Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1884-05-08
MRS. RAYS LODGERS.

What became OF my little Miss L.?
Why, my dear, do you remember her ?
Yes, ! know you did not meet her. but
only once-that was the day you spent
with me when you were going East.
through from Dakota.
We'll, | need not wonder that Won
do. remember her. Twas face In
make an impression, on one, am sure
A dear, sweet tender face, indeed. OF
course, my dear, am only too pleased
to tell you about her
Let me see! We were in that coy
fiat on the north side then, and it was
altogether the most desirable place |
have lived in since we came to Chicago
six years ago. | was sorry indeed to
make change
oh, my dear, many things happened
then which would interest you to hear
| am sure. We took dodgers, you know.
No, not to make money, but to help
about rent, and | like to have people
around me. You see Mr. Ray and are
growing old Yes, old it will be soon
if We are inclined to cling to middle-aged
as our rightful title. And not dear
child Of our own have we ever had. So
we have room in our hearts for all who
come under our roof, and sooner or later
all my dodgers have come to seem like
our own family. Why, there were
those three boys who had the north
room for two years. Noble lads. and
away from their homes and their
mothers, in great city. How could [
help mothering them little? MY
boys | always called them, and think
of them as my boys to this day. Those
are their photographs on the mantel, my
dear, and one of them was quite an art
list. | will show you some little bits of
his work by-and-by.
But about little Miss L. | always
called her that, and / came to love her
dearly; | did indeed.
She was in my house almost year.
you see, and she crept into my heart
and had no reason to regret it. l
liked her the very first time | saw her,
and the little parlor and bedroom
pleased her so much that she engaged
them at once, and brought her few be-
longings in the very next day. | was
pleased to she her as she went about
putting her knickknacks here and there
in quiet way of her own.
Quiet contentment there seemed to
be in her face, and yet / saw shadow
of something, could not tell what, in
her eyes which ! came to long to drive
away | wanted to see her merry. She
was not old enough to be so quiet. and
nothing she told me afterward about
herself seemed to explain it to be. But
don't think she seemed unhappy! How
well | remember her saying after only
two or three days: Dear Mrs. Raw. /
haven't been in so homelike place for
years. You have no idea how contented
| am. That pleased me, don't you see?
That was what | wanted it to seem, my
dear-homelike. Well, the light house
keeping helped me to get acquainted
quickly. Yes, my dear, she had her
little oil-stove, and cooked for herself.
and coaxed her to use my oven when.
ever she liked. Indeed, / was only too
pleased to have her do so. Then [ be-
gan to think she did not eat enough
hearty food, and tried to pursuade her
to eat more meat. Now, you need not
laugh, my dear. My hobby? Well,
better meat than medicine, anyway.
shall always say. l wanted her to grow
bright and merry, don't you see?
But no, in spite Of fresh air and
hearty food there was the same quiet,
and | almost knew it wasn't her natural
manner. To be sure, there were reasons
for her to be sad sometimes. She was
all alone. She told me about her dear
dear mother and how tenderly she said
it.
Her mothers picture was in little
frame on a bracket, and there was a
tiny bunch of pressed violets pinned
against it.
Mamma died when | was r. she
said one day, and after while papa
married again Then she waited for a
moment and then said, with a firm
look coming around her mouth. And
| feel happier to take care of myself.
And she earned enough money, my
dear, to do it. There were the piano
pupils-almost every day she was away
down here on the south side-giving
her lessons. Then, between times, she
painted the prettiest little things, and
they sold, too, though hardly for what
they were worth, / am sure Yes, she
was always busy. PLENTY to do and
strength to do it. | said to her once,
Surely, little Miss L., that ought to
make you happy
She looked up and smiled at me, and
said, | am not unhappy
No, my dear, and she wasn't, yet she
was not what felt sure she might be,
and had been, and that was bright and
merry. Why, she never sang! And she
had voice, for she had told me of sing
ing here and there in years gone. Now
| know when there is really happy
heart song comes bubbling up from it
now and then--a little humming over
the work you know, my dear, at least.
But | never heard it for seven or eight
months. Then, a Sunday morning,
remember it was, and | noticed it, for it
surprised and delighted me.
Why William said / Chats Mr.
Ray, you know, my dear), little Miss L.
is singingp
And we both listened, and then she
sang the words right out, and what do
you think they were? No, not bit of
a hymn-tune. Twas this:
For will marry my own love,
My own love, my own love.
Then she stopped, but after little
she sang again:
| For true of heart ami.
We'll my dear, to say | was astonished
isn't saying much.
But | kept still, you may be sure,
and when | went in, after awhile, with
Ellen, my funny little swedish maid, to
tidy up things a bit, and said Good
morning to little Miss L., there was
new look on her face. Not that the
shadow | told you about was all gone,
either. Well. of course it puzzled me,
and the next day, and the next, |
| l.. m