Iowa voter. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1867-1874, 1873-09-11

"a precious pair OF them" commented
Mrs. Martha, still aggravated by that look
of suppressed amusement "The father
Will do nothing but read old books with
heathenish names, and paint pictures of
mountains and rickety, halftumb led down
churches; and the child is as full of RI
diculous inventions as patent-office.
There; if that scarlet tidy is dry I'd better
bring it in; if he should conclude TO be a
robin next, he'd tie it on for red-breast,
suppose, and go hopping around the
yard with his mouth full of straws."
In the light, pleasant upper room, half
studio, half library, the artist dropped
into an easy chair, and surveyed the pic
ture on his easel, the other pictures on the
walls and the books in their cases, with a
glance that saw none of them, and with
the smile slowly fading from his face.
Poor little Panl this was not just the sort
of life for one like him. Cousin Martha
loved him-her nursing of his groups and
colds, her care of his wardrobe, and even
her frequent seedlings proved that, but it
was an outside love that never got near
the soul of the child. She was scrupu-
lousy nice housewife; the house was
beautifully kept, but it was no home.
Paul Rivers the elder sighed a little as he
reached this thought that came often now.
Only body of rooms with no home heart
in them! 1t was different at that cozy,
sunny little nook over the way, and the
musing eyes wandered in that direction,
as they frequently did of late, to catch
now and then the fluttering of delicate
dress through the vine-leaves, or the
glimpse of a graceful figure in the garden.
Little Paul had first established a
friendship with this neighbor over the
way. His small hands, pushed through
the fence for flowers, were generously
filled. His wise remarks and scientific
Investigations, cautiously ventured be-
tween the palings, received due attention,
and he soon found his way in at the gate.
The father followed-to bring Paul home,
at first, afterward to stop and talk for a
little of the child, of flowers, and the
books and pictures that Mildred Grey also
loved. Gradually the talks grew longer.
There was charm in the gentle womanly
presence; the face, past its first flush OF
girlhood, had gained in nobleness and
sweetness more than it had lost in bloom,
and the frank, true eyes with the shadows
of some things accomplished and suffered
lying little way back in them, were
more winsome than girlhood's sparkling
brilliancy.
Little Paul's visits were finally unre-
strained He came and went as suited his
own capricious will, and Miss Grey be
came the sympathizing confidante OF
many of his grave ponderings and mar
velous researches. One day the treacher-
Gus wind swept back the shading leaves
from the opposite portico, and revealed
the boys golden head pillowed for its
afternoon nap on somebody's arm. The
artist father, unseen at his window,
sketched the white-robed figure and the
sleeping child but into the first moment
of satisfaction at his success, flashed a
sudden thought swift pain and long
ing-that had never wholly left him since.
He fancied that same figure sitting near
him in his studio, pictured it on his own
moonlit piazza in the evenings, and the
whole household seemed to grow sweeter
and brighter for the mere dream. Itcame
to him now. Ali if it might be, how the
work and the life would grow real, and
blessed, and bright, once more! Paper
and pencils were scattered over the table
beside him; he drew a fair white page
nearer and wrote few hurried lines-not
with any definite intention concerning
them, but only following out vague i'm
pulse born of that haunting fancy.
mildred Grey, dear Mildred must l
watch you forever across the way, just be-
yond reach of my life and home and heart
Will you not come nearer? 1t is love
have given you, dearest, not friendship.
| have learned to love my neighbor better
than myself / want her for my own-my
wife"
There the nameless dream was fairly
in words; but he smiled little sadly at
the absurdity of having so clothed it, and
suddenly closed his portfolio upon the
unfinished note.
"No, no; shall never write or speak
such words to her! Her life holds falrer
possibilities than can offer. 1t is little
Paul she loves, not his father, and l must
not mistake her kindness nor risk the
friendship so invaluable to him, and so
precious to me, for the faint hope ofgain-
ing something dearer."
He sighed softly-a sigh that ended in
another faint smile--walked over to the
easel, and took up his brushes, and then,
though it was not in the least sentiment
al or disconsolate thing to do, he began to
whistle-"Away dull care"
Mrs. Martha caught the sound below
stairs, and accepting it as evidence that
the master of the establishment was en-
tirely unconcerned about the loss of her
brush and her various other tribulations
pursed up her mouth still more grimly as
She went about looking after all the
wheels, pulleys, and shafts of her uni.
verse. A knock on the open door startled
her. A tall, thin, green-spectacled gentle.
man, with large portfolio under his arm
stood bowling in the doorway like a
heav topped weed in the wind.
MADAM, have here some beautiful
engravings to which desire to call your
attention"
1t was an inauspicious moment. Mrs
| Martha was i'm no amiable humor toward
anything of that ilk, and frowned as the
case was opened.
II don't want any," she announced
shortly.
"BIt, madam, wish to exhibit to you
some highly beautiful and interesting
| works of art which"
1.-THE more artful they are the less like
them. l don't want to look at them," in
! terpOsed Mrs Martha.
The pictorial gentleman looked mildly
embarrassed. He had set speech, well
| learned, and could not feel that he had
done his whole duty unless he repeated il
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