Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1875-06-11
ssDon't she now? It's wonderfully

and, as they passed Wits door, queue
s'Willie! Willie!''
Mr.. Blake looked strangely reflective
81 havn't heard anybody say Willie il
just that cooling, careful way, not since
my sister that died: she was just like
mother to me; it's terrible long while
ago."
ssThese two are much the same. They
live alone; she minds him and keeps him
and sends him to school,"
"You seem to know her.'
81 have not seen@her. There are no
strangers like fellow dodgers, and she is
ut the kind of girl to meet one on the
stairs, accidentally, for the purpose
"That was how your mother and 1 got
acquainted"
II did not know that, father"
Will spoke with an air of regretful apol-
ogy that was understood and accepted, but
silently.
Dreamily, in the hush of old memories,
the father walked away to his work.
Will sat down before the window to fin
ish some drawings, but the thick square
Ipencl made idle marks, while the eyes
that should have guided it sought the only
bit of nature within sight-the strip Of
changing sky between the housetops.
Many bod design.had come from those
sweeping ud-kaleidescopes. None came
}now. Will was musing. How could a
man work, with that sweet, imperious
'sWillie! Willie!" ringing in his ears? 1t
was worse distraction than his mothers
scolding, for he could not be sure that he
really wanted to forget this.'
81 am glad I have never seen ner," he
said, with a long breath that did not sound
like content. Then he tried to say evil
lie,' in her tones, and, as a look of lmpa-
tient disgust marked his consciousness of
failure, he put on his cap and went out.
The haunting voice became a presence,
all too soon. AS Will came home she met
him in the passage; a little, swift gliding
figure, with soft dark eyes set in pale.
fair face. mot a bit like mother,' he
thought, with curious feeling of salts
faction; but as she passed, he saw that her
eyes were humid with fear and grief.
ssWhat is the matter?" he asked invol-
unfairly.
-"Willie! cholera! the doctor!'' she an
swered, rushing by into the street that was
wet with stormy rain.
| s'Stay! can go faster!" cried Will, fol-
I lowing her. "You go back to your BROTH
er." She obeyed at once with the quick
docility of gentle intelligence; and he
thought again, s'Mother would have talked
for an hour"
The doctor came soon, but not soon
enough. Willie was very i'll.
Bfave1y the little fellow struggled, but
the foe was too strong for him.
''Strange,'' the doctor muttered impa-
tiently; "the last cases are so often the
worst. 1 thought it was over for this
year,"
A week before another ledger in the
same house, a gluttOnous man, had made
himself ill feasting on musSles and plumS
ana beer; he recovered, but the poison
! thus brought into the house fastened on
| the weakest there. The child died. There
was nothing more to be done for him. All
at once, for the first time in his little life.
Willie wanted nothing-not even his sis
ter. She went about her necessary work
with an oppressive, bewildering sense Of
leisure upon her. And Will-if the joyous
voice alone had distracted him so, how
could he work now?-now, that it recalled
the meek, desolate face Of the mourner;
now, that the cry had changed into such
pitiful, beseeching willie! Willie!"
The day after Willie was buried, it hap
pened that Will paid his rent, and took
that opportunity to inquire after his fell
low ledger.
"Poor young thing" said the motherly
landlaGy, sit makes my heart ache to see
her, up there in the little room where they
were so happy, these two. She says the
very walls seem written with his name,
and the things he used to touch cry 'Alice!
Alce!' just as he called for her at the last.
1t is enough to craze her; there isn't an
empty room in the house, or she should
have it for a bit.''
ssAsk her to change with me, said Will
eagerly; "tell her should be so glad. if
|
suit me better"
Alice consented doubtfully. sit seems
| like DESERVING Willie,'' she said, ''yet one
has no right to let ones self get i'll; tell
Mr. Blake I accept his offer gratefully"
She had grown little stately in her
solitary grief, and Will stammered over
his premeditated speech "My name is
Willie, too; couldn't you take me for your
brotlrer?''
''Oh, no." she answered with direct SIM
plicity, che was so naughty, the darling; I
never could have him out of my thoughts
for moment"
Alice, herself, had this kind of naughti-
ness for Will, and now, living in her room,
he seemed to be encompassed by her pres
ence; his tools and work felt rough and
coarse amidst the dainty little arrange
ments that marked a womanly hand.
eff it hadn't been for knowing mother, -
he unused, one evening, II might fall in
love, 1 do believe: as it is, I know BETTER y
I So knowing better, he shrank from an
intercourse that might, in some sharp an
swer, bring Alice down from her pedestal
on which he still chose to place her, justi-
flying his bright dreams to himself by say
4 ing, cit is pleasant to make believe, as the
children say"
Alice, meanwhile, had found cheering
employment in putting Willis room
straight, as she called it. "Such pity,
poor man, for him to live in such a mud
die, and he so clever, too"
She had found some torn drawings
in the Uttered fireplace, and carefully
; smoothed them out as treasures over