Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1890-06-19

the A room, requested the pupils to
remain after school was dismissed. all
the children in the class wondered
what it could possibly mean. Had
some one done wrong, and was he to
be exposed to his fellow classmates?
Each of the younger boys, with one
accord, began to review his record
mentally, to see if it could be he. Tom
De Peyster, who had pulled the wings
of poor little fly that day, and the
boys who sat near him and had laugh
ed at the antics Of the tortured insect
as it plunged wildly over the desk, be-
gan to look sober. g
Flossy Marx, who sat near the open
window, and had spent good deal of
time scraplng up the white cherry
blossoms that drifted in with every
breath of south wind, and made be-
lieve it was little dolls bed on which
she laid q doll, fashioned from her
tiny lace-trimmed handkerchief looked
very serious, and wondered if Miss
Fairlie had seen her playing after
oil.
But the expression on Miss Fairlie's
face was not one of reproof. "Me.n-
bers of the Loyal Temperance Legion
will please rise to their feet" com
manded the teacher.
Forty oobbing heads-black, brown
white and yellow-were up in a
twinkling, and forty pairs OF eyes
black, blue, brown and gray-any-
thing for the Loyal Temperance
Legion it was sure to be something
good. I
I'VE are going to have one Of our
children's dime sociables for the bene-
fit of the Loyal Temperance Legion,
said Miss Fairlie, 'but I have thought
it best to have something new by way
of variety. We will have rhyming
contest, and the boy or girl who com
poses the best poem OF not less than
eight lines on the subject of temper
ance will receive S. in gold for a
prize. All can compete who wish to
do so, and the prize will be awarded
by a committee of three, chosen from
the audience by the children them
selves. You have just week in which
to prepare your llnes and all who are
willing to compete may raise their
hands. ."r...r.
Up few the hands in every direc-
ton, though when they came to be
counted only twenty-five had the cour-
age to pledge themselves.
If there isn't Trixy Wlnslow,
whispered Fanny Brayton, the largest
girl in school, to her little cousin,
Flossy Marx. Wonder if she is real
ly going to try for the prize, and she
looked severely on poor little Trixy
as she spoke.
But Trixy, bright and jolly, spite
of her rags and patches, and quite un-
conscious of any Intentional offense,
returned Fanny's severe glance with a
gay smile that showed all her white
teeth, and stood, her hands clasped in
q sort of rapture.
Rhyming was Trixy's one gift
The children at home, ragged aud
noisy, might Chamber about her, with
clamorous appeals for this or that, for
Trixy was general nurse to the rollick-
ing brood that filled the house all day
long with turmoil and confusion, but
Trixy, with astubby lead pencil, would
pursue her beloved pastime of scrib-
bling rhymes all over everything on
the most periodical fashion, on mar
gins of newspapers, on the blank
leaves of books, even on bits Of clean
shingles when nothing better offered
itself.
Only one thing could rob Trixy Of
all enjoyment in her rhymes, and that
was to see her father come reeling
} down the lane, his hat askew on his
tumbled, frowsy hair, his eyes bleared
and red, and his words wild and in
coherent. Then she would put down
4 the fat, heavy baby on the floor, and
hide away in the orchard behind the
house or the kitchen garret, anywhere
to escape the sight that filed her with
a deadly terror that she could moi
conquer, and only increased as the
days went by, and the repulsive
spectacle grew more and more fire.
quent.
Her mother, tolling at the sewing
machine cay after day to earn thu
scanty sum that barely kept then
\ from starvation, knew nothing o1
Trixy's scribbling. She was sad
abstracted woman, weighed down BY
the weight of her grief and care,
loving mother, but 30 absorbed in pro
vidlng for the physical needs of bel
family that she had little thought fol
anything else. So, down in the
orchard where the grass grew thick
and tall amid the nodding crimson
clover blossoms, or sitting beside the
creek in the maple woods just beyond
the orchard, with bare feet hanging
in the gurgling stream, Trixy dream
ed her childish dreams, and wove
them full Of her own bright fancies
If could only get the prize fol
mother she thought to herself, then
the baby could have pair of new