Huntsville gazette., 1884-12-20
sinks back, his eyes closed, and the

sinks back, his eyes closed, and the
orphan boy is gone"
''And it was meme alone-who
murdered him." complained the grand
mother when she concluded her tale.
Her eyes were dry, but the muscles
round the corners of her mouth worked
convulsiyely and there was great sob
in her throat. 1T was all my fault,
the result of my unforgiveness; holy
Mary have mercy" and the old
woman run the black beads of her
rosary through her fingers, murmuring
her prayers.
nation, the atelier of a French photo
grapher, with whom / was slightly
acquainted. introduced my compan-
ion to him, and he, offering her seat,
addressed some question to her about
her picture. She looked at him with
wonder, and finally replied that she
only wanted picture of her boy.
"Ah!" said the photographer, "a little
boy, very good, where is he?" A tear
dimmed the old woman's black eye,
and for answer she pointed up to
Heaven. ''Oh!" exclaimed my friend,
''dead! do not like to photograph
dead bodies; but still as monsieur
brought you here I will make an excep-
ton; when did your little boy die?"
when the grapes ripen he will have
been gone year, replied the grand
mother.
''But, my dear, began the photo
grapher perplexed, when interrupted
him, and taking him aside told him the
old woman's story and how she had
walked fifty miles on her old legs to
procure likeness of her dead grand
child.
''But, my dear fellow, what can I
dop I am grieved, upon my word |
am; but what would you have me do?
/ can't photograph angels!''
A noise of romping children was now
heard and two boys, about eight and
ten years old, came running into the
atelier, crying at the top of their
voices: ''Oh, papa, voici!'
''Hush, children!n said the parent,
ego away; | am busy" and the happy
boys disappeared laughing in the next
room. A sudden idea struck me, and
turning to the old woman, who looked
wistfully at the door through which the
boys escaped, | asked her if she had
kept any of her little boys clothes.
''Indeed | have, Monsieur" she
answered. II have kept everything
belonging to the little dear" and open
ing bundle she carried with her she
continued: Here is his best dress find
Cher voice sunk to a Whisper the last l
ever saw him wear"
l now took the photographer aside
and made him acquainted with my
plan for ''photographing angels, and
after obtaining his promise of carrying
out my instructions | persuaded the
grandmother to leave her grandson's
clothing in the atelier and follow me
to an inn, where | left her to the care
of the buxom hostess.
Two days after the photographer
sent for her and on her arrival handed
her a picture, at sight of which the old
woman began crying freely. my
boy! my own darling boy! 1t is the
clothes | spun every thread Of myself
and his pretty curly hair-but why does
he cover his face so? Won't he look
at me?" she asked, suddenly, looking
uP I1OHl tic JiCluIc LHdt IepItSGHteu d
little boy kneeling in chair with his
folded hands before his face.
"Oh". remarked the photographer,
she is saying his prayers"
''Yes, yes, l know he is praying for
his poor old gra1ndamSeTreea STeaf Oh faars roIied
down her wrinkled checks. ''God and
our lady bless you, messieurs!" said
she, when she grew calmer. II am
now going to pray by my boys grave
until l follow him." and refusing all
aid for her trip home, but pressing her
newly found treasure fast to her brave
old heart, ''Grandmere Jeanneton"
left us.
AS to the picture, the intelligent read
ers of the Free Press have of course all
guessed that the photographer dressed
his Oldest boy in the poor peasant boys
clothes; and who would not practice
such deception to see the tears that
rolled down Grandmere JeannetoD's
aged cheeks.-Detroit Free Press