The Plymouth Democrat. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1869-1941, 1869-12-23

anu lUe0 TuSneu DTedluIeSSly out. Inere
quite up the street-how could he have
run so fast and far ?-was Robbie's little
scarlet signal flying in the breeze, and the
short legs playing like drum sticks under
1t. Mladge ran with all her strength but
the crowd jostled her, and just before she
reached the street corner, with Robbie but
a few steps ahead, she fell violently on
the pavement. She picked hersell.up, re-
gardless of pain; but the baby was no.
where ~ be seen, She gazed wildly up
and down; al in vain. There were SO
many directions, any one of which he
might have taken; and oh ! the crowded
crossings, the trampling feet of the horses
Madge shook from head to foot, and low
wall of despair forced itself up and died
on her white lips. She ran aimlessly
along, plying every one she met with pit
eous questions Some shook her off with
a frOwn or harsh word, others answered
kindly enough: but nobody could help her.
At last newsboy met her, with pack
age of papers under his arm.
"LoOk hereI" he said. "Was it a
mighty little chap, with linky hair and a
red streamer ?"
"Oh yes, yes" gasped Madge.
"Well, he streaked it up there, l reckon
with jerk of his thumb in the direction
of broad staircase which opened on the
street just in advance of where they were
standing.
Madge flashed one grateful glance, and
went up as if on wings. There was Il
wide hall, with doors leading from it on
each side She raped at the first one
Poor Madge. the beating of her heart
was almost as loud as her knock.
"Come in" said somebody's pleasant
voice; and she threw open the door. A
large, airy room, with softly-tinted light
streaming through the high windows
some pictures and sketches on the walls
pieces of unframed canvas, with their
faces turned from curious eyes; an easel,
with half-tinished painting uron it (;
paint, dishes, brushes, and crayons scat
tered upon table. But DIadge had no
eyes for all these.
A tall gentleman, in an artists blouse,
held tie little runaway on his knee.
"Oh, Bobolink" sobbed Madge and
she dropped on her knees, and buried her
face in the little patched frock.
By and by she lifted her head, the tears
still trembling on her long, dark lashes,
Robbie's soft arms wreathed about her
neck. and his dewy lips raining repentant
kisses on her cheek.
1t is doubtful if any one-even Madge's
ever before seen how wholly
beautiful she was. There was the rippling
brown hair, with its wonderful golden
CLINT; the exquisitely rounded forehead,
through whose transparent skin showed
the delicate tracery Of violet veins; the
sensitive, perfect features; the fathomless
dark eyes, bent on her recovered treasure !;
and, informing and vitaizing all her face,
a marvellous expression of love mingled
with sorrow-the childish type of that
which we fancy the face of the Madonna
TO have worn when the prophetic sword
pierced through her soul.
The pair of artist eyes that looked on
caught new inspiration.
And so it happened that with the open
ing of the spring exhibition a picture
hung upon the wall of the Academy 1t
no grand theme, mythical or
historical it was no marvel of skillfully-
lights and shades-only the
simple, unpretending pOrtraiture of two
children.
Yet the love and truth which the artist
had revealed looked from the canvas
straight through all the dissertations of
years and conventionalisms down to the
very hearts of all who came to see So
the crowd passed by the studied attitudes
and gorgeous coloring of many another
painter, 10 learn of this one who spoke
to the best in every man.
One day stranger str0lled from picture
to picture along the corridor-a lonely
man, who, having left his native land in
his boyhood, came back in his mature age
20 find himself forgotten and the home
world which he had left swallowed up in
the inevitable march of years.
Suddenly before the modest canvas he
stopped as if arrested by an electric shock
Invisible fingers out of the unreturning
past were pulling at his heart-strings
Bending the long grass Of the signing
summer meadows, picking brown nuts
through the flaming autumn woods, his
little dark-eyed sister held his hand once
more Surely it was she-the same, un-
changed-who smiled a goodbye through
her tears so long ago.
Stronger and stronger the strange fancy
grew upon him. 1t must be her face no
mere artist imagination could paint such
another.
He went away but the picture haunted
his dreams. AT last, driven by an impulse
not to be resisted, he sought out the
painter in his studio, and heard the slen-
der story, which was all he had to tell of
MS child models.
BE quiet, Robbie, darling, Mammals s
head is SO much worse to-day. Sit down
in your little chair, and sister will tell you
a story"
"No, mol Robbie don't want a story
Robbie so hungry !"
Poor little Madge In all this long
week of her mothers illness, her brave
heart had not failed before. Even now
she tried to smile and speak cheerfully :;
but something in her throat choked her,
and her yoiOc died out in great sob.
There was heavy step in the passage
way. Somebody knocked ut the door
Its Mr.. Eastman, for the rent" thought
Madge. and her heart gave a wild throb
of terror.
Robbie ran to open the door,
A gentleman stood there-not Mr.. East
man-whO scanned her with eager, ques-
tioning eyes.
Are you little Madge Carroll?" he
aaid.
"Yes," she answered wonderingly, "I
am Madge, and this is Robbie Poor mann
ma is very sick"
The sound of his voice aroused Mrs.
Carroll from the light slumber in which
she had lain. She raised herself upon her
arm, and listened with an air of piteous
perplexity, as if to some sound very far
away.
Where am ?" she murmured. "I
thought it was John calling home the
cows from the south pasture"
The stranger started and came nearer to
the bed, gazing intently upon the thin,
worn lace, bright with the restless flush
OF fever. Their eyes met. Gradually the
features of the sufferer took on the softer
light of returning consciousness. The
two hearts reached, by the omnipoteDce of
love, over all the changes of years and
fortune, and recognized their kinship.
"J0hn
" Margaretl"
That was all; and for little while there
was happy silence, broken by no word.
Not long afterwards around their Christ
mas fire, happy household gather The
oh hoc ol, ho