Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1892-03-04
THE BAD EDITOR MAN.

A woman whose years could not have
Numbered more than twenty-five, and a
little girl, sat IN a library Of small
house in Boston, one morning, late in
spring.
low fire burned in the CRATE, although
the day was not cold. The child, whose
deep violet eyes and cloud Of curly, golden
hair made sweet picture sat on a rug
before the ire, 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
golden curIs.
The little enc was speaking; she was
very small and could not have been more
than five years old, out she spoke very
plainly.
When you sell all those beautiful st9--
ries, LlebChen, she murmured, with a
fond, upward glance, what Jolly time
well 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 or
1t was only few steps from the front
door to the library, but the child was I'M
accountably long II returning.
"FredriCa, called her mother, with an
infection a. near impotence in her voice
as she ever used toward her cherished
child, bring me the mail.
yes, Uramma, I'm coming" But il
was with slow footsteps that the little
maid advanced and reluctantly laid large
heavy envelope in her mother outstretch-
ed hand.
Mrs. LeCharlton's lips quivered as she
broke the seal and took out the contents of
the envelope. It was a MS of some length
and the printed declined with thanks
fiuttered out and fell in the CRATE as she
opened it.
She averted her face from Fredrica's
anxious gaze and the child knew that she
was crying. She sprang into her lap and
put her arms around her neck
Dearest, sweetest, don't cry know
it Is lovely, even if that editor don't. He 5
a bad, cruel man, and | will tell him 50.
fhant ever write any more for him, even
Il he gets down on his knees and begs
for it"
Then the violet eyes overHowed, and
Fredricas sObs came faster and faster.
and the mother forgot her own pain in
soothing the child.
When she was c0mfOrted and calm
again it was time for Mrs. l. Charlton to
90 out; so, :aIIing Mrs. Johnson, the one
help OF the household, to see after the
child, she kl sed her many times anu hur-
RED away, promising to return early.
Agnes 1t Charlton was fashion re
porter for one Of the large daily papers 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 neces-
earies of life while she devoted herself to
congenial literary work, which might not
find ready sale
Death had divorced her from the man
whom she had welded when but eighteen
years old. lie b 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 patrl-
mony ana what her position on the paper
brought, sine supported herself and Fred
RIGA. 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, except when
the latter was ut her work, and sympa-
thized with her in everything. The
stories and sketches Agnes managed to
write "bet Eeen whites" were a source of
delight to the child; the story returned
that morning, ole 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 had gone. Fredrica came to a
sudden bold determination. Running to
q 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 very
quietly. She ran quickly down the steps
and disappeared around the nearest cor
ner.
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 atten-
ton. That looks like the place mamma
told me, she said to herself. stopping a
moment on the edge of the pavement to
spell the name on the sign. 1t was
taborous work, but when finished she
clapped her hands in JOY, ran across the
street. and entered the building.
Erie Boyntun sat writing profoun4
editorial ar his desk in his private OIL, e.
Suddenly the stiffness of the room was
broken bv 4 clear, piping little voice saw
ing: You are bad m an. = very bad
man.
The busy editor dropped his pan full of
ink on the halt finished page. and looked
around In establishment TO find the owner
OF the accusing voice.
Turning in his chair, he saw a dimin.
utiye figure be fore him; a tiny maid with
deep blue eyes, with halo of golden haiI
that curled around her head, her dainty
white frock soiled by the dust of the city
streets, stood gazing up at him
The small hands were claSped and I'm,
clasped neryously as she felt the keer
gaze of the editor upon her. HezcomposuIe
was disturbed and her voice quivered, as
making an effort to be brave, she began
again: Why do you send back my sweet
mammals pretty stories and make hel
cayr She shant never, no, never, sen
you any more, and I've come to tell yor
you re naughty bad mana bad editor
man There
The quiverlng voice had gained
strength, and the violet eyes now looked
dehantly a. the astonisEed Erie
What do you mean, little one?" b,
asked kindly, trying to drew Fredrica to-
wards him.
But she resisted. You made my mann
ma very unhappy, she cried, and she don
ever cry? she said illogiCIlly.
Tell me all about it. dear, m sure n
not the bad, ugly man you re looking for,
he begged, smiling down on fer mother
brav. companion. Drawn irresiStib,y to-
ward him, Fredrica told her story, and be
fore III was finish she WAS IN Frip's EDaa