The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1878-08-15

( coming, at lenglH, plltouS pltduiiSS,
/ the closing sentence. like that of many
a grown up child, being accompanied
| by gush of tears.
The stronger individuality of the
! child had triumphed. The angry flush
| had faded from the face Of the weak
minded mother, and in subdued tones
| she said:
! 'MOllie, you will be the death of me-
| You never was like other children.
/ But go now and tell Liz to dress you in
your pink gingham, your rufiled white
apron, and drab CATERS; and see, now,
that you keep 'em clean, for | expect
the Clinch's here 10 tea and you are not
to be looking like dcWdy."
"Oh, please mamma, if you won't
! make me be dressed | won't he seen at
all. III stay all the while in my play
house till the CLnchs are gone; and =
The door was pushed widely OPEN
and as the father stepped quickly into
/ the apartment, the unfinished sentence
was superseded by "0h, my papa!' us
the child sprang forward and clasped
| his hand tightly in both Of hers; then
continuing:
please, papa, coax mamma TO let me
/ go to my play house, and not dress me
up!"
| AT this exclamation the angry flush
! again mounted the mothers cheek, and
I ayerting her face from her husband she
/ said, harshly:
I We'll, 90 tt your play house, and
don't come in my sight again to-day"
The child sprang to the door, ex-
claiming:
Thank you, mamma. Good bye,
/ papan' and as Mrs. Blake caught a
/ glimpse of the ironical smile upon her
husbands face, she said:
! "That young one ought to have been
horn an Indian. She's fit to be nowhere
/ hut in the woods. She cannot be cul-
I tiyated.h
And so long as you continue to
! drive her out Of the house you must eX-
! pect her to run wild. Mary, young as
! she is, is a student of nature She alb
| hOr5 deception and fraud, and every
/ kind Of sham. You are continually
| forcing upon her code Of behaviour
which her mtuitiyeness repudiates, be-
| cause it is false, replied Mr. Blake.
And you would have me dress her
| like Il Deggar, and let her run in the
| sun till she is as black as a squaw, and
| coarse as our boys. Mr.. Blake, it's
! your fault that she acts as she does.
would have pounded her stubbornness
out OF her long ago if you had not IN
terfered. Now size viii always be a
! great coarse country gawky, and | will
! always be ashamed Of her," was the
! pettish reply.
Mrs. Blake" replied the husband,
with positive emphasis, "our boys are
not coarse; they are gentlemenly and
well behaved-much more so than the
| boys belonging to those families, the
girls of which yol set before our
! daughter us models of manners.
! Il am a farmer, work hare ana pay
my debts. You keep servants to do
! your house work, and you dress like
| lady of fortune. | am wiling you
| should. because this is adapted to your
| taste. But, can you not command the
| dignity which rightfully belongs to you
as partner in, and mistress of, this
| home? And can you not teach our
| children that they are by birth right
! ladies and gentlemen, and that to ape
the style and manners of persons, or
classes, is unworthy Of true men and
women.'
That evening, just before dusk, after
| the Clinch family carriage had driven
out of sight, Mr. Blake crossed the
bridge over the creek, some twenty
rods from his house, and wiilo ascend
ing the bluff upon which stood the pine
tnat sheltered his little daughters play
house. he heard her voice in recitation,
and as he listened the childish voice
proceeded with:
when I'm a big girl TH make rhyme,
May be I'll write book sometime;
Mamma don't like me now, l guess,
Cause don't wear apretty dress
''The little robins in this tree,
Are saying prayers, know,
That rabbit came close up to me,
4 little while ago.
MY kitten has eyes,
And the brown thresher flies;
! Iwish the Clinch's would go,
| When I'd run home know"
That's a child to be ashamed Of
won't wear earrings, nor learn town
manners. Poor mOther!' whispered
the inner voice of Mr.. Blake; and the
next moment he called, Darling! I've
come for you"