Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1883-05-25
Gales AND Sketfbts.
"IL fRovAroRE.~

bright. so CHEEKY, so cosy was it.
| Crimson curtains shut out the bleak
October evening. A coal fire sparkled in
an open stove. its light making a cosy
twilight. Everywhere we're the dainty
| feminine adornments. everywhere the sug-
gestion of a woman's presence.
By small shaded lamp in one corner
boy was pouring over book. SwayiDg
herself backward and forward in low
rocker sat girl, a child at first glance,
SO small was the black-robed figure.
! A mass of rare curls tangled to her
waist The eyes under dark and delicate
| lids were as blue as meadow violets.
4 knock at the door. She spraDg to her
teet with sudden glad cry as she caught
sight OF the tall. shabby dressed figure on
| the threshold.
Maxi she cried. ..Oh, Cedric. it's
Max"
She held out both hands rapturously,
her eyes alight. He smiled little sadly
as he noticed the frank, childish 10y of
words and actions.
when did you get back, MAXI" the
boy asked. finging down his book and
coming forward I'VE missed you awful
fully. Didn't we. Cora? Awfully."
Yes" Cora murmdred absentIv, look
/ ing up into the grave. handsome face be-
I tore her and still holding one cold, brown
/ hand in both her own little, warm snow
| white ones. Come and get warmer,
Max. 1t is almost Christmas weather.
Haven't we the place nice?" with quiet
pride "Do you know" cheerily, THAT
sometimes we-Cedric and don't hard
ly miss home ?'
And there was quick sob. Max Mars
den looked pittyingly down on the pretty.
averted. fire-flushed face. She had begun
so bravely, only to falter and limp lame
" 10 the cod.
at is cosy, Cora. 1t is home. dear.
! Try and remember you have Cedric, and
love always makes home -
She lifted her head in self defiance.
She resolutely curved her lips into smile
and winked the bright tears away.
"NOw, next | will make You cup Of
tea. ! can make tea, you know And
steak can cook steak now, and But
he laughed and held up one hand depre-
ciatingiy.
What menu And what "a little cook
it is to be sure Never mind the steak.
dear. Just let US have a cup of tea and
then we will gn to the opera"
The operai"
She stood quite still in the rosy fire.
light, 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-U TroUatore. Really and truly.
Now little woman. muflle up. for it's
seven o'clock and we may be- using IA
genuine Chicagosm, ''bridged."
3 I
had died. leaving his children orphaned
and almost triendless. He had been ac-
counted wealthy man. His house on
the Boulevard had been marvel of al
most barbaric magnificeDe.
Eut after his death gradually the knowl
edge came to his children that the only
heritage their father had left them was
that OF bitter poverty. Their only rela-
tive. an uncle, because of former enmity
with his brother. refused to aid them. So
with childish pride. taking the small por-
ton remaining to them. they went out into
the world alone. But slowly their slender
purse grew slighter, and would have
totally collapsed were ii not that Max
Marsden came forward with kindly offers
of assistance.
He was only struggling. unsuccessful
journalist. but he was friend of the
family, and they looked up to him accord
ingIy.
Many little comfort found its way
from his hands to this upper story room
Cora had work. painting for city house
Often alter offering to deliver il, she would
tcry out in surprise at the ample pay her
friend brought back: They had a Gus
toner who was willing to pay good
price for suitable work." Max Marsden
wonld answer, gravely.
Chicago was not at its pleasantest this
sharp. unlovelv evening Winter had
come upon it suddenly, une xpectedly
Gusts of wind whirled the brown leaves
madlv down TIE Gvenues. The very car
bells jngled mournfully.
Once the girl. CHANGING up in quick
questioning, asked:
Where is your overcoat, Max? You
will perish"
"It's-ils bad habit to mutfle up early
and-I'm not cold"
Ard his eyes of tender brown smiled
down on the pretty, plying face.
He had no overcoat. but there was a lit
tie wel-filled pocket book in Cora Lester's
desk. the contents of which had not come
from the sale of plaques.
They passed into McVicer's, blaze of
light. as into fairy land
But Max Marsden did not look at the
stage or house. He did not listen to the
music. He saw only one radiant dazzling,
girlish face. one bent, bright, girlish head.
Many a blase theatre-goer turned to look
at her-at the lissome. girish figure lean
ing slightly forward, at the little clasped
hands. at the flushed cheeks and scarlet
lips and brilliant eyes.
Like Pygmalion's statue thrilled into
life. she sat there startled and intoxicated
by the witchery of music.
The night were on. Fans f1uttered,
Jewels sparkled. kidded hands patted APP
pause as the voice rang out from the dun
gem tower.
1t was over. The curtain had fallen.
The people were leaving. The child put
out one hand blindlv. .Oh, Max" she
painted.
Almost home, she turned to him quiet
| ly. with sort of awe in her sweet face.
Il did not know before how dearly |
/ loved Verdi. | shall never hear bar of
his music without recalling my first opera.
Max-without remembering you."
You will not forget me? ! am glad
of that. | am going to test your promise
. al. Al. l. u