New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1878-08-07

of coarse brown paper with an old web
ster.s Unabridged for . pillow; table
made oy placing six big account books
on the floor, six more on the top of them,
and so on until enough had been used.
All legless, Of course, but serving Mr..
Waste Paper as well as though they had
any numper of legs.
You never saw such 9 queer place In
your life, and never heard such continual
rustling and cracking as the furniture
kept up, and very likely you never met
such y v,ry odd old man.
One shoulder was little higher ard
one leg a little shorter than the other,
and he had one black eye and one blue
one. And when he was good natured he
looked at you with the blue one, and
when he is cross he looked at you with the
black one, and don't think there could
ever have been two more expressive eyes
in the world one could look so cross and
the other so kind. II
Well, nobody in Sam street--that is
what they called the ambitions alley,
after old Sam Junkman, who built the
/ first house there fifty years ago--knew
anything about Mr.. Waste Paper. except
that he had lived IN the four roomed
house for the last ten years, and that the
only person he was at all friendly with was
Mrs. Dolf, the kid-gloye cleaner, who
lived next door. and who boiled the water
for his tea on summer evenings, when he
lad no fire at home.
Mrs Doif's children, Amos and Cherry,
liked the old man very we'll, for he used
often to give them pretty pictures which
he cut from the picture papers which fell
in his possession, and, more rarely, a
penny or two; but the other Sam street
children called him ''old miser," because
he gave them nothing, and because they
heard their fathers and mothers say,
"Waste Paper has good sum Of money
in some bank or other, you may bst, for
he's been buying and selling Tor ten
years and never had days sickness,
and wearing the same old clothes, sum-
mer and winter, and not a chick or a
child, or dog, or = cat to look after, and
never asking anybody to have drop of
beer or a pipe of 'baccy. He's a regular
old miser, that's what he is"
But the old man paid no attention to
the rude boys and girls. except to turn
his black eye on them once in while
when they became too annoying, but
passed his time when at home reading
something from his stock in trade, or.
with eyes half closed in deep thought
about what no one but himself ever knew,
when one bright, warm May day, he came
slowly into his iving-room from the
street, carrying heavy bag on his
shoulder.
He placed the Dag upon a paper otto
man, sat down on the paper bed beside
he paper table, wiped his face with
handkerchief, and then opened the bag
and tumbled the contents out upon the
paper carpet He had bought them that
morning of a school teacher who lived at
the other end of the town. four miles
away, and they consisted OF soired copy
books, old grammars, biographies, arith-
metics, histories, readers, with as many
dogs ears as would have supplied several
large dog families, old reports and old
compositions from the pile before him,
he BEGAN to talk to himself, as people
who live a lonely life are sometimes in
the habit Of doing. ''All these leng years.
he said, ''and I have never found any
thing of value. No wills, no bank notes
no trace of my lost family nothing
that people in my business are
always finding in stories, y and as he said
this his black eye fell upon a name
written in a child's struggling hand on
the back of one of the papers he had
Ruth Sands Norris" and underneath,
in the teachers writing, Every good, in
deed, for little girl of ten.'
The old man hastily untied the ribbon
with trembling hands, and with strange
light breaking over his wrinkled face,
unrolled the paper, turning his blue eye
upon it, began to read. And this is what
he read:
Some girls most girls swell, anyhow
q good many girls do not like to write
a composition. do.
When grow up hope to be an ar
thur and write stories and perhaps PONIES
for all the great maggiezines and papers,
and some day may be whole book.
My mamma says my grandfather, the
one | have never seen, was very fond of
literaycnure.
Literaychure means things that are
made up in peoples heads, and then
printed. I do not mean all Epeople's
heads, for hundreds and hundreds have
not that kind of heads, but smart peoples
heads.
He used to be always talking rimes
and it is about him my story is to be. He
was a very good man, but very funny.
Not the funny to make folks laugh, but
the other funny. He had enc black eye