The Roanoke times. [volume] (Roanoke, Va.) 1890-1895, 1893-12-03

was unusually tall. then did the
honors of the place. showed her my
sleeping arrangements, my culinary
implements, everything that thought
would interest her. | offered her thc
armchair, or turned-up bcdstead; but
she preferred 4 stool which | some
times used for my feet, and, sitting
down upon it, looked round her with
obvious admiration.
Should you like to live in n house
like this" asked, encouragingly.
"Shc shook her head with decision
why not?' | demanded.
'Shc did not exactly know why, or,
at any rate, could not explain. Wish
ing to interest and amusc her.
handed her IL portfolio of my sketches,
chiefly in pencil and pen and ink, but
= few in water colors. Her manner
changed at once, and she turned them
over with little cries of delight. 1t
was clear that Matt had a taste for the
beautiful in art, but her chief attrac-
ton was for pictures representing the
human face or figure.
among the sketches she found a
crayon drawing of an antique and
blcar-cycd gentleman in a skull cap,
copied from some Rcmbrandtish pic
turc had seen abroad.
81 know who this isl she exclaimed.
It's William Jones fatherl'
81 assured her on my honor that
William Jones father was not person
ally known to me, but she seemed
little incredulous. Presently she rose
to go.
81 can't stop no longer she ex-
planned. I've got to go to NIonkShurst
for William Jones'.
'Monkshurst? Is that where the
polite Mr.. Monk resides?
Ives; up in the wood she replied,
with a grimace expressive of no little
dislike.
is Mr. Monk friend of yours9'
Her answer was very decided
negative Then, slouching to the
| door, she swung herself down to the
| ground. followed. and stood on the
| threshold, looking down at her.
Don't forget that I'm to paint
your picture said. when will you
come back?'
Tomorrow, maybe
" 1 shall expect you. Good-by!
'Good-by, MASTER she returned,
reaching up to shake hands.
81 watched her as she walked away
towards the road, and noticed that She
took bold strides like boy. On reach
| ing the road she looked back and
| laughed, then she drew herself to-
| gcthcr and began running like young
deer with little or nothing of her for
mcr clunsincss, until she disappeared
among the sand-hills.
"Thursday. -This morning. Just af-
ter breakfast, when / had entered the
caravan to prepare my materials for
the days painting, Tim appeared at
the door with horrid grin
There's young lady asking for
yc, he said.
Il had forgotten for the moment my
appointment of the day before, and,
| when / leaped from the caravan, per-
ccived standing close by, with her back
to me and her face toward the lake,
the figure of a young woman. At first
| failed to identify her, for She wore IL
black hat and white feather, a cloth
| jacket. and dress which almost
reached the ground; but she turned
round as approached her and | rccog
niZcd my new acquaintance.
II cannot say that she was improved
by her change of costume. In the first
place, it made her look several wears
oldcr-in fact. quite young womanly.
In the second place, it was tawdy, not
to say servantgally, if may coin such
an adjective. The dress was of thin
silk, old and fraycd. and looked as if it
had suffered a good deal from expos
urc to the elements. as was indeed
the actual case. The jacket was also
old. and seemed made of the rough
material which is usually cut into sail
ors pea jachcts. which was the case
also. The hat was obviously new, but
just as obviously homemade.
so You have come I said. shaking
hands. Upon my word, didn't know
you
She laughed dclightcdly, and
glanced down ut her attire. which
clearly afforded her the greatest salts
faction
i put on my Sunday Clothes she
exclaimed, cause was going to have
my likeness took. Don't YOU tell Will
liam Jones'
Il promised not to bctray her to that
insutferable nuisance and rcfr;lincd
from informing her that thought her
). A, !, 3,