The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1878-08-01
CAMILLA.

lAN -lOUSCs NACAC uO oASPS "A NA~A
munched his meals Of bread and cheese
Tor bologna sausage, when he could at
ford it), and from whence he crcpt, as
harmless and unnoticed as fly, down to
the cornor of the dingy street, to the little
music shop of Carl hermann, a music set
tier somewhere in Soho.
There he tinkered all day on broken vio-
Inns and other instruments, save on Satur-
day afternoons, when he went to the house
of small tradesman, to teach the piano
to three or four very stupid girls. Sun
days, he curled up in his den and amused
himself--nobody knew now-until Mon
day morning.
There are few certainties; he never
went to church but he picked ragged
children from the pavement when they
fell near him, and gave them half pennies
when he had any shared his dinner often
with NANCY, dirty cur, who acted as a
sort Of escape valve for the ill-tcmpe' Of
half the men and women in the street !;
and he reused Pat Ryan from his md
night snooze in the gutter, and literally
carried him home to Norah and the chill
dren.
As for honesty, as neighbor remarked,
"1f he found five shillings in the streets.
he'd wear out ten shillings worth of
strength and shoe-leather to find the OWL
err"
One cold, dark night, Paul was return
ing from his work, with loaf of bread
under one arm and violin under the
other. and nearly fell over small object
crouched on the step.
"Bless us! what's this?" cried Paul,
striving to regain his equilibrium.
"Only me, sir" and the small object
stood up,and became very pale, thin and
ragged child.
'Are you hurt, little girl?'
mo. sir"
''What are you doing here in the cold7''
"Nothing."
why don. you 90 home2"
II amt got any"
'Dear mel Where's your mother?'
I'm heaven!"
At this Paul was dumfouEded, and see
ing that great tears were stealing down the
the child's wan face, he thrust the violin
under the arm which had held the bread,
and, putting the other around the tiny
figure, he said, "Oh, I've got home, a
real jolly place! Come up and see."
And this is the way old Paul came to
have neat little housekeeper, and to be
buying calico gowns and shoes out Of his
poor salary.
People wondered at the sight of this
bent old man. hitherto alone and uncared
for, now walking ,laily to his work Will,
his hand upon the shoulder of the odd
yet pretty faced girl, looking at her with
honest pride frightening his eyes, and
laughing as loud as she whenever the
joke came in. But old PAIL looked un-
concerned, evaded the questions Of the
curious, and learned to love nothing in
this world better than the little waif,
Camilla.
There were many, many days when
rheumatism drew Paul up by the fire in
the cid back attic, and drew the very last
penny out of the dilapidated purse; but
brave little Camilla, never forgetting how
near death she had been on that bitter
night of their meeting, always found a
word to ward off hunger, and courage to
keep them both bright until help came
The winter of 1856 come in like a lion,
a many a poor wretch we'll remembers
and with the blast come Paul's enemy
He turned, one nj ght, sad face from
his warm corner in Bertman' shop among
the violins, and hobbled up the cold
street, feeling the approach Of the old
rheumatic pains, and wondering what
would become of his poor little Camilla.
His excitement carried him up to the
last flight Of stairs, and, hearing Camilla s
voice, he paused to rest and to listen
She was singing in that sweet and OK
pressive manner that made her Voice
seemed to him the sweetest and and purest
he had ever heard. At the end OF another
stanzar he took breath, and another voice
said.
"Chi'd, You astonish me. Either
am poor judge of music, or else your
voice is the finest ever heard. You are
right i'll preferring its cultivation to any
thing else.'
An electrict thrill shot through old
Paul's frame, and quickened his blood
to rapidity that quite carried away his
rheumatic pains, and in twinkling be
was up stairs and in his little attic.
He was terrified at the the sound Of a
voice; but the sight Of a handsome and
polished gentleman, with diamonds in
bis snowy linen, heavy ring upon his
dainty white hand, unquestionable
broadcloth upon his back, in close con-
J versation with Camilla, whose wondrous
beauty had of late startled even his dull
! perception, was more than Paul could
bear.
He was very small man-had been in
his yOu:h-and now that Times wither-
ing fingers had touched him, he was
shriveled and dried, like withercd fruit,
but in his virtuous indignation he pulled
out to its fullest extent, and in q falsetto
voice piped,1 "Camilla, how dare you ill.,
vite anyone to come hcre?'
lob, Uncle Paulr' This is Mr. Claver
ing the gentleman whose-whose-'
''Whose mother she saved from death.
Your niece, sir, q lew days since was
passing through our crowded thorough
| fare, when my mothers carriage drew up
to the pavement. The horses were FESTIVE,
and bidding the driver attend to them,
she began to descend unassisted. Her
foot was on the step, when the animals
sprang forward and flung her violently
from her foothold. But for the sudden
act of your niece, who received my moth
er in her strong, young arms, the fall
might have proved fatal one. l came
to day at my mothers earnest request,
to express heartfelt gratitude, and to
offer"
"You needn't offer Camilla penny, sir.
She'll never suffer while I've a pair of
hands to work for her." said Paul.
''You mistake me. { do not wish to
insult you, but would raise this child from
poverty and would educate her, that she
might be of use to you and to herself, and
become refined woman. Don't let your
self love stand in your light, and shut it
out from her. She sings like a prima
donna, ana wished to study music"
! The large lustrous eyes of the child
turned imploringly to the strange
guardian.