The Globe-republican., 1892-09-02
CHAPTER ].
ny sIsTER-OH. MY SISTER

ny SISTEh-OH. MY SISTER
On fine Saturday evening in Jul.
there are never many readers in the Free
Library. The old men who come il
winter, because the place is warm anC
light and quiet, are now walking up anC
down the pavement, where the sunshine
warns them through and through anC
chases away their rheumatic pains. The
younger men are all afield, playing
cricket, toating, cycling, rambling afOOt
thinking Of nothing but the delights OF
fresh air, and rejoicing in their youth
What have the young to do with a
musty, dusty library on a summer even
ings A library is cemetery. Books
are mostly the tombs of dead mems
brains. Young folk are much better
occupied with reading each other
thoughts than with walking among the
tOmbs, SO that the library is almost
empty.
1t was about seven o'clock At the
window into which the sun would have
poured its wealth Of heat and light
which it gives to the tombs Of the dead
as well as to the fields and flowers Of
the living-a brown blind was hauled
down, leaving long. narrow line. The
sun, pertinaciOus in its attempt to reach
everything, took advantage of the line
to make thin plate or lamina of bright
sunshine, across which the merry notes
danced with their usual cheerfulness
There was a smell of leather bindings;
the tables were covered with magazines
and papers; few readers sat at the ia
bles. But l think that knowledge was
not greatly advanced. One or two of
them slept; one or two looked as if their
thoughts were elsewhere - with the
brook babbling over the shadows, with
the village cronies gathered under the
lean-to beside the ale-house. One of
them, gaunt, hollow-eyed, hungry, sat
with an illustrated paper before him.
But he never turned over a leaf, and he
looked not at the pictures. The libra
rian watched that man suspiciOus.y He
did not like the look in that mans eyes.
1t meant rebellion; it meant a wicked
spirit of discomfort with the social order
which left him starving while it made
his neighbor fat, and refused him work
while it suffered his neighbOr to live in
comfort on the work of other men. Only
a year or two ago-Or it might be ten.
because to one who is librarian years
have no significance in connection with
numbers-a man had come into the
place with just such look in his eyes.
That man asked for a book, sat down,
and proceeded to tear away its bindings
and to wrench its sheets asunder Then
he gave himself up to the librarian with
the greatest gentleness and politeness,
explaining that liberty without crust
was really mockery, and that in future
he meant to be maintained by his coun-
try, and that when he had served his
time for the destruction of the book, he
meant to smash a lamp, and, that
atOned for. to steal stretcher from a
police station, and SO on, getting per-
haps longer sentences, until he should
be called to his reward. They walked
off together to the nearest police station
like two old friends, and parted with
hearty grasp after the sergeant had
noted the case.
Another man there was whom the
librarian regarded with eyes of compass
sion. He dragged himself slowly and
YEARLY up the stairs, threw himself
upon a seat next the wall, and there
fore provided with a back, took up q
paper. sighed, and instantly fell fast
asleep. This sort the librarian knew
very well-he was the clerk out OF work.