves
"a world too large-and then, shovel
in hand, made sally from the front
door | had cleaned the steps and
was half way to the gate, thinking
to myself, for ones thoughts fly fast
with busy hands.
8 Yes, it was a great disappoint-
mentl' Here | gave the shovel a
tremendous push, fairly pushing the
words out of my mouth. They flew
over the fence, and struck the ear of
a slim gentleman passing by.
" Was it?' said he, kindly. | looked
up, unconscious that | had spoken
aloud, and met a face-a face | had
seen frequently of late in dreams and
photographs. | could not have been
mistaken-and yet there was no en-
broidery upon his coat, no rose in his
button-hOle ts..
[ had held conversation with him a
dozen times at least, In Imagination
conversation, on my part, at least,
which would have delighted the heart
of Webster, Worcester, and the man
who invented grammar, but now, |
dropped my shovel, and one glove,
and exclaimed;
= do declared 1t was useless to
attempt elegant language after that.
My face turned the color of Tim s
comforter, while | tried to apologize
or explain, and then, [ hardly know
how it was, ! cannot tell In what
words, but almost before [ knew it, |
had told him the whole story. You
should have seen the facet That man
has an immortal soul, for | saw it in
his eyes. / even told him of school,
and he asked where | taught, but /
said nothing, | think, of the future
President. / am not sure, however
not very sure of any of it. When he
went he put his hand over the pickets
of the fence and [ gave him mine
which was very red and cold, but be
did not seem to mind, then he lifted
his hat aud strolled of toward the
river with a patch of snow upon his
1 elbow from the gate.
A little later, when he was to read
in Hartford, there came yellow en-.
velope to our school house one day
directed to THE Assistant Teacher
of the - St. School" Withi1
/ - mos another addressed tn 9Th,