Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1891-04-17

She smothered the pang in her heart
as she hurried toward the house in the
cleaning. There was little now to pre-
vent her making the attempt at which
she felt SO sure of succeeding. Phil
would have no chance to object. The
indulgent, unworldly old aunt with
whom the orphan girl lived and who
would have thought it nearly the correct
thing and made but feeble objection if
jamie had proposed an excursion to
Peru. and did not put veto upon the
proposition that she but half understood.
And, two days later, when Phil Atchi-
son, with very transparent excuse upon
his lips and hope for reconciliation in
his heart, called at the little cottage in
the lilac tangles, jamie had gone to make
her attempt.
'fhen Phil was angry in good earnest
and inquired no more. Why what right
had she to- Then he remembered
that she was no longer his promised
wife and went back to bis inventing, re-
solved fiercely to mind his own business
and smother his feelings, and discour
aging job enough he found 1t.
Janie's idea of the advantage offered
by the city had been gathered from vari-
Gus unreliable sources, and her going
was cheered by the fancy that fortunes
there were to be had almost for the TAX
ing. She could paint little-butter-
cups and violets on saucers and placques
and the like-and fancied, poor child,
that she was destined, if not for a great
artist, to at least make something of a
name and fame for herself.
Her pretty little daubs would not sell.
But jamie, though sorely disappointed,
was not conquered, and she set bravely
to work and painted other pretty little
daubs, which did scarcely better than
their predecessors. One sold, after sever
al days, and the little girl chirked up
wonderfully for time. 1t was slower
work than she had anticipated, but with
perseverance she would win success after
awhile Rome was not built in day.
And so she struggled on. Economize
as one will, board and other necessities
will eat up ones savings and jamie saw
the little store of money she had brought
with her decreasing day by day. And
still the little daubs did not sell.
Then, when at last she knew not which
way to turn, she secured chance to color
photographs for miserable pittance per
dozen.
Though she worked, poor child, to the
limit of her endurance, day after day,
till she grew wan, hollow-eyed and al
ways weary, the scanty pay was scarce
sufficient to keep body and soul together.
This was very far from achieving the
fame and fortune she had so fondly ex-
pected would be here. And there seemed
nothing brighter to which she could look
forward.
In fearful retrospection, in the solitude
of her barren, cherries room, the quiet
little village she had left seemed no
longer mean and commonplace, but the
brightest spot on earth. And the quiet
little home that poor Phil had planned
for her seemed in fancy almost like Para
disc. And Phil-he was no longer the
commonplace clod to which her inspira-
ton had likened him, but his talents the
brightest, his honest face the dearest and
his love the most desirable in the whole
wide world.
How she hated the inspiration that had
tempted her to leave them and to so
wrong Phil, dear old Phil Oh, If
she could only-but she was proud,
this little jamie, and she could not go
back to them. And so the days dragged
drearily on.
Then, even the pitiful boon of the
photograph coloring was denied her, and
she could find nothing to do even to earn
the few dimes necessary to keep life in
her weary little body. Her scanty store
of pennies went one by one and no more
were added to them. She had no recon-
mendations, no influence, that might
have secured her situation. Nobody
knew, nobody cared for the poor little
struggling, despairing child. The rent
of her dismal little room came due and
there was no way of paying it. In a
day or two she must give it up, and
then
Day after day she had sought for some
thing to do, be the reward ever so small,
that would add to the pitiful remnant of
her fast disappearing store of dimes and
pennies-anything that was honorable,
no matter how lily paid. But nobody
wanted her, and worn, weary, heart
sick, discouraged, she dragged herself
back each time to her cheerless room,
to sob herself supperless to unrefreshing
sleep.
She told herself that even Phil, dear
old Phil, would scarcely have known her
now. The bloom was gone from her
face, which had grown very thin and
white, and the dainty hands that he had
so often held in his strong, warm ones
were growing more slender aud like lit
tie claws.
Presently came the day when even
that miserable existence could 60 on no
longer On the morrow she must leave
the room for which she could no longer
pay. She had cried herself supperless
to sleep the night before. The last of
the pennies, only half dozen of them,
purchased the mite that made her break
fast. Then she set out bravely to make
one more hopelese attempt in the battle