The Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1877-1885, 1882-11-27
I'll TRoVAToRE."
BY x. TEMPLE MORE.

/ e
Crimson eurtsins Shut out the bleak
| November evening. A coal fire spark
/ led In little open stove, its soft light
making rosy twilight Everywhere
were divinity feminine adornments, every
where the suggestion of woman's
| presence.
By a small shaded lamp in one corner
boy was porting over book. Swaying
herself slowly backward ana forward in
a low rocker sat a girl, child ut first
+ glance, so small was the black-robed
figure.
A mass of fair curls tangled to her
waist. The eyes under the dark, delicate
lids were as blue as meadow violets
A knock at the door. She sprang to
her feet with sudden glad cry as she
caught sight of the tall, shabby dress
ed figure on the threshold.
MAXI she cried. 'sOh, Cedric, it's
Max"
She held out both hands rapturously,
her eyes alight He smiled little sadly
as he noticed the frank, childish Joy of
words and actions.
when did you get back, MaxP" the
boy asked. flinging down his book and
coming forward. We missed you awful
ly. Didn't we, Corap Awfullyr'
Yes Cora. murmured absently,
looking up into the grave, handsome
face before her and still holding one
cold. brown hand in both her own little,
warm, snow-white ones. .'Come and
get warm, Max. 1t is almost Christmas
weather. Haven't we the place nicep''
with quiet pride. ..Do you know"
cheerily, 'sthat sometimes we-Cedric
and don Hardly. missioner"
And there was quick sob. Max
Marsden looked pityingly down on the
pretty, averted. fire-flushed face. She
had begun so 'brayely, only to falter and
limp lamely to the end.
''Itisscosy. Cora! 1t is home, dear.
Try and remember you have Cedric,
and love always makes homer
She lifted her head in sudden self de-
fiance. She resolutely curved her lips
into a smile, and winked the bright
tears away.
"Now, next Iswin mako you cup of
tea can make tea, you know. And
steak-I can cook steak now, and
But he laughed and held up one hand
deprecatingly.
''What a menu! And what a little
cook it is to be sure! Never mind the
steak, dear. just let us have cup of
tea and then we will go to the opera"
1.-The operar'
She stood quite still in the rosy fire.
shine, just gasping out the one enchant-
ing word. She was little more than a
child, remember-this girl of sixteen.
And she had never been to the opera.
''Yes-'H Trovatore.' Really and
truly. Now little woman muffie up, for
its seven o'clock and we may be. using |
a genuine Chicagoism. 'bridgedr"
One year before Cora Testers father
had died. leaving his children orphaned
and almost friendless. He had been ac-
q wealthy man. His house on
the Boulevard had been a~maryel of al
most barbaric magnificence.
But after his death gradually the |
knowledge came to his children that the |
only heritage their father had left them |
was that of bitter poverty.
S Their only relative, an uncle. because
Of former enn1ity with his brother re-
fused to aid them.
So with childish pride taking the
small portion remaining to them they |
went out into the world alone,
Bnt slowly their slender purse grew |
slighter and slighter, and would have |
totally collapsed were it not that Max
came forward with kindly Of !
fers of assistance.
He was only struggling. unsuccss-
tul journalist, but he was an old friend |
Of the family and they looked to him
and trusted him accordingly.
s Many the little comfort which found |
ts W ay from his hands TO this upper
story room. Cora got work. painting
for city house. Often, after
offering to deliver it, she would cry out
IN surprise at the ample pay her friend
brought back: They had customer
who was willing to- pay a good price
for suitable work. Max Marsden would
answer gravely.
Chicago was not at its pleasantest this
sharp. unlovely evening. Winter had
come upon it suddenly, unexpectedly |
Gusts of wind whirled the brown leaves
nadly down the avenues. The very car
bells jingied mournfully.
Once the girl glanced up at her COM
oanion In quick questioning:
''Where is your overcoat, MAXI You
viii perishr'
s'It's-it's bad habit to muffie up
early and-Pm not cold.
And his eyes of tender brown smiled
DOWN on the pretty. plying face.
He had no overcoat; but there was a
title. weIl-filled pocket-book in Cora
Lester's desk, the contents of which had
not come from the sale of placques.
They passed into McVicker's, blaze
IF light, as into E;tiryland.
But Max Marsden did not look at the
tage or tbe.house. He did not listen to
he music. He saw only one radiant,
iazzling, girlish face, one bent, bright,
istening head. Many blase theatre
soer turned to look ut her-at the
issome, girlish figure leaning slightly
onward Mt the little claSned hands aft !