Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1870-05-20
mo, Nanny, ant, pleaded Miriam.
II saw his lace whittier than the snow,
with CLASSY eyes half open, and"
She stoned shuddcrinp.

She stopped shuddering.
MAY be I'd better 60 and scc," said
Buckley. taking hold of Miriams hand
ats just possible tho child may be right.
Its here, daddy" said Miriam, pull
ing him down the steep wood path, and
through matted bushes, to the brook
whose dark warters gurgled through
snowy banks. And there, close to the
guarled roots of 4 misshapcn oak, quite
dead and cold. with vial labelled
"LG9ddauni' clenched in his stiff fingers,
Mr.. Buckley saw the stranger who had
crossed his threshold scarcely eighteen
hours before.
"Dead-quite dead!" said the farmer,
as he knelt to examine the pulseless wrist
and still heart. Como, Miriam; | must
90 and see what Squire Martyr says
about havin' the body moved. Poor soul
kind o thought he was crazy"
He retraced his steps through the bare
winter woods with little Miriam skipping
by his side, ever and anon darting off in
pursuit OF red berries, or polished green
miStetoe.
And so the poor dead corpse was buried
in an obscure corner OF the couatry
church-yard. and Miriam never knew tha,
the tall daisies growing in that self same
corner blossomed above the nameess
ashes of her father.
Daddy, what makes you look so
sober?"
Il was thinkin', child, that mother and
mo is both of opinion that it's nigh time
you was learnin' trade, and"
Miriam listened with black, wide open
eyes, while hcr heart seemed to stand
still.
And you are twelve years old now,
and Mrs. Smith is willin' to take you to
learn the dres,-makers trade"
The dress-maker's trade! Fancy wild
antelope threatened with bit and spur,
fancy an eagle Of the wilderness Gagged
behind narrow wires and you can imagine
poor Miriam's horror and dismay.
And go away from yors?"
I'VE ant rich, child. and you've got
your bread TO earn. you know and, alter
all, the dress-maker's business ant so bad
Yes, of course. you'll have to 90 away
from home"
Little Miriam sat quite silent, with her
big eyes staring into vacancy, hearing
none of Mrs. Mahala's shrewd suggestions
or Mr.. Buckley's comforting words. The
dress makers trade. Miriam's mind was
quite made up.
The farm house was all dark and still
that night, when Miriam rose softly from
her bed. lighted the tallow candle. and
began noiselessly to dress herself
Il have got four dollars, all Of my
own," said Miriam to herself "and mean
to go to seek my fortune. like the people
in the story-books. Anyway, | won't stay
here 10 learn a dress makers trade''
"Mirlam Miriam. Why doHtthat child
come down stairs? I've called her half q
dozen times Breakfasts ready, and the
coffee's gettin' cold"
Maybe she's sick. Better go up stairs
and look. suggested farmer Buckley.
But when Mahala went into the little
bedroom, where the eastern light came in
through the one dormer-window, it was
tenantless. The little wild bird had
flown. leaving no trace behind her.
The chilly afternoon was verging into
chilier night. People hurried along
Broadway as if anxious once more to
greet their warm hearth-stones, and
Vincent Carlile buttoned his coat closer
over his breast as he struck across the
street, breathing in the frosty air as if his
strong lungs rejoiced in the oxygenized
draught.
There's gorgeous sunset somewhere.
il could only get a it," mused the artist,
looking mp at the sky as he walked on.
Life is full OF beautiful things, did we
only comprehend the right standpoint to
behold them from, and-llallo, little girl
what's wanting?"
"Nothingl' suddenly responded the
eldritch thing. who was crouching on a
doorstep all by herself.
Nothing, eh? Then it must have been
instinct that stopped me just herc-tor by
the bones of Michael Angelo, this is the
very face want for Dido, the bercaved
Carthaginian queen! Look up. little one
straight at me!'
Miriam stared wonderingly into the
artists clear, keen eyes. swimming in
wine-brown light, and wondered what he
meant, and who the Carthaginian queen
might be.
"What is your name, child?"
Miriam"
Miriam WHAT"
Nothing else?"
Vincent Carlilc arched his eyebrows.
"Aud where do you belong?'
"Nowhere!"
Nowhere" repeated Carlile, with a
comical grimace. "Areyou fairy, then,
or hedgling of elf, land, or an embodied
exhalation that will melt away with the
fading day?"
Miriam made no answer; but Vincent,
standing silently before her, noticed the