Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1892-02-26
THE BAD EDITOR-MAN.

cloud OF curly, golden hair made
sweet picture, sat on the rug before
the fire, and leaned against her moth
er's chair. Her head rested III her
mothers lap, and every now and
then, the latter stopped to press
kiss upon the golden curls
The little ohe 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 murnured,
with a fond upward glance. what
iolIy time we'll have The story
about the knight and the lady was
too splendid! At first l WAS atralu
she wouldn't love- here the shriil
whistle of the postman caused the
child to spring up hastily from the
rug, and run to the door.
II was only few steps from the
front door to the library, but the
child was unaccountably long in re-
| turning.
"Fredrica.n called her mother, with
an infection as near lnpatlehce III
| har voice as she ever used toward her
cherished child, Bring he the mall
"Ye.. 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 hard.
Mrs. LeCharlton's lips quiyered as
she broke the seal and took out the
contents of the envelope. 1t was
Ms Of some length, and the printed
IA clined with thanks" fluttered out
and fell in the CRATE as she opened 1t.
She averted her face from FRED
rics.s anxious gaze, and the child
knew she was crying. She sprahS
into her lap and put her arms
sround her meek. Dearest, sweetest
don't cry. know it is lovely, even II
that editor don't. He is bad, cruei
man. and | will tell him so. you
slant av.r write any more for hlln,
even if he gets down on his Knees anu
begs for it.
Then the violet eyes overhoweu,
and Fredrica's sobs came fast ana
faster and the mother forgot Ner
on main in soothing the child.
When she was comforted and calm
ayain il was time for Mrs. LeChar'-
ron 10 20 out; so, calling Mrs. Johh-
son. the one help Of the httle mouse
hold to see after the child, she kissed
her many times and hurried away
promising TO return early.
Agnes LeCharlton was iaSil'o"
reporter for one OF the large daily pa
! pers in the city.
She had aspirations and talents lar
above this work, but that was hei
main dependence; she could not al
ford to give up the position tna'
brought ;he necessaries OF lie WINE
she devoted herself to more congeniai
literary work, which might not ma
ready sale.
Death had divorced her from the
man whom she had welded when out
eighteen years old. lie had proven
unworthy her love, and had k'liru
! fine last remnant Of it ere he dleu.
thrae wears before our story begins.
With what was left OF her patrlmony'
and what her position on the paper
brought, she supported hersei an"
Fredrica. The deep. intense love her
little daughter bore her was the hght
/ OF her life.
Fredrica was old for her years.
| She was her mothers companion
e1cept when the latter was at work.
and sympathizad with her IN every
thing, The stories and sketches
Agnes managed to write between
whiles" were a source Of delight 10
the children; the story returned 'hat
morning. one that really betrayed
talent was her favorite. No wonder
the little heart swelled with indlgna-
tion at the man who had rejected
it!
As she thought about it after her
mother was gone, Fredrica came 10
! suddeu. bold determination. Run
ming 70 a closet, she took down her
hat. Going to the door and opening
il softly. lest Mrs. johnson should
hear and stop her, she stepped OUT
and closed the door very quietly. She
ran quickly down the steps and dis
appeared around the nearest corner.
Almost miraculously the child was
saved from accident and pursued her
way along the busy streets, until
large sign OH building opposite her
attracted her attention. That looks
like the place mamma told me, she
said to herself, stopping moment Oh
the edge of the pavement to spell the
name on the sign. 1t was laoorious
work. but when finished she clapped
her hands in joy, ran across the street,
and entered the building.
Eric Boynton sat writing a pro-
found editorial at his desk in his pri-
vate Office. Suddenly the stiffness Of
the room was broken by clear. pip
ing little voice saying: You are