The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1881-04-22

WFesGu Oh Idu0 WOulQ 0uCirct6 u0f DrOW
when was still groyeling, the obscurest
of the obscure"
slept but little that night, thinking
of it. Something told me it would al
| most break the girls heart. Should I
| accept it,pay for it myself, and then con-
sign it to the waste basket? No, that
would not do, for she would be anxiously
watching for it's appearance in print, and
bringing more stories meanwhile for my
| consideration. What could do? Morn
ing found me undecided.
When took my place at my desk,
was still undecided. And had reached
no decision when, in answer to that gen.
| tie knock, for which / had waited as I
| believe no editor ever waited for would
be contributors knock before, I again
called "Come." She came in, and sink
ing into the visitors chair, raised her
! eyes in mute inquiry to my face. I
searched my brain for some harmless
falseEood with which to soften the blow,
but those eyes compelled the truth. ST
have carefully read your story" said,
''and am sorry to say it would not suit
our paper"
| The little hands went up to the face;
the veil dropped over them. heard a
stifed sob and my heart began to ache.
|
I continued, with assumed cheerfulness,
! 'sthat with few alterations, it should
not suit some other. IF you will leave
leave it with me, will take it home to-
night, revise it, and you can try again"
The veil was tossed aside, and down
came the hands. :'Oh, am SO ridicu-
lousy afraid of strangers and strange
placesp she said, a wan little smile shin
ing through her tears. ST should never
have dared to come here had not heard
that you were one of the kindest of men.
Is there nothing you can give me to do,
Mr.. Gray? can read the most illegible
of writing readily talent l inherit
from my dear father-and I can copy
rapidly and plainly"
Now had nothing on hand which was
absolutely necessary that should have
copied, but vision of the poor child
toiling up dark stairs into cheerless Of
fees, cold and frightened with that, in
| its present form, unsaleable story, rose
before me, and I determined to make
work for her until could find some easy
and permanent employment elsewhere.
So said, quickly, as though it were the
very assistance of all others of which I
stood in need.
eff you are willing to accept work Of
that kind, I can employ you two or three
hours day for month or two, and you
may begin at once.
Her eyes sparkled the thanks she did
not speak. babe her lay aside her hat
and shawl, seat herself at the chief s
desk, and prepare to copy the Chinese
1 like characters of the famous author
over which I had been puzzling the day
before.
/ sShe obeyed me with the simplicity of
child, and soon was bending over her
task. flush of pleasure on her cheeks,
transcribing quickly and faithfully.
As for me, the sight of that tiny hand
travelling over the paper with wonderful
grace and ease, and the clear-cut profile
dropping above it, caused some ludi-
crous mistakes in the article I was writ,
ing, about which mistakes received no
less than seventeen communications
during the week following its publica-
ton.
The two or three hours passed away.
She showed me what she had accom-
plished, with pride, accepted payment for
It with blush, donned the summer shawl
and hat, and tripped away, promising to
come again on the morrow. The NOR
row found her punctually at her post,
and SO did many morrows, and at last
the MS. was almost copied, and / had
been unable to find any other employ
ment for my faithful little amanuensis.
Meanwhile the child had told me her
sad story. Her mother died at her
birth. She had never had any home,
but had always lived in boarding houses
with her father. school-teacher, who,
dying year ago, left her to the mercy
of an only relative, wealthy aunt.
4 IL L.,
fused to receive her, saying she had
she saw no reason why the girl should
not follow her fathers profession
ST tried to-" said Winona, stbut the
children would not mind me. Minnie
M1nceitt minds me because she loves
me. I board with Mrs. Minciett, and
teach Minnie in part payment for my
board. Mrs. Minciett is not unkind to
me; but she is not as kind as she was
before papa died. And papa used to
say I wrote excellent compositions, and
so I thought, perhaps, could write
stories for the papers. And I was in
duced to come to you first by hearing q
gentleman, o writer, praise you very
highly one day. He is one of the
kindest-hearted fellows in America he
said. But, for all that, I came to your
door three days In succession before ]
could get courage enough to knock.
4 And when I did knock ON the fourth
day, you called Come in such an aw-
fully cross voice that came near run
ming away again. And on one of these
three days, when was standing out
side, you were laughing and talking
with handsome young lady. heard
you, and saw her. She had the lowell
lest ostrich feather in her hat"
j ssAnd what has become of the story.
/ Winona 2" asked I. She had rebelled
against ''Miss Silver" or even "Miss
! Winona," at an early period Of our ac-
quaintance, on account of my being SO
much older than she. I was eight
and-twenty, and she ten years younger.
/ My story"-with musical laugh
(which you altered until it was almost
your own story? sent it to the Weekly
Romance Portfolio, and they accepted if
and we'll they might, for thanks to you ii
was very good indeed. And they sent
me check for it-a very short check for
such long story-and there it is,'
] pointing to cloak jacket that hung be-
sides my overcoat. "And now that you
have mentioned the story" she contin-
ued, all her old shyness coming back
again, II should like to show you-but /
am afraid"
Nonsense, Winona, you are not afraid.