The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1878-04-13
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MY TWO OOBWEBS,
The Successful Artist.

AN OLD MANS TALE.
just as business was beginning to pros
per with me, was left alone with little
iair-haired girl of eight, who found it hard
10 believe that her mother had been taken
away never to return, only to live in our
memories. And I thought, too, of how
the years had fled away, and had become
a wealthy man, whose sole thoughts had
been Of the child had seen grow up to
maidenhood, making a very idol Of her,
yielding to her every whim, and doing the
best | could to spoil one who never would
be spoiled For, with all the accomplish
ments / had lavished upon her, Ruth, or
Cobweb, as | Familiarity called her, had
grown to be notable housewife, who dis
gusted our cooks by insisting upon going
down into the kitchen and making my
favorite puddings and tarts with her own
hands. and generally behaving in what
servants called an unladylike manner.
And then / thought of my other sor-
row-the future-and pictured with an
agony | cannot describe the day when
should have TO resign my claims to another
and be left alone, q desolate, broken old
man.
| am naturally u very common, hard
and business like old man, and terribly
selfish. Cobweb had woven herself 50
round my heart that iu my peevish, irrita-
Bile way, | was never happy when home
from the city unless she was waiting on
me aud filing my pipe.
Cobweb was very quiet as she glided
down from my knee to her hassock at my
feet, and was evidently thinking as much
rs |; and at last / Frightened up, for a
thought had come TO me with selfish kind
Of comfort.
| had moved away from the city aud
settled down in a snug and quiet little
home in the country.
'Shell be quite away from all tempta-
tions to leave there, anyhow" said to
myself, as | thought of the "at homes
and balls 10 which she was so often receiv-
ing invitations.
This set me to talking-fshing, as
called it in my great cunning-to see if
there was one of the rocks ahead of which
was in dread
How shall you be able to leave all
your fine friends-parties--a1d set-outs?''
I said.
''Oh, I'm tired Of them all r she said,
clapping her hands.
"And gay cavaliers, with dandy airs and
moustaches and programmes?
''Ha, ha, ha Y she laughed mcrrily and
then, as it seemed TO me in my jealous
watchfulness, turning the subject she be-
gan to talk about the country place had
taken.
A fortnight later aud we were settled
down; and really, with all my city notions,
] began to find the calm and repose of the
country delicious. Cobweb was delighted,
and constantly dragging me somewhere or
another into the grounds of the pretty old
place, where she arranged garden seats in
the snuggest, shadiest spots for my espee-
ial behoof
As / should have said, there was will
derness Of wood adjoining the garden
which the former possessor had left in a
state of nature, saving that he had the
old footpath and tracks widened in their
old winding ways, carefully turfed and
dotted with chair here and there.
This was Cobwe5's favorite place, and
if | missed her out in the garden, / knew
should find her here, with the sun rain.
ing shower of golden beams through the
network of leaves overhead, to dance and
fash among the waving tresses of herlone
golden hair
One day | found her leaning on dead
bough which crossed an opening in the
wood, where all seemed of a delicate twi.
light green. She was listening intenlly to
the song Of bird overhead, and stopped
short gazing at the picture before me,
said to myself, with a sigh
"All that's bright must fade NV darl.
ing, wish | had your likeness as you
stand. Time flies" | muttered, 'and the
winter comes at last, with bare trees to the
woods-gray hairs and wrinkles to the
old"
She caught sight of me directly, and the
scene was changed, for | was listening the
next moment to her merry, happy voice.
4 day or two later | was in the eity
where | always went twice a week-for
could not give up business, it was part Of
my life-when an old friend dropped in
and in the course of conversation he said
by the way, Burrows, why don't you
have your portrait painted p
bah stuff " nat for 2" said /.
"Well, said my old friend, laughing
Il don't know, only it would give a Job t
poor artist | know; and, poor fellow. hc
wants it badly enough"
"Bah! I'm handsome enough without
being painted, said gruffiy. Then, a:
thought flashed through my mind-for
saw again the picture in the wood will
Cobweb leaning on the braneh-'Stop
minute. Can he paint well?"
"GloriousIy."
And is terribly hard up?"
Horribly, poor fellow"
"How's that? ?"
"Don't know. He's poor and proud
and the world has dealt very hardly will
him. Ii isn't so smooth with every one
Jack, as it is with us.
"True, Tom, old fellow" said. "true
Well, look here; I'll give him a lob
Would he come down and stay at m,
place."
"Oh, yes, if you treat him well; but n