Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1890-12-11

~ NASSAiChb "a oullp person deserved TO
De treated. The three girls had be-
come fast friends. But then Emily
Phillips was only fifteen and Frances
out eighteen months her senior.
Many an evening when mamma was
plunging" at some swell affair in the
West End. the three girls had sat
warming their toes at the fire in the
big drawing-room, whilst Hannah had
told them weird stories of the great
East End. which the Phillips girls had
never been allowed to see. and which to
them was only a land of poor people,
dirt, toll and general misery
There's many warm heart as beats
beneath the rags of a beggar, young
ladies'" had been one of Hannahs
favorite remarks, and though in time
she came to express herself somewhat
more m accordance with the rules of
Mr. Lindley Murray. yet the sentiment
remained the same with her to the end.
Truly, notwithstanding all the late
advantages, Hannah was yet child of
the people.
How she had missed the glitter and
glare of the Whitechapel Road. the
Saturday night at the Music Hall, the
| delicious supper OF coppery-tasting
British oysters. taken standing in the
rain after midnight, whilst the air
sounded with the myriad cries of the
street vendors, none but she could tell.
Had she been made OF less pliable
material she must have been broken in
the process of becoming lady"
Dick Fortescue, the costermonger,
whose attentions had at first been con-
fined to invitations to the pit of the
Vic" and trips to the Surrey Gardens,
the place according to the advertise
ments. Ito spend happy day." had
missed her more than any one.
1t was known in the select circles of
| Petticoat Lane that he had written
several frantic epistles to Hannah
since her transmutation to higher
| spheres; that receiving but little en-
| courage ment. he had one evening sworn
over pot of porter in the presence of
| some OF his pals that he would have
| Hannah yet
| ''Ef she has set 'er mind on bein' a
| lady, the only way to get 'er is to be a
gentleman" he had remarked, AN I'm
! goin' to set about it right away"
| "How's you goin' ter do it, Dicl1?'' in
quired skeptical Mr. Barney Fisher.
I'm going to give up my barrer, an
sell the moke," replied Dick, steadfast-
| ly. No, thank yer. l don't wan no
more porter"
| well, it amt goin' to waste, you
can bet on that" remarked Mr.. Fisher,
and he put it where it would do the
most good.
Dick kept his word. lie sold his
costermonger's barrow and his donkey
| shedding a few tears, it is true, over
| parting with the latter.
And then the Whitechapel Road and
Petticoat Lane knew him no more.
Some said he had gone to America;
others that he had jumped off South
wark bridge; still others that he had
skipped as a sailor and gone to Mel
| bourne to seek his fortune.
Dick had done nothing of the kind.
In the daytime he was at work in the
| city of which more hereafter In the
evenings he went to night-school.
Three months had elapsed since Han
nah's departure from Lansdowne place,
when little pink note found its way to
Mrs Phillips breakfast-plate, contain
! ing a nicely-worded invitation from her
former maid to dine with herself and
husband. 1t bore the address: The
q
?. S. saying: 1T would be delightful
| if you could all come early. We can
have a cup of tea and chat before din
| ner"
Four o'clock, two days later found
all three ladies seated in Hannah's
drawing-room. The honest little
| woman's face was aglow with pleas
ure as she entertained her former mis-
/ I'd loIf
she still persiste in calling them.
| 1t was a wet, dismal afternoon in No
vember. the dreariest month in all the
dreary London calendar, where three
days of sunshine constitute a summer,
and it always rains more or less every
| day Of the week.
| How coZy the fire was, how excellent
! the tea, and Hannah, how improved.
Quite at her ease, she led them through
her house and showed them every thing.
| No, not every thing. The door of one
room alone she did not open.
That is my husbands den," she said.
Nobody ever enters it except him
self"
They were back again in the drawing
room. It was close on seven o'clock.
Frances was f1attening her nose against
| the window-pane and looking out upon
the neatlykept garden in front Of the
house. Mrs Phillips, Emily and Han
nah were engaged with a portfolio of
rawings-Hannah's own. One in par
| ticular attracted their attention. 1t was
portrait of an old beggar on crutches.
A roguish smile was on his face as he
| stood, despite his rags, sturdy. indie
pendent figure, admirably outlined in
| black and white. He was apparently
about fifty years Of age.
Underneath, strangely enough, as if
in fanciful recollection of her favorite
saying, Hannah had written:
There's many warm heart that
| beats beneath the rags of beggar."
Hannah's eyes were filled with unbid-
den tears as she gazed upon her own
handiwork.
That is my favorite drawing" she
said. prof. Dubarry says it's my mas
| terpiece.''
Its very we'll DONE" assented Mrs.
| Phillips. Though it is the portrait of
a beggar, you have succeeded in making
| it attractive. There is absolutely moth
| rapulSivo III Art has ideal