The Jersey City news. (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1889-1906, 1891-11-24
ETTA'S COURTSHIP.
A Norwegian Romance More Grave
Than Gay.

above the average man.
Slight: No. That is too poetical a
word to be in any way applied to the
heroine of this little tale, whose lean,
scrawny figure looked for all the world
like a series of badly connected angles,
and whose STOPPING shoulders and mar
row chest were clad in a faded black
jacket.
This garment, with it's rusty surface
and pulled seams, suited we'll the sad
looking woman into whose dreary life
came one little bit of color, which l shall
try to describe.
Her face correspondent well with the
rest of her appearance, for it was faded
and worn, and surrounded by a fringe OF
straight, dusty brown hair, pulled tight
ly back from the sallow, weary face,
whose M redeeming feature was the
eyes-dark gray, and oh. SO sad!
She had that expression OF wistful
waiting sometimes seen in the eyes of a
faithful dog who has lost his master, and
seems ever to wait, always patiently, and
to watch ever expectantly for the beloved
face.
She was a Norwegian, named Eta,
and lived in our family as cook for near
ly a year.
Weeks passed by and early autumn,
which had brought her to us, shed leafy
tears, and departed suddenly, leaving
us all u~nprepared for winters advent,
which announced itself in a cold, dismal
rain.
Up to this time Eta had never re-
ceived a letter or any communication
from the ontside world. She never left
the house, and scorned the idea of an
afternoon out. However, on this drizzly
day, there was a surprise, a great sur
prise, for Eta was discovered holding
IN open letter tightly grasped in one
hand. But when she found herself re-
garded, it was hastily thrust into a
voluminous pocket in her skirt.
Now this pocket was a marvel in it
self, as it could hold myriads Of things.
Why, n day I saw her produce a pill
low case, a workbox, scissors and a brass
thimble at one fell swoop; at another
time-but I am wandering far away
from the letter and its consequences.
The mysterious epistle was seen sew
eral times again, and thef glimpses
showed it to be worn and rumpled with
much reading. No doubt it would have
been read and reread out of existence
had not another, fresh and clean, re-
placed the first.
This I took from the postman, and SO
had a chance to see the uneven, char
acterless writing, the Christiania post
mark and Norwegian stamp. 1t was
followed a week later by another, then
another.
1 became interested, for I felt l was On
the track of d real, live romance.
The pale, tired face seemed to grow
brighter in those days, and for the first
time Eta made frequent trips to the
city, returning laden with bundles of
every size and description. All her spare
time was now employed in sewing. Cali
Goes and prints were made and laid
aside. For some reason or other Eta
was replenishing her clean but scant and
somewhat dilapidated wardrobe.
Another link in the chain! thought l,
and began to imagine the arrival of a
stalwart Norwegian lover left in Nor
way two years before, when she had
come to try her fortune in America.
Letters anne more frequently, and
Eta grew correspondingly brighter and
cheerier-she even seemed to try to hold
herself more erectly, for often the bent
shoulders were suddenly Strengthened as
she went about her work. Her voice,
formerly so tired and hopeless, took on a
more cheerful tone.
Not the least remarkable of Etta's
peculiarities was her manner of speak
ing; slowly and lispingly came the
broken English, which was at first so
hard to understand. Such q sad mix
ture of her mother tongue and this new,
strange language, such verbal combina-
tions and misplaced plurals were never
heard before.
About this time I mentioned my ro-
mantle notions to my mother, but she
only laughed, being entirely unable to
connect Etta's sad appearance with a
lover, Norwegian or OF any other land.
She called me a romancer, but | still felt
sure l was right.
CcOuCl tuhu CApcClcO CdLlc 1uC Cud1CC
to vindicate myself, for the next day as
! sat idly by the window, watching the
passers by, my attention was attracted
by a queer little figure way down the
street, which came on toward the house
at a rafting pace, gayly swinging a huge
cane and putting vigorously at a mann
moth cigar. At q distance it wa i'm
possible to tell whether he was boy or
man, such g comical, little figure he was,
dressed in q snuff colored suit, with a
rose in his buttonhole and the tiniest
derby imaginable tilted over one ear.
Gazing laughingly at him, I was just
telling my mother to look at that absurd
little creature, when what was our sur
prise 20 see Eta, the staid, the quiet,
dash wildly across the lawn, rush down
to the gate, and throwing her arms
about the little fellows neck kiss him
first on one cheek and then on the other.
The man, after a few quiet but ear
nest struggles, managed to free himself
from her long, thin arms, and looked up
into her face, so high above him, with
pleasure surely, but without a trace of
loverlike ardor.
On closer inspection it proved to be
such a funny, rosy, childish face that it
wa impossible to look at it without