Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-01-11
4 LONDON STORY.


derry, residing in forlorn-looking, dark
and narrow room that was yet fortunate
enough to boast one small window on the
street. Ay, that window was Milly',
glory; the JOY and delight of her exist
ence. The street was a dingy London
one; hardly thoroughfare, and therefore
not noisy but gay, and even deleetabIy
worldly, in the childs eyes. For she was
not more than a child as yet; though worn
in face and serious-looking, she was young
in years, scarce seventeen surely at most,
while IN character she was very childish
still. London-bred she was shrewd and
quick in many things, keenly alive to the
necessity Of daily work, thoroughly ex-
pectant of the money-loying ways of her
employers, and astute with regard to life
generally; nevertheless a fund Of freshness
and innocence in Miliy's soul was wont
often to burst forth like a sweet pure
spring Of water coming from depths I'M
known, ready to gladden. and solace the
arid hearts Of her neighbors. She was
friendly to those neighbors, who some OF
them befriended her. But she had always
been much alone. She was almost like a
prisoner, this little lame and feeble bodied
seamstress, or rather embroideress, who
spent her uncared-for youth bending over
a frame of needleWork, carrying out the
ideas and designs of others-only OCCASION
ally, as rare luxury, allowed to work her
own viii and her own fancies into the
threads of silk and pieces of linen or satin
goc4 IL o.
will, what shall be said Of girls? Is it
light, ephemeral, like the sea-foam? Or
stronger, like bindweed in gardens? Or
firm and brave and shining, ike the mar
bic that makes the coping-stones Of pal
aces? | know not
NIilly cared little for IL vehicles that
sometin es went rumbling down her street,
nor for the sad-looking, poorly-dressed
pedestrians VINO were the only requenters
of that neighborhood, nor for the loud
voiced vendors Of cheap goods in barrows.
1t was the corner Of gray sky-Occasion-
ally pallid blue-which she liked, and
which (by squeezing well in betwixt a
heavy table and the window-sill, and cram
ing her neck painfully she could see and
greatly enjoy, in contrast to the dingy at
mosphere of her lodging. But what she
loved best Of all TO gaze on from her win
dow was the shop opposite shop so
glorious, so lovely, so comforting and yet
heart-stirring that the child could never
be satiated with looking and wondering
at it.
A fower-shop it was. What are flowers
made Of and how do they come? Ask the
Londoners. How are they gathered aud
brought together in their infinite beauty of
tone and color, in their bFilliancy and
freshness, in their tenderness and sweet
ness? Flowers in pots, flowers in punches,
flowers in sprays, struggling groups Of
flowers, and stray single blooms-all these
filled and decked the window-panes Of the
shop opposite, all these gladdened the
eager beating heart Of the little lame en-
broideress. 1t mattered not, when her
eyes were delighted with this dream of
fairy color, that she was lame; nor did she
remember her many sorrows, when, with
hot trembling hands, she threaded her
needle and piled her loveliest silks, glanc-
ing up now and then to gain from beyond
the narrow street q new draught from her
source of inspiration. Fast few her fin
gers, fast grew the flowers beneath her
touch; ike yet not like the originals !;
pretty, perchance, vet disappointingly diff
ferent to expectation, thought the little
artist, who realized without knowledge Of
the why or whereforel this failure Of a
great intention.
For she wanted to copy nature. Nay,
who that has once seen nature can be read
lily content with counterfeit?
Every now and then, at sparse intervals
of time when she was thoroughly disheart-
ened and disguised with her own handi-
work, Nilly would fetch her old hat and
cape out of the cupboard-her cupboard
where she kept everything, from a piece of
dry bread to an empty backing bottle and
an old Bible-and dress herself laboriously
and crawl over to the opposite side of the
street. and stand there, her face pressed
against the panes Of the fower-shop win
dow, till she could stand upright no more
If the weather were cold, her slender form
shiyered under the threadbare black cape
her face grew more pinched and blue than
before; but she held her place bravely,
studying the form, the make" of the
flowers, till she knew them so well that she
could shut her eyes and reproduce them
on that wonderful canvas which We all
possess as free gift to paint our beautiful
visions upon-the clear white page Of our
own minds.
There was one thing that troubled her;
the flowers died so quickly. Milly had
neither time nor strength 10 pay frequent
visits to the hower.shop, and consequently
never might she hope to see her fayorites
quite close 4 second time. She studied
them. she loved them, she strained her eyes
to see them. Good. But few days later
they were gone from their accustomed
places, and others, new comers-new, grace
full fairy things-were displayed where the
old friends had slowly dropped or had been
hastily removed. That was the way OF the
world, doubtless, but there are some people
who never get used TO the ways Of the
world Milly was haply one Of these.
She had one friend-though ! should
rather say one acquaintance, for he was
scarcely more-and that was the little
crossing the poor boy jim.
Their misfOrtunes we're bond between
them, perhaps; they were both crippled,
though slightly, from infancy. He was
humpbacked She was lame. He was
swift of foot and Of eye, and could pilot
her dexterously over the muddy way, safe
from horses feet or splash Of wheels; she,
the girl, was stronger of hand, brighter OF
face and of courage. She had more than
once taken the bosom from Jim's hand
and swept away the mud for pedestrians
blithely and cheerily, so that she earned
more coppeTs for him in ten minutes than
he knew how to gain In a weary morning
work. His h5rts were so weak and deli
cate; hers, used to activity, were positively
muscular Dy contrast.
There was one drawbaek-he never
seemed to comprehend about the flowers
He would stand on one leg by the brilliant
shop-window staring piteously, taking of
his ragged cap and putting 1t on again
with a gesture Of perplexity, scratching
his head sometimes for greater doubt.
"You see, Jim" Milly whispered to him
one day, 81 love them so-the flowers
They are SO beautiful. so very. very beau.