The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1891-01-20

no trees near IL, Wnat would you call 1t,
ma'am?" she asked. ''That one where
there's SO many old people sittin' out to
air themselves mostly"
"Oh, that's the poorhouse, Eliza" l
said.
81 thought as much" said she. "Well,
| we had all ought to be thankful we're
not in it," she sighed, and went her way.
Eliza had savings and had fallen into
very good legacy from an uncle-she
could have no fears of coming to want
| But it was evident that the poorhouse
| people had touched soft spot in her old
heart.
One day she came to me with a curl
Gus look on her face.
''May l take liberty, maam?' she
said. 81 want to make plain cake for
one of them old folks that hasn't tasted
none for years-may II"
"Of course you may, Eliza" said.
Law mel" said Eliza. ''How Mr..
Thomas Trip used to sit and eat my
plain cake Sunday teatime Said twas
better than other folks pound cake, all!
but you can't remember Thomas
Tripp?"
| ooh, indeed do" said l.
"Ah," said Eliza, che was fine man
if he hadn't been thrown under evil in
fluences." And that afternoon she car
ried her plain cake with her when she
went upon her walk.
| A week later, as / was in the garden
picking bouquet, the dog that followed
at my heels began to growl, and some
one uttered a small squeal of terror.
Looking up L saw a forlorn old man
with struggling white beard and very
miserable blue eyes sheltering himself
| in the porch of a little house where
tools, ladders, flower pots and other
things of the sort were stored.
''She said l could CALL" he said.
"Missus Eliza did. Kin I go round to
the kitchen, if it amt presuming? She
said could"
eliza? Oh, yes," I answered, you'll
find her there" And guessed that this
was one of her proteges from the poor
house. They had way of dressing the
unfortunate inmates of their institution
which once seen could not be forgotten.
This particular figure was, however,
unusually forlorn and pathetic. Prob
ably that was the reason why Eliza had
selected him as the object of her bounty.
He came regularly after that, each
Wednesday and Saturday afternoon.
| Cold food was rehashed for him in tempt
ing style. Yesterdays paper was bestow-
ed upon him to read. and the day after
Eliza received her next wages he became
/ ~ bot
| doubt if the poorhouse authorities be-
slowed these Injuries, and used to see
the latter hanging to dry in secret spot
behind the hedge now and then.
Eliza seldom spoke of her protege, and
then alluded to him as 'sthat there un-
fortinite." But he came regularly, and
was gradually spruced up to degree !
should not have believed possible.
Moreover, Eliza lost her grimness and
was more amiable than she had been for
| years. She frequently remarked that
1--WE had ought to make allowances for
everybody" and that mo one knowed
how he'd act under temptation"
She had evidently taken to charitable
views of humanity in her old age, and
her pensioner occupied her time pleasant
ly. But one Sunday evening was sur
prised by hearing murmur of voices
behind the hedge, at the same time de-
tecting the odor of pipe, and peeping
through saw Eliza-our proper and par
ticular Eliza-in her best dress, her
| pockethandkerchief lrimly held in her
folded hands, sitting calm and smiling,
with the arm of the old gentleman from
the poorhouse around her waist. He
| for his part sported blue tie and yell
low linen suit, and had in the button
hole of his stiff1y ironed coat a red &C.
ranium.
reuIred astonlshed, and fancy Eliza
suspected my presence. for she came to
me next day in clean apron with an
evident purpose in her mind. She opened
the subject in these words:
''For a plain person, on in years,
ma'am, would you say if you was asked
that genteel pale brown was a suitable
wedding dress, with say bonnet to
match, and lace neck plaitings?"
Decidedly" said.
'Then think I'll git that, ma'am,"
she said. 81 intend to change my con-
dition."
"For the better, hope, Eliza" said.
"For the better, as fur as worldly
prospects goes, no, ma'am, but as fur as
hearts affection counts, yes, 1 be" said
Eliza. persons of matoor years knows
their own minds. I've thought it over,
I'm fixed in mine"
asked.
"Wel, now he is happy, ma'am,"
Eliza responded with chuckle. "To
see him sit and eat plain cake is sight
for sore eyes"
''1s it-the-the old gentleman from
the faltered.
'Don't be delicate in mentioning it,
ma'am," said Eliza. "The poorhouse-
| yes,m. Misfortunes is not faults, and
ups and downs may happen to every
body. Thomas and me is going to jine
hands and hearts month from Wednes-
| day, which is as soon as the tailor and
dressmaker can be depended on. Per
haps, mum, being SO young at the time,
you don't recognize Thomas Trip, your
| pas late coachman, but he it is, once
young and fourishing and in prosperity,
now aged and misfortunate, but the same
in intillects and destinations"
sis it possible, Eliza!" cried 1. "This
old gentleman from the poorhouse,
Thomas TrippY
"Yes'm," said Eliza. 81 don't deny
he had writ. knowed he wus there
when came up, and my feelings at first
was fearful, but soon I saw that he was
capable of fxin' up, and began to
do it,"
Give noticed the improvement" I said.
cts great" said Eliza, land he is that
penitentl Lofty Lavender turned out as
l knowed she would. Livery stable work
amt like private families. Lofty didn't
get all she wanted, and her temper drove
| Thomas to drink. Then one day horse
run away with him and he was in hos
| pital quite spell, and when he come
out his looks was spilled and his strength
gone, and he couldn't get work, and
Lofty she went back on him and run
away with a man that had been hanging
around her; then Thomas drank worse,
of course. Lofty is dead now and better
off, for she went to the bad altogether"
said Eliza, "and you know what hap
pened to Thomas; but I'm fixin' him up
gradual, and we're thinking of little
shop. Thomas amt so handsome as he
was, of course, but he has improved in
morals and intillects, and he has made
il plain to me that he was tempted. and