Herald and tribune. [volume] (Jonesborough, Tenn.) 1869-current, 1880-01-29
Our Storp.
blood VIII! TELL.
BY ELLA WHEELER.

A dark-eyed girl leaned out of the
window of an elegant mansion on a
fashionable street.
The rain was falling steadily, and
the, wind blew in gusts.
A cir, was passing, with heavy
basket in her hand, which she rested
upon the carriage-block, and paused
to take breath,--a slender, blue-eyed
girl, with a sweet, wistful face.
4 would like to be as free as that
girl ! she said, mentally-'free to go
out in the wild winds and feel the
beautiful rain upon my upturned
face. But no if 1 should do such q
thing, my parents and friends would
hold up their hands in horror, and
very likely call me insane. If | 60
out, | must call thecarriage and ride,
and then the wind and rain must be
kept from me by dozen obsequious
servants. ] hate riding, and | hate
servants. Hong to be free-free as
the wild birds in the forest! Oh,
wish | were poor girl.
The blue-eyed girl looked wistfully
at the elegant mansion, the richly
robed figure, and the glimpse of lux
ury she could gain through the open
window.
I wish, she sighed, that | had a
lovely home like that--a fair, restful
home, with soft carpets and beauti-
full pictures, where | could dream, and
read, and embroider, and never 60 out
in the wind and rain unless / choose.
Oh, this life of mine is so distate-
full!
She lifted her basket, but the girl
at the window called to her.
Come here" she said, and the won
dering girl obeyed.
i saw you looking at me-, said the
dark-eyed girl. Maud st. John. and
wanted to know what you were think
ing. You look so tired. Are you
sick?'
oh, no, the blue-eyed girl an
swered, only tired. was thinking
how happy | would be if | had =
home like this.
II don't know sighed Maud. I am
not happy. ! was just now wishing
| was poor like you. You are poor
are you not?'
oh, very poor, miss. do errands
at the great laundry house. | ought
to be thankful, for this is better than
my life when child. l remember
going about in the woods and over
streams, with strange wild people,
and sleeping upon the ground. | was
frightened always at the sound of the
birds and animals at night
oh, what a lonely life!' crled Maud.
You must have been stolen by the
gipsies. How did you get awayP'
81 don't know--only when | was
some nine or ten years old my mother
left her tribe and came here to the
city with me-
"She grew very i'll, and said she had
something to do here before died. But
she died that very night. | did not
mourn much for she had never been
kind to me. / picked rags in the
street, and sometimes begged, and at
last found place to run errands,
where have been ever since, and that
was five years ago.
swat a moment" said Maud, as
the girl turned to go,and ran to hcl
room for her porte-monnaie.
AS she returned, II tall, stately fail
woman was standing By the window
looking upon the stranger with star
tied blue eyes.
"Maud" she cried, "who is that?'
"a poor girl, mamma, who has hat
the most romantic life you ever heart
of. | am going to give her some
money.
"Tell her to come around to th,
kitchen, said Mis-. ST, John. 81 an
interested in her face, and if she is il
need of work we will give her trial
Jane told me to-day we needed a sec
ond girl
VI was never so moved in my lif
by u strangers face,' she said, as sh