New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1885-11-11
LITTLE MRS. HAYNES"
Mrs. Brown.
By MARGARET VERNE.

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By MARGARET VERNE.
It was an eventful era in my young
life when my father announced his in
tention of renting the light, airy,
southern chamber of our old brown
house to young portrait-painter
who was about becoming a resident in
our village during a few weeks Of the
summer. Never before had an event
SO stirring and excitingin it's tendency
broken over the monotony OF my ex-
istence. Never before had my childish
imagination been furnished with so
wide field OF. action or my little
heart throbbed and palpitated with
such strange mixture of wonder and
delight. A portrait painter under our
own brown roof, within the walls of
my own home-what q rare chancefo
my inquisitive eyes to draw in a new
fund Of knowledge! What an object
Of envy I should be to my little mates,
and how daintily would mete out to
them what I learned from day to day
of the wondrous man of the wondrous
employment.
/ had heard Of portrait-painters be-
fore. it is true, but only as / had
heard and read of fairies in my little
story-books, or listened to my father
as he talked of kings and courtiers in
the great world affair off. Upon our
parlor walls from my earliest remem-
brance had hung portraits of my
grandfathers and grandmothers, but
I had no idea how their faces came
stamped upon the dark canvas, or
when or by whom their shadows had
been fixed within the heavy gilt frames.
Like the trees that waved by the
door, and the lilacs that blossomel
every year by the old gate, they had
W I1lc always DtcH So.
But now my eyes were to rest upon
the tace of one whose existence had
been like a myth, a fable! What a
wonderful parsonage he would be!
What a dark vlsage he would boast,
and what monstrous, giant-like
form! How entirely unlike every per-
son that l had ever seen or known
would be this portrait painter.
While these speculations were at
their height in my busy brain, the hero
made his appearance, scattering them
mercilessly to the four winds. There.
was nothing giantlikei in the 1.-the grace
tul figure that sprang from the village
coach, OF dark in the pleasant, boyish
lace, shaded by soft masses OF brown
hair, and lit up by a merry pair OF
blue eyes, running over with mirth
and mischief. His name, too, quite
like the generality of names, had
nothing wonderful OF striking by
which to characterize it. He
was simply Frank Haynes, nothing
more or less, and when, with a pleas
ant, easy grace, he sought to win my
childish favor I>should have been
quite at home had not the stunning
knowledge OF his art overpowered me.
1t was a strange freak for child of
ten summers, but somehow it crept
into my baby brain that must not
like him, although the while, in spite
Of myself, preference for his opinions,
ways and looks, grew up strong with
in me. If he spoke to me when any
one was observing him / was silent
and shrank away from him timidly,
but when we were alone chatted and
;hirruped like a young robin. Think
he must have noticed this, ard from
it taken into his head the boyish idea
Of teasing me.
To him, he said, was little Phebe
Lester no longer, "now that he knew
how much feared for him. For the
future he should call me Mrs. Haynes
little Mrs. Haynes and should be
very angry if everybody in the house
did not follow his example. must
not ever have any little beaux among
che schoolboys now that my name was
changed; but / must be prim and prop
sr like any married woman who was
faithful to her husband.
"Would I agree to this?" he asked.
! glanced up from the hem OF my
white muslin apron, which had been
visiting about my fingers, to meet my
mothers eyefxed laughingly upon my
lace. In moment my lips were closed
resolutely, while he, seeing at once the
cause of my silence, reached out Of the
window and plucked rose from g.
running vine that crept nearly to the
messy caves.
"Little Mrs. Haynes must wear the
rose, he said. ut would never do
Tor her to toss her head and throw his
gifts carelessly by. All women wore
lowers which their husbands gave
them. Would I wear the rose?''
glanced about the room again.
Ny mother was nowhere to be SEEM