Fort Worth daily gazette. (Fort Worth, Tex.) 1882-1891, 1890-03-30

also shall have all she wishes to paint ,
the most worthy
One night Bridget tried to get him 70
wipe the dishes. ''Niver a bit of work
do ye do; git up here now, an bestir
yerilf Sorry a bit of care that little
harse gifts. Come, now, fur 1 want to
git look at thin wather wild the sunsit
| on 'em.
Woman, 1 will not,' Kissed Jose.
'tOi I'll take q sthick and make ye.
81 do woman IS work. / wash dishais
"Beast, am an Otero. -
"What is that, now?'' Bridget
laughed, but he ran out doors to my
husband.
"That-that has insult me; but that
she cooks Bebe's food would revenge
| myself. -
''Well, Oterer's another wurd fur
lazy, take it, said Bridget. "Like
the flies, 1 s''pose there's use fur the
| loikes of him.
Jose took great interest i'll Jean IS
| fairy tales, and soon invented them him
self, peopling the woods and rocks with
| all manner Of fairy folk.
One July afternoon I sat sketohing
near our crossing place, Bridget asleep
under a tree not far away and Jean
| looking over my shoulder. Jose had
just returned from rowing the professor
across. I was putting in q background
to painting 1 called Jean and Jose
He, in his ragged clothes and bare feet,
the beautiful Spanish face under the
tattered sombrero; Jean at his side,
looking at him with that worshipping
look in her brown eyes. had him show
ing her the lariat, his manner and face
explanatory.
''Senora should have wait till buy
goods clothes-a jacket of velvet. l am
mortify at my rags.
"But she's painted my old calico
gown and my stubby Shoes" said COM
forting Jean, "even that inter hole in
my hat. That's art, Jose. Sunday
clothes isn't artistic, 'cept my blue
velvet one. I'm painted in that to
gramma's. It's nice to have painter
| mamma. Other girls only has foter-
graphs.
They sat under tree and Jose began
to tell her a story about a princess
changed into an eagle and kept on the
gray boulder in the river.
''No boat can reach there, no one
swim-only fairy can save her from
the witches. Her father, the king, is
the big eagle you saw there, her mother
the mother eagle. Sne must stay there
until some one picks out tiny white
feather from back of her head.
"a inter white feader,' echoed Jean
with breathless interest.
Soon Jose, weary of his story, wan
dered off with his lariat, throwing it
with marvellous accuracy, aud Jean
curled herself up for nap. l moved a
little further on for a better light.
The twitter of the birds, the rustic of
the leaves chimed with the rushing of
the river. 1t was such a sunny, bright
afternoon, with light breeze stirring
Harkl what was that? A cry sharp
and terrified; child's cry of distress.
Then my husbands voice in agonized
tones: "Jean, don't jump, don t
jumpi'
1 ran to the river. Bridget, with ashen
face, crashing after me. 'sThe wather
the murtherin' watheri'' I heard her
scream. Shall ever forget that scene !
There beyond our aid, our frantic efforts
was the boat floating down that awful
| current, carrying with it the hope and
joy of our lives. My bonnie, beautiful
Jean, the sunlight glinting on her shin
ing hair, her scared brown eyes, her
pitiful white face. 1 see those out
stretched dimpled hands, the shabby
gown, her poor, little hat floating after
the boat that j ose had partly fastened.
Isaw my husband run along the fur
ther shore, leaping from rock to rock,
with such daring and skill that J. knew
| fear lent him wings. s'Don't leave the
boat he kept calling, and she an
swered:
emo. papa; but help your Jean.
She's so sorry-so sorryl'
Drifting to death before cur eyes, that
brave little figure, that pathetic cry of
Papa, help me? ''-and we so helpless.
She was past the divided channels now
close TO the great gray boulder; beyond
that-ah! there was no beyond for her.
Across the river saw something rise on
the summit of great crag and then fall
forward on its kneee. Mercifully he
could not see her, but I could. I ran
along the shore until the thieket thrust
me back or great boulders interposed.
But Bridget hsiped me on.
The boat was even with the boulder
now and sank on my knees, wringing
my helpless hands. could hear Bridg-
ct great fearless sobs. Papa! Pa
pai' she screamed. Suddenly on the
ridge of land, just at that awful brink