The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1890-09-12

Suddenly Teresa bethought herself OF
the old painters poverty. Had not her
husband regretted, when they lived with
their parents, his inability to ever keep a
comrade to dinner? Was not Ferucci
one of those whom he had oftenest
wished to invite? Was he not also the
most lonely and disinherited of them
all?
She hesitated, nevertheless, for to in
vite him required an amount of resolu-
tion difficult for her timidity to over
come. 1t was condescension from all
her habits, from the established custom;
and she feared that the cold supper
would be insufficient, unfit to offer.
after all, thought she, "Orlando has
told me that he lived on SO very little.
We have fish picked in lemon Juice,
meat, olives, cheese and good wine.
This, at any rate, will be better than eat
ing in wine shop at the water side. If
thought that it would please my hus-
| band"-
The minutes were slipping by; she
came to q decision.
| Monsieur Ferucci," said she, enter
ing the studio, twill you give us the
pleasure of sharing our modest meal
without ceremony"
| This effort required as much courage
as many thing of more Importance; she
was rewarded. Without awaiting the re-
ply, Monteforte exclaimed:
''Thats good idea. my little wife! AT
the table we can talk better"
And how the old artist did honor to
the meal! His eyes shone softly; a little
flame animated his wrinkled cheeks.
Teresa selected for him the most delicate
fish and gracefully cared for him.
The meal over, Orlando said:
"Make the coffee in the studio, my
dear. We shall be very comfortable
there, and in that way we shall not need
to go out!'
He remained! Like that, without eff
fort, without annoyance!
Teresa made the coffee aid waited on
them while they talked. She listened in
silence to the unknown language of this
marvellous world of thought, felt herself
in this way nearer her dear husband, be-
came his equal by this sweet comrade-
ship, happy at his dear presence and at
| the things which she could not under
stand except by alteration.
The happiness of the humble, and hap
piness worthy of respect.
But her Orlando knew nothing of all
this. AS we have said, he was as uncon-
scious as q god, but as q merciful god,
who would in any case pour forth happy
intoxication.
The germ of all happiness is within us.
Only the ray of vital sunlight must come
from another.
Teresa, poor child! bethought herself
of a machiavelic ruse.
That evening-during which they had
not disdained her little ignorant person
all ready to learn by listening carefully
that evening became a luminous MEM
DRY; she dreamed of repeating it, once,
often, always!
And noticing that Ferucci was older,
more broken and poorer than ever, she
said to her husband, in a fine impulse of
charity mingled with hope for herself:
Husband of mine. suppose you ask
NJ. Ferucci to take supper with us every
evening. You know-before going to
the cafe. think that would give him
pleasure"
The robust Orlando lifted his wife in
his arms like child.
"Good little one!" he cried, kissing
her. II will tell him this very evening""
And the next day Ferucci, tho bohe.
mian, became sure of his supper every
night, though it was sometimes his only
meal.
But Teresa, too, had the reward of her
effort. Her husband went out no more.
He was SO comfortable ut home!
Teresa busted her fingers with some
lace work while she listened to them.
The two artists sometimes were silent;
then Orlando began love song or bar
carole.
And spring came, and then summer.
In the peace of the evenings, with the
windows open to all the breezes and all
the perfumes, she felt that she was wrap
ped in hope and serenity.
And in the family they feted the adored
despot when they had the daily happi-
ness of hearing Teresa's phrase, as in
variable as the love of her faithful heart:
"Ah! love him so much, my Or
landor' -
Now these We're the light nights of
July, like the days of the northern coun-
tries. The three friends We're in the stu
dio. but not talking.
Teresa was arranging her work, and
Ferucci was vaguely looking at it.
sit makes good effect, that shade of
red mixed with white" said he.
"They are stockings" explained Te-
reSa.
"My dear" said Monteforte, laughing,
"we shall have enough to stock a ware
house when we like. Everybody in the
family knits."
"Oh!' murmured Teresa, in a tone of
reproach, "these stockings are not for
the house. am making dozen pairs
for NJ. Ferucci."
The old painter looked at her in aston
ishment.
"What! these are for me?'
"Yes," said she. "And looki Five
pairs done alreadyl"
"But they are very pretty" said Or
lando. "Take, then, directly those that
are finished"
Teresa proudly wrapped them up in
The Gazzetta di Napoli. Ferucci dreamed
contentedly.
she was thoughtful of him. She had
invited him; since then he, the lonely
one. the son of Annunziatella, the artist