Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-06-18

''She Is different," the girl said gravely ''Work Is natural to me. have always been used to it," "And spared her2 Is 1t not so7" She looked at him with grave rebuke. ''She is so young and beautiful. It Is not fit she should do all the rough hard services
 needful here. But she is very good. She would always help me if wished" Knowing very we'll that if you wished 1t ever so much yeu would not say so. How
 unselflsh you are, Gennap She colored hotly at his praise. "No, indeed" she eagerly disclaimed. "I do but little. and I am often discontented
 and rebellious too. It is, as Nita says, Il mo- notonous life and often wearisome." "Where is your sister nowp" "In the fields, think. She told me she
 was going to help there this afternoon"
 Ut Is her turn to sit to me tomorrow" said
 the young painter. "She does not make
 such good model as you, Gonna; she is so
 restless and impatient"
 The girl was silent. His words disturbed
 of the joy they gave.
 He looked at the softened and perplexed
 radiance of her face with certain wonder and reverence in his own. eff there were more women like you in
 the world. Genna,. he said impulsively, 'the
 world would be great deal better than it is" "Oh, hush P she said with evident dis
 tress "do not say such words to me. You
 do not know what am." "No," he said, with involuntary reverence.
 ''I do not know one half your goodness and
 unselflshness; even if did they would only
 shame the idlensss and weakness of my own
 nature."
 "Yoursl' she cried, looking at him with
 wonder and admiration in her eyes. When
 you are so great2"
 "Igreat 1" he laughed mockingly. "f you
 were not so ignorant of the worlds opinions.
 child, you would not apply that word to me- "Does the world not heed you, thenT' "As yet, no. have no gold to buy It's smiles-no friends to influence its favors. For the rest, if possess any gifts, which doubt often, they are not powerful enough to command success, perhaps even to deserve it."
 You are great to me- she said humbly
 looking at him, with q wistful comprehension
 of his words that touched him deeply.
 Because you do not know what greatness
 really is." he answered impatiently. ''The fame, the honor, tho wonder of one's fellow | men,"
 "I should not call that greatness" she said softly as if half ashamed of her own temerity. ''The praise and wonder and admiration oi l men are all very we'll but if one knows one does not deserve them"
 'They are just as sweet perhaps sweeter. {" he answered.
 Mot if man Is true to himself, or to the , gifts which God has placed in his keeping. It Is no true fame, no real greatness, to ob- ! tain what one is not worthy of." The imperfect utterance of this homely and untrained intelligence spoke a truth that struck home to her hearer-that surprised and shamed him at one and the same mo- ment.
 Full well he kn ew that the desire for fam. which filled his breast and animated his of. forts, was not O desire springing from a noble consciousness of his own deserts, but
 rather a feverish longing for the showers of
 gold the homage of fattery, the sweets oi
 adultation, that make up the ephemeral
 triumphs of a lifetime, not the lasting tribute
 that future ages will .pay to the deserts oi genius.
 "You are right, Genna," he said, suddenly.
 "I do not know where you get your wisdom,
 but it is worth all mine gathered from the
 lips of men, from the teaching of cities. We poets and painters are no better than the rest
 of mankind, perhaps worse; we know the truth, yet disguise it. We teach lessons, yet
 never attempt to practice them. We praise
 renunciation, yet banker after the flesh-p pots the sun but our feet remain fixed in the | mire."
 "You should not be so," she said, looking gravely up at the young handsome face be- fore her.
 He bent down and lightly kissed her hand. "Nor would I, dear Genna." he said, with an involuntary soitness in his voice that was not feigned. "Nor would I, if such woman as yourself were beside me always"
 The words frightened, gladdened, bewil- dered her. To be of any use, or of any worth to him That thought was too full
 of ecstasy for aught but silence and solitude. She broke away from his detaining hand, and
 fled to her room and throw herself down, with her heart throbbing as if it would
 burst, her limbs quiverins, her face burning. She was untrained, coarse, ignorant-that she knew-and yet she was of use, of worth
 to him who was to her as king among men. Sue udu lO Suluo except uoT 1nSC1QCtS
 of purity, fidelity, passion; but they were
 instincts both great and lofty, and would
 never lead her astray, even amidst torture of suffering. q fra of temptation. With her brain throbbing, her hea Tt racked by tempest of emotion. she lay where she
 had threw herself, with only the memory of
 his words, the joy of his praise, filling all her senses, excluding all other thoughts. When she at length started to her feet she
 felt ashamed of her forgetiulness of other
 matters, of her neglect of the household du- | ties so long her sole care. She smoothed her
 heavy shining tresses, and went to tn @
 kitchen, and secured tho metal pans, and peeled the vegetables for the soup-pot, and
 set the evening meal ready for the return of
 old Maso and Nita, and all the time her
 heart felt SO light, so happy. her lips were
 singing gay, glad. bird-like snatches of song. | Had he not kissed her, praised her? She 1 who unto herself, and even to others, had so long seemed stupid, coarse, unlovely peasant. The wonder and gladness of the
 thought were always with her, Tightening l her labor, beautifying her homely face mak.