The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1878-04-13

tor; for, as the police say" | continued
''you are my prisoner-but on parole.
He tried to speak, but could not, and
turned away.
"All right, said, ''all right" and |
patted him on the shoulder, and walked
away TO the window for few minutes
before | turned back to find him more
composed.
That afternoon we all three went out
into the wood, and | made Cobweb stand
as | had seen her on that day.
Grantly was delighted, aud insisted up
on making sketch at once; and then the
days wore on, with the painting progress
ing slowly, but in way that was won
der to me, so exquisite was every touch,
for the artists whole soul was 10 his work.
Those were delightful days, but there
was storm coming. quite took to the
young fellow, though, and by degrees
heard from him his whole story-how,
young aud eager, he had, five years before,
come to town to improve in his art, and
how bitter had been his struggle, till, just
before he had encountered my friend Ell
den, he had been really, literally, dying of
sickness and want.
1t was a happy time, that, for when the
painting was over for the morning we gar
dened, or strolled in the country, our new
friend being an accomplished botanist and
lover of every object we saw. used to
wonder how he had learned so much, and
found time to paint as we'll
l say it was happy time for the first
three weeks, and then there were clouds
Cobweb was changed. knew it but
too we'll | could see it day by day.
Grantly was growing distant, too, and
strange, and my suspicious grew hour by
hour, till | was only kept from breaking
out by the recollection of Tom Eldcn's
words" lie is a gentleman and a man of
honor"
'Tom Elden never was wrong" | said
one morning as | sat alone, 'and for man
like that, after my kindness, to take ad-
vantage of his position to win that girls
love from me, would be the act of the
greatest scoun-"
''Aiay come in, Mr. Burrows?" said
the voice of the man of whom was think
ing.
"Ycs, come in" / said; and there we
stood looking into one another's eyes.
"Hes come to speak to me, thought,
and my heart grew very hard, but / con-
cealed my feelings till he spoke, and then
| was astounded
"Mr. Burrows" he said, "rve come to
say goodbye" !"
"Good-bye?" I said.
"Yes, sir, goodbye. l have wakened
from dream of happiness to sense of
misery of which cannot speak. Let me
be brief, sir, and tell you that I shall never
forget your kindness"
''But you haven't finished the picture. 4"
''No, sir, and never shall, he said, Bit
terly. "Mr. Burrows, cannot say. L
that isl need not be ashamed to own
it. love your child with all my heart. :"
II knew it." said, bitterly.
"And you think | have imposed on your
kindness. No, sir, have not, FOR have
never shown by word or look"
'No, you scoundrel," said to myself,
'but she knows 1t all the same"
"And, sir, such dreams as mine could
never be ful6lled-it is impossible"
"God bless you, sir Goodbye"
'You will not say goodbye to her?" 1
said, harshly.
He shook his head, and as I stood there
hard, selfish and jealous of him, saw hi m
go down the path, and breathed more
freely, for he was gone.
Gone, but there was a shadow on my
home. Cobweb said not word and ex-
pressed no surprise, never even referring
to the picture; but went about the house
slowly, dropping day after day, month af-
ter month, till the summer time came
round again, and knew that in my ieal-
ous sel6shness was breaking her young
heart
She never complained, and was as low
ing as ever; but my little Cobweb was bro
ken and the tears spangled 1t like dew
whenever it was alone.
1t was as nearly as could be year after
that |, feeling ten years older, went to
seek her one afternoon, and found her, as
expected, in the little wood, standing
dreamy aud sad in her old position leaning
upon the tree, listening to no bird song
now, but with far-off longing look in her
eyes that swept away the last selfish
thought in my heart
did not let her see ME, but went right
straight up to Elden's, learned what
wanted, and in short time after | was
in handsome studio in ST. Johns Wood
staring at the finished picture of my child
painted of course from memory
framed, against the wall.
As | stood there | heard the door open
and turning stood face to face with
Grantly.
We looked into each others eyes for
few moments without speaking, and then
in trembling, broken voice, said
"Grantly, I've come as a beggar now.
My poor darling-God forgive me! I've
broken her heart"
1t was my turn to sit down and cry like
a child, while my dear boy tried to com
fort me-telling me, too, with pride, how
he had worked and become famous, and
in few more months he meant to come
down and ask my consent
But there, I'm mixing it up. 0fcourse
he told me that as We were rushing along,
having just had time to catch the express;
and on reaching the station there was no
conveyance and We had to walk.
That scoundrel would not wait, but ran
on without me, and when got there pant
ing and hot, | found my darliug's heart
was mended with all Of that belonging to
the good man from whose arms she ran to
hide her rosy bushes on my breast.
am not the selfish old fellow that |
was. about Cobweb, for here in the old
place where they'ye let me stay with them,
pass my time with those two fossy.haired
little tyrants, Cobweb the Second and the
Spider, as we call little Frank. As for
Cobweb the Second, aged two, she said
to me this morning, with her tiny arms
about my neck, and her soft cherub cheek
against mine-"Oh, grandpa, dear, | do
love 90 !''-aud | love her, with all nv
selfish old heart