The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1886-10-07
1lonitomof pilot.
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 7, 1886.
MY CHILD-LOVE.

my Out IEIOugu SOlIIe DIdlIuS tldt Ne1t
in the window seat. But it was such
a wee. sweet face that | could not help
il, but stopped in the street, drew out
my sketch-book from my pocket, and
began to sketch it. The child kept
her position, watching me as if under
a charm With rapid hand | drew
in the surroundings, but when | came
to the sweet face my pencil grew gen
tie. / touched tenderly the soft, round
ed outlines, the little rings of curly
hair. the earnest, wide-open eyes. L
wanted to hnger over each line as IT
made the likeness more perfect, but L
feared she would move and | would
lose it all
She was just the kind of a child that
you want TO take In your arms and
cuddle and talk soft, loving nonsense
TO, while the earnest eyes gaze at You
until you could cry.
1t was a quiet street III the sleepy
old town where [ was spending the
summer, and there We're not many
passers- by; so | sketched until l had
finished my picture as far as was ne
cessary. As I went away kissed my
hand to the child, and she returned it
in a quaint little way that suited her
we'll
| took out a canvas as soon as L
reached my little sanctum, and though
twilight was approaching, spreading
my pallet, | began to paint. 1t was a
pleasant task | had set myself, and |
worked earnestly until the darkness
gathered 81 thickly that l was obliged
to stop.
The next day [ started off with a
quick step that would give me no time
for lettering in case | found the child
at the window
She was there and recognized me,
kissing her hand
As the days passed on the picture
gained upon me so much that [ de
termined 10 make it that much-t talked
and-thought of painting that should
be sent to the academy; SO l worked
hard upon it, seeing the child when
ever | could.
It seemed a little strange to me that
the only sign of life [ could see about
the house was the child at the window
and that she should SO often be there,
evidently watching.
One day [ found that she was still
at the window when went home, 50
IqWetly altered my hours that | might
see her twice a day instead of once.
[ had come to have quite feeling
Of mystery about my child-love that |
would not break in any way by asking
her name or anything about her. All
[ knew wanted to come to me through
her, and [ knew no one IN the town to
whom | would care to mention such
a pleasant, foolish little affection.
Once or twice, passing the house
earlier than usual, I found my lit
tie friend outside, and slipping her
tiny hand in mine she would walk
along by my side a little way, then
turn back. She was as content to ask
10 questions as [ was, and SO our friend
ship progressed. Sometimes in pass
ing [ would put a little bunch of
flowers on the window for her; some
times she would slip a clover blossom
or daisy in my hand. Our advances
on each side were coy and reserved,
for she never spoke, and when | spoke
to her she answered with little nod.
One day she had placed in the win
dow panes her letter cards, with pic
lures on them, three or four in each
pane, DIS high as she could reach. As
/ passed, there was the dear little face
as usual, peeping through the flowers,
and she pointed to the cards in a grave,
amusing way that was irresistably en-
pertaining. That night drew little
picture of her, and put it on the win
dow the next day.
My painting was almost done, and it
was hard to tell which of the two |
loved the best, the child or the picture,
when | was taken sick, and had to stay
IN my bed for three OF four days.
My thoughts dwelt particularly on
the little one, and | missed her more
and more. My landlady was very kind
and attentive to me, but it was the
kindness of charity, not of love, and !
felt very lonely. [ wanted my little
friend, and fancied that if her soft
fingers could touch my hot, aching
head. it would cure me.
With thinking Of il [ grew so anx-
iOus that as the time came around at
which [ usually saw her could remain
IN bed no longer, but arose, and, after
dressing, went to her house When |
came in sight of it | saw a man carry
ing III little coffin. My heart sank
within me, and with a shiver | hasten
ed on. The door was open and en-
tered. BeWildered for a moment,
stood still, not knowing which way to
turn, then went into the back room.
There lay my darling on the bed,
still and white, with few flowers in
her little hand.
20, when did she die?" | cried, I'M
able to keep the tears from my eyes
or voice.
A gentleman whom l had not seen,
sitting on the other side of the bed,
lifted up his haggard face, and with a
desOlate. heart-brOken look. answered
me, hardly showing any surprise at
my question:
Last night at twilight"
Unable to stand any longer, | drop
ped in the chair and watched her with
solemn eyes. Presently the gentle
man again lifted up his head from the
pillow she lay on, and looking at me.
asked:
Are you the new friend she told
me of, of whom she seemed so fond p
[ nodded my head; and presently
when L could speak without crying,
told him of how our friendship had
commenced; how, while painting he1
picture and seeing her so often. had
grown to love her as if she had been
my own flesh and blood
Then he told me how she had. q
| short time before she died. signed tC
him to give her the little picture of the
| Christ-child | had painted for her, and
after kissing it, and making him kiss
it. she had died with it in her hand.
He showed me how she had told