The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1877-09-01

self. Have come 10 thiB-to sewing
In garnet, 10 starving, TO begging almost,
for FiGne, and to looking forward every
day to the visit OF 3 young man who Is
an apple vendor? IL II that must ut
heart belong 10 the cdnaiLie? Paul-Pro.
lessor Paul, was l ever worthy Of thee ~
But when she opened the door, and
Monsieur Jack stood modestly on the
threshold, Madame's eyes did not lose
their sparkle. lie brought a bunch Of
pinks for Filne.
"AhP cried Fifine, clapping her hands
"they came from the country, ma clcre
,a1MGn! When shall re go-Oh when
shall we go manan?
The mother looked at her tenderly,
pitiiully. The child had grown 10 thin
with long illness.
"My little one," she said, 81 wisb-I
was back with thee in my beautiful Paris,
where we should have mnsic and flowers
and parks, and"
"You can have them all here" inter.
rupted Monsieur Jack, quietly.
There were tears in Madame's eyes, but
she turned upon him hotly.
"What will you p she said. "Shall
take shame to myself that l am poor2 |
was poor in Paris, but l named it not 80.
In my own country have pleasant gen.
tie life. My Paul is very wise, very qui.
ct, He will not have touched himself
with what is rude and rough. The neigh.
bors say he will never be rich. I'll ma
pas invente Ia poudre', they say and
laugh he was not the inventor OF gun
powder But we also laugh and are hap
py. | have my pot OF flowers; l have my
lete days. II costs but few SOUS TO be-
happy. All Iwhy did we ever come away,
my petit, 10 30 reminded that we are beg
garsw
Madame caught up her white haudker-
chief and wiped her eyes. There was
an awkward pause. Monsieur Jack
played with FiGne's long locks, looking
down silent and reproved. FIine not
knowing what was the matter began to
cry.
"Ah, yes" said Madame, excitedly,
seeing the child's tears. ave can have
all things here, my Fitiue, yet thou hast
nothing. In Paris we need not be told
that we are poor. five know that the
last sou ia being spent, we will buy some
charcoal, we will shut ourselves in the
pleasant little room with the flowers and
The sunlight, and die decently, making no
trouble; but in America It ia not 60.
Here It is rude and outre. People will
NEEDLE. You cannot manage your small
scraping Of lie for yourself. You must
starve and beg-and steal, il need be,-but
you must live. Its, therefore, no fault
Of mine, monsieur, that my little Fifine
is i'll and pining. Icannot advertise that
| must have her helped; and am poor !
am poor !! am poor|
Itseemed relief to Madams's mind
that this well kept secret was out at last.
Madam" said the visitor rising, q
also am poor"
Excuse me, pray you" said Mad
anne, her face paling suddenly; 81 have
talk much-it is weak. l ask your par
dom"
"When shall we go-when shall we 60
in the country?" asked Fitine, seeing q
pause. 81
"Thou canst not go alone, little one"
said the mother, smiling, and rallying
her spirit.
"she need not go alone, madam sug-
gested Monsieur Jack, patting the child
on the head-"n not il you will go with
her"
"Ah what can poor people do Was
not madame the wife Of professor, and
was not her pride very great therefor i?
Could she go out riding with an apple
vendor?
"When" repeated the tiny invalid,
imperatively. a.e Il'
Aud the mother, driven into a corner,
answered. "To-morrow."
There was little old woman in vel.
low. gown stepping quickly about a farm
house kitchen. The yellow gown was
short, revealing her blue wooden hose and
sturdy shoes. She was making ine bis.
cult, her brisk, horny hands molding
them deity and quickly. She has set
out round table with white cloth,
taking down the shining dishes from tho
old.fashioncd dresser.
"They will soon be here, I think" she
says, ever and anon looking from the
| great door, OF which the upper hall
1 swings in, after the manner OF old Dutch
farm houses. @ PSI, "..-
She comes out presently, smiling and
courtesying TO a party who drive up in q
neat little one-horse wagon. "This Is
my mother says the young man who
drives the equipage. He lifts down
Fitine; he helps madame TO alight.
Fiine's little face is shining like that
Of a cherub new fedged in paradise. She
kisses the little old mother, and they arc
friends instantly. 4
The sun shines down on hedge and
meadow, the quaint old house, the quiet
orchard. Blissiul scents float on the air.
There is corn rustling on the sunny slopes
there are blackberries ripening in the
lane. The whole air is hazily sleepy
with It's freight Of sunshine and sweet
ness.
After that rare, that delicious lunch in
the old kitchen, they went wandering
about the plNce-to the old red barn, 10
! the pasture, where two cows stood pa.
uentIy and stupidity looking through the
bars. They are tame |" said Filine, who
had once been TO menagerie. The little
old mother laughed, and tho two prattled
gayly along hand In hand.
Madame, with a wild rose in her hair
strolled ahead with the elate Monsieur
Jack. Round them rolled the billowy
hills, a faint autunnAl haze floating Al
their low submits, and the smoke from
there and then a farmhouse wreathinp
. up to the.sunlight. Some birds twittered
softly in the copSe, scarcely disturbing
: the silence and sweetness oil the summer
! time hush. A tiny brook running along
l the hedge glittered with cardinal.ilowers
r Her companion gathered handful oI
the flaming spikes for madame.
e "Ah, how beautiful they are ~, she
( cried. allow beautiful it all ia here
!, One could, indeed, live here forever"
She glanced about ut the purple hills
! ths fields, the peace and plenty every
;. where.
I. allow can you have all these glories
: and DO poorH" she asked. "In my coun
$ try peasant would call himself rict
I with all these. He will have man,
| fHtnnIa aud l,t. ,.,fE. Iii ~