The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1892-02-25
THE BAD EDITOR Nan.

| house III Boston one morning late Il
spring.
4 low fire burned in the CRATE, al
though the day was not cold. The
child, whose deep violet eyes and CLOUD
Of curly, golden hair made a sweet
| picture, sat on rug before the fire
and leaned against her mothers chair
Her head rested in her mothers lap
and every now and then, the latter
stopped to press a kiss upon the gold
en- curls.
The little one was speaking; she
was very small and could not have
been more than five years old, but she
spoke very plainly.
when you sell all those beautiful
stories, Liebchen,' she murmured.
with fond upward glance, what a
jolly time we'll have. The story
about the knight and the lady was too
splendid. At first ] was afraid she
wouldn't love- here the shrill whistle
Of the postman caused the child to
spring up hastily from the rug, and
run to the door.
1t was only few steps from the
front door to the library, but the child
was unaccountably long in returning
''Fredrica," called her mother, with
an infection as near impatience in her
voice as she ever used toward her
cherished child, Bring me the mail. :"
Yes mamma, I'm coming" But il
was with slow footsteps that the little
maid advanced and reluctantly laid a
large heavy envelope in her mothers
| outstretched hand.
Mrs. LeCharlton's lips quiyered as
She broke the seal and took out the
contents of the envelope 1t was a
Ms Of some length, and the printed
declined with thanks" futtered olt
and fell III the CRATE us she opened il.
She averted her face from t'redrico's :
anxious gaze, and the child knew she
was crying. She sprang into her lap
and put h9r arms around her neck
Dearest. sweetest. don cry. [ know
it is lovely, even if that editor don't
He is bad cruel man. and [ will tell
him so, You shant ever write any
more for him, even if he gets down
on his knees and begs for it
Then the violet eyes overfowed,
and Fredrica's sobs came fast and
faster and the mother forgot her own
pain III soothing the child
When she was comforted and calm
again it was time for Mrs. LeCharl-
ton to go out;so, calling Mrs. johnson.
the one help of the little household,
to see after the child, she kissed her
many times and hurried away, prom
ising to return early.
Agnes LeCharlton was a fashion re-
porter for one Of the large daily pa
pers IN the city.
She had aspirations and talents far
above this work, but that was her
main dependence; she could not afford
to give up the position that brought
the necessarie5 of life while she de
voted herself to more congenial liter
airy work. which might not find a
ready sale.
Death had divorced her from the
man whom she had welded when but
eighteen years Old He had proven
unworthy her love, and had killed the
last remnant of it ere he died, three
years before our story begins. With
what was left Of her patrimony, and
what her position on the paper
brought, she supported herself and
Fredrica. The deep, intense love her
little daughter bore her was the light
of her life
Fredrica was old for her years.
| She was her mothers companion, ex
cept when the latter was at her work,
and sympathized with her in every
thing The stories and Sketches
Agnes managed to write "between
whiles" were a source of delight to the
child; the story returned that morning,
one that really betrayed talent, was
her favorite No wonder the little
heart swelled with indignation at the
man who had rejected it.
As she thought about it after her
mother was gone. Fredrica came to a
sudden, bold determination Running
to a closet, she took down her hat.
| Going to the door and opening it
softly, lest Mrs. johnson should hear
and stop her. she stepped out and
closed the door quietly. She ran
quickly down the steps and disappear
Almost miraculously the child was
saved from accident and pursued her
way along the busy streets, until
large sign on a building opposite her
| attracted her attention. That looks
| like the place mamma told me" She
said 70 herself. stopping moment on
the edge of the pavement to spell the
name on the sign. 1t was la5orious
work, but when finished she clapped
her hands III JOY. ran across the street,
and entered the building.
Erie B0ynton sat writing a profound
editorial at his desk in his private
office. Suddenly the stiffness Of the
room was broken by a clear. piping
little voice saying: You are Il bad
man. \ reTy bad man.
The busy editor dropped his pen
full of ink on the half finished page,
and looked around in astonishment to
find the owner Of the accusing voice.
Turning in his chair. he saw a di-
minutive figure before him: a tiny
maid with deep blue eyes. with halo
of golden hair that curled around her
head. her dainty white frock soiled by
the dust of the city streets. stood gaz-
ing up at him.
The small hands were clasped and
unclasped nervonsly as she felt the
| keen gaze of the editor upon her
Her composure was disturbed and hel
voice quivered. as. making an effort tC
be brave, she began again; Why dc
you send back my sweet mamma's
| nrpttN stories and make her crN2 She