Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1888-11-19

back on the plate. | wished L had
eaten it. The angry feelings died
away from my heart. Poor mother
She had tried so hard to please me.
went upstairs for my hat, hesitating
between that and my Sunday bonnet
with pink flowers inside. It was hard
to give up hope. At last / chose the
hat, and came softly down the stairs
and out of the house, The fresh air
brought better thoughts, and before
the corner was turned had made up
my mind. Up the street little way
was the shoe store, with the sign of
! a gilt boot. At the counter [ asked
for children's shoes, stout, pegged
and copper-toed.
"Going to Dickens?" asked the
polite young man.
| was afraid l was. in a certain
sense, but said, ssNo, could not get
a tcket.'.
9Ihey say there will be lot dis
posed of at the box-office 10 night,
spectators couldn't dispose of 'em
after ALL"
| was measuring the shoes with my
eye; no need to do more for the lit
tie feet / dressed and undressed so
often. The pair dropped from my
hand. What if / said they would
not suit, or I'd call again some other
day? | put my hand in my pocket
aud felt the old portmonnaie the
ragged bill was still inside. Then |
remembered mothers sighs, and said
nothing. / am so glad now, though
| am afraid it was reluctant offer
ing, after all. | chose the shoes and
gave him the bill, which he threw
carelessly into the money drawer. All,
well, he did not know.
Then | walked slowly up the street
past the opera-house. The people
were crowding in, old and young !;
some knew. | caught glimpse of
our poet, his wife and sweet-faced
girl. 1t is something to know his
face even. And there was Lily and
Joe and everybody else, it seemed to
me. There were silks and soft white
shawls. | thought of my Sunday
bonnet with the pink flowers inside,
and hugged the shoes tight while
hurried home.
AS l opened the sitting-roOm door,
little Tins cough struck my ear
sharp and shrill, as if he were cough
inc into a DELL The worn-out shoes
were steaming under the stove, and
his little wet, stained stockings hung
over a chair to dry. | said nothing,
only united the parcel and set the
copper toes where the first rays of
the morning sun would strike them,
close by the head of the bed. Moth
er looked up into my face as | came
into the sitting-rOom, with her eyes
full of tears. She knew it all.
"Now," said /, with cheerfulness
was only beginning to feel, for the
glare of the lights, the flash of silver
and jewelry, and the sound of happy
voices were fresh in my mind, "we
will have Dickens too" | took out
a card photograph of him, with his
hand thrust into the pocket of his
embroidered coat,a photograph which
Joe had given Dilly,and stood it upon
the table before us. Then | brought
out torn copy of Pickwicl1 from
among fathers old books, and turned
over the leaves until found the" trial
scene"
''But you mustn't sew, said l,
and you must be dressed in your best.
He has come a long way, and We'll
honor him with our best"
UuIGN Il NHlbG huIt SiidWl ONCl
her faded mousselains de laine dress,
and smoothing her hair-she has soft
pretty hair-covered it with her last
summers bonnet. 1t was crumpled
and yellow, but rather more dressy
than the old brown velvet. | should
have insisted upon gloves, but her
best were brown wooden, and as that
would never do, never we overlooked
the deficiency, and she tried to cover
the pricked, toil-worn fingers with
the ends of the shawl, Then 1 be-
gan. | think for time | out-Dich-
ensed Dickens, until, looking upon
my audience for a response, l met
mothers pitying eyes, and then
Well it was poor, little, dingy
room at best, which even our kerosene
lamp and a frumpish last summers
bonnet could not enliven. could not
make it the opera-house. | laid down
my work and went out crying, and
we did not make believe any more.
"You had better go to bed, DEAR"
said mother, "you'll feel better in
the morning." And when took the
bonnet from her head,-
"You've been a good girl" That
was worse than all, for did not de-
serve it. When | awoke in the morn
ing it was showing furiously. The
storm kept Mr.. Dickens in town over
Sunday, you know, and that is how |
CHANGED to see him, for | am coming
to it at last. 1t was Saturday and
there was no school. Tim trotted
about the house, hoarse, but trium-
phant in his new shoes, and | was
happier than / can tell. Even when
Dilly braved the storm to come and
talk it over, / was not in the least
envious or unhappy. She had not
much to tell of Dickens or his read
ing, but more of who were there and
L. u ri