The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1880-08-20

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| told him to be off, but he will not go.
SHOW him up, sam, said the artist
The servant obeycd.
why, Robert, when and why did you
come to the city? said the artist in a
kindly surprise.
Without speaking the boy pushed up
his ragged sleeve An arm sullied and
dishgurcd by long. dark ridges, met the
artists gaze,
Poor child! exclaimed Morse compass
sionately
You see said Bob in explanation,
'old Rowe found my drawing, and threw
them into the fire and then beat me and
called me Il 'beggarly cur, and the
boys nostrils widcned and quivcrcd like
those of Il young horse under the lash,
so | ran away and come here, for | kept
your address.
Morse turned to Thornton, who had
been listening in amazcmcnt, and ex
planned the aflair't TO him, and then the
two youg meu had short and satisfac-
tory explanation.
In a few days Raymond Morse sailed
for Europe. In the handsome, well
dressed boy that stood ON the wharf,
| watching the rcceding steamer with re
| gretful eyes, we could hardly recognize
Bob the bound boy, now Robert Ward.
for such was the name the artist had
given him.
You are Ward my ward he said,
laughingly.
Slowly the youth rctraced his steps to
the engraving room in which Morse had
| procured him good situacion.
lie told me to climb, said Robert
Ward 70 himself, 'aud will
1t seemed very little thing to the
artist
i merely gave homeless boy n name
| and chance to work, he merrily said,
| and soon all thought of that little deed
of charity faded from his mind.
Twelve years have passed with their
sunshine and storms, their burden OF
hopes and fears, Joys and SolTows, and
again we will glance ut the actors of our
| story.
What have these years done for this
young engraver! They have given him
work, work beloved for its own sake.
and well and faithfully performed, and
as a result riches has piled her treasures
at the young artists feet Honor has
| spread abroad his name, and fame has
covered him with laurels. But amid all
| his busy toll and successful cndeavors,
whether engaged in parrying the butiets
| of fortune or striving with all his en-
ergy TO win the victory, Robert Ward
never forgot the one who stopped by the
| waysde, and placing the feet of only
Bob on their ladder of fame, pointed
| upwards. Robert had heard but nii-
rectly from Raymond Morse during all
| this time, for he had never returned from
Europe.
There had come the news of his mar
riage with beautiful Flurcntine-thcu
a silence of years, followed by faint I'll
mors. vague reports of calamity dalken-
ing his pathway, and finally it was con
lirmed by one OF his acquaintances lately
returned from Italy.
| Nes, he has been unfortunate in mon
ey affairs and his right arm being paral
| wed, he is, in fact, rather poorly off.
| Robert Ward turned away from til,
1ilIVIlty VI lllc lldN tlcI WIN Il NIIdi |
| pain retarding the very pulsations of hi:
heart.
Oh. it was too hard to believe. THAI
trained right arm stricken ucrvelcss n
| his side; that dear right hand never tC
take up the loved brush. never clasp tho
hand of the one who had toilcd so Ions
in order to win his commcndation, nor,
priced than the plaudits of the world
Suffering and in want! Dear friend, Il
last the time has come when | can repa,
to some extent your goodness to Il home
less s,namelss boy, said the artist to him
self
Night in Florence. The afterglow 0
sunset still fingered in the sky and tin
mulmur of the Almo filed the air Tn
soft Italian moon poured forth flood O
silver through an open window of Il ven
cradle building that could count its ag
by centuries and had once been occupic
by some aristocratic and wealthy family
Ii stood in. the midst of a large, lionel
garden, in which thickets of myrtle an
! lex, and clumps of cypress made so
emn gloom.
; a gentleman occupied a low seat b
: the window. He had evidently bee
reading or trying to do 50, for IN ol
book of conspiracics and assassination
. the black story Of ancient Florenc
, lay at his feet but now with eyes thi
saw nothing he was gazing on the Shcc
| of the glossy Arno, with hopclessnc,
| written in unmistahable characters O
= his noble face. oh, God, why ha
Thou afflicted me thus! he groane'
. When hope is held out that this dca
. weight glancing at his right arm tn;
Il hung listlcss by his side, may yet be
b come endowed with life and power, TIN
|, who never refused a cry Of need, nu
5 remain "A cripple for want Of gold
1 care not for myself but for the sake
= Gcncrya and baby lsadorc, and he co
cred his face with his hannd
Dear Raymond, said a voice in sol
musical Italian, you are troubled, G.
not comfort You my husband2 and
It woman with the pale creamy skin, ri
o ping black hair and dreamy eyes of Il
e daughters Of the summer land, laid h
f. hand caressingly on his shoulder.
: Morse put his arm around his wife N
d drew her down beside him.
, Nencrya.' he said, i saw Vera, Il
great surgeon to-day, and he says he ci
e cure my arm, but it will cost $500.
o The wife hid her sorrowful ia
F. for well she knew that such a sum th
Il could not raise.
/ Perhaps it would be better for us a
dear, he continued, if such a uselt
Is creature as ! lay under those silver ri
pies, and he pointed to the calm riy,
Your family would welcome little |,
dore for your sake, and you would
II free to marry
Raymond lit was cry of the t,
rs derest reproach and love-'have .loy
C. and trusted you so fondly, so long, OF
E to loose you at last ! Oh, that ! cor
.h Itcll Won how If wounds mo and ,,,,,, mo,