Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1879-04-25
TODDLES.

felt like a lady that morning. l was a Ia
dy, thought, after all quite as much so as
Mrs. Jones, who lived in the great cupola
house on the hill. Quite as much of lady,
l said to myself, briskly, us l busted the lit
tie shop, and arranged the sheeny ribbons
and gay striped goods in the window. The
window was hung with pretty lace curtains,
and there was a globe of gold fish in it that
sailed about as courteously and busily as
though they were going to get their living as
head clerks
1t was a sweet, soft autumn morning; the
village street was grassy and quiet and
hummed tune as glanced cheerily out at
little Toddles, fitting about in her scarlet rib
bons under the old willow outside. Bless her
rosy little face why shouldn't be happy
when I've her to look after?
was happy, and hummed again that old
snatch of tune, and nodded gayly to Tod
dies, wondering vaguely to myself what was
going to happen that l felt so uncannily
bright. Nothing simply nothing things
were done happening me long since. My way
was straight and narrow, my days quiet and
uneventful.
As | slipped my coffee that morning re-
member that held the cup up to the light,
and felt a certain sense of satisfaction in the
translucence of the rare bit of china 1t is
so pleasant to know that ones own election
may keep one aloof from the uglness and
squalor of poverty.
1t doesn't take much to keep one person,
of course, and don't count Toddles for any
thing. 1t needs but the odds and ends Of
things-a bowl of bread and milk, cup of
coffee, with now and then lively bit of rib
bon--to keep the little one going famously.
Yes, l always wanted to be lady. And as
| sat in my bright little room half felt in
clined to forgive Richard Gray the heart
break lac gave me long ago. And o God it
rds a heart break. But if he had married
me, perhaps he would have shut me up in
some gloomy city house, to be a lady after
his fashion, TO stihe for want of a bit of fresh
air, to walk softly under n thousand petty
conventiOnalites, and to cease being my own
mistress. All that l never could endure.
So it is, perhaps, AS well that Richard left
me and went OIL somewhere-God knows
where.
You see like tiny little shop. There's
something so delightful in seeing the pretty
girls Of the village. with now and then fine
lady, hanging over my dainty wares and try
ing the tints of scarlet and blue and orange
with many laugh and many glance in the
minor. | call 1t my reception when they
pour in of holiday afternoon. love col
ors love grace and beauty and perhaps
lnlBul nave bttil u bll VI an lAIllhl, III NuN
if I'd ever had the opportunity. Richard
used to say So But all he said many a flat
tering thing and many false in those old
days And if | ever dreamed of any higher
life than contents me now well, I've given
up dreaming
For there's Toddles, so round and sweet
and soft and real She leaves me little time
for building air-castles.
You see | love the child as if she were my
very own. For she came to me one day,
about four years ago, a wee little baby thing,
curled up in heap on my doorstep, when |
went to open my shutters. Wherever she
came from l never knew. Toddles never ex-
planned; she Just stretched up her little fat
arms to me and gurgled Tod od- doddle, {"
and that was her sole introduction.
1t was surmised that the child had been
dropped by some travelling circus passing
through the town, and had excellent neigh
borly advice about putting the treasure i'll the
founding hospital. But one seldom takes
good advice, and didn't.
To tell the truth, l grew so attached to the
child that l should even have been wicked
enough. fear, to regret any ones turning up
to claim it. But that's not at all likely now,
after so many years-no, not at all likely no
more likely than that Richard and should
ever meet again in this world. Aud hdt-
that is among the things that never can hap
pen.
1t was on this wise, our parting.
Richards mother was old and feeble and
miserly. Shed spent a good deal of money
ON him--sent him to college, and expected,
folks said to "make something of him" She
always expected to get her moneys worth
out of her transactions. Richard held her in
a sort of awe, somehow though she was
little wizened woman that he could have lift
ed with his left hand But | liked him for
respecting his mother.
One day We two were sitting ct twilight
talking of the future dreamily, as was our
wont.
My little one, said Richard, putting his
arm about me, lit half seems too bright to
ever be-"
Seer bel" echoed. "Oh, Richard, if
you talk that way it will never be-"
Richard smiled, but his face grew overcast.
felt that storm was coming
well" | queried, seeing that he sat
brooding and silent.
Darling" he said, soothingly, 81 knew it
would come hardly to you but how can go
against my mothery Her poor old heart is
bound up in me- jeanette, and she will never
hear to-anything that"
THAT seems to lower you" added in
steely voice that seemed TO cut its way out of
my heart like keen cold knife.
"Oh, am a coward-a poltroon!" cried
Richard, wringing. his hands. II was born
to bring trouble ON those love. Who, who
shall leave to suffer for me now, Jean
ette 2"
"The one who will say least about it"
answered, hardly. My heart was throbbing
heavily, like n clock that ticks the hour of ex-
ecution, but l made no outcry, and we parted
in that final parting silently, And 1 have
lived silently ever since.
One year after that heard that Richards
mother was dead, and then that he had mar
ried who knew not-who cared not. He
had married another woman while my last
words were yet ringing in his ears-right
ihara hafnra the fncn of the living HaaVan