The Roanoke times. [volume] (Roanoke, Va.) 1890-1895, 1893-12-10
a TALE OF q CARAVAN.
By ROBERT BUCHANAN.
Continued from last Wednrs day.)
CHAPTER VI

Ground for her Sunday clothes. which
on retiring to rest she had carefully
placed beside her bed They were
gone, and in their place lay the habili-
ments she was accustomed to wear on
her cratic pilgrimages every day.
Her face grew cloudy; she hunted all
round the chamber. but, finding moth
Ing that She sought, she was compelled
to array herself as she best could.
William JONES'" she said, when she
sat with that worthy at hcrmit's
breakfast of dry bread and whey,
"wherc's my Sunday clothcs?"
William Jones fidgeted n bit, then he
said:
They're put where you won't find
'em. Look We, now, Matt, you'd best
be after dom summat useful than run
min about after n painter chap. was
down on the shore this morning, and
seen heaps o wood-you'd best get
some of it afore night!''
Matt gave n snort, but said nothing
few minutes after her benign pro-
tector left the cottage, and Il little af-
ter he had disappeared Matt issued
forth: but instead of beating the shore
for fircwood, as she had been told to
do, she ran across the fields to the
painter.
She found him already established at
his work The fact was that he had
been FOR some time strolling about
with his hands in his pockets and scan
ming the prospect on every side for Il
sight of her Having got tired of this
characteristic occupation, he at length
sat down and began to put few
touches to the portrait. Seeing that
he was unconscious of her approach
Matt crcpt up quietly behind him and
took peep at the picture.
Her black eyes dilated with pleasure.
''Oh. amt it beautiful.' she OK
claimed
so YOU have come at last" said
Brinkley. quietly, going OH with his
painting.
She made no movement and no further
sound. so he continued:
Perhaps, now You have come. you'll
be good enough to step round. that |
may continue my work | am longing
to refresh my memory with IL sight of
your face, Matt"
''Well, You can't" said Matt: they're
locked up"
"Eh what's locked up-my mcmory
or your facc?"
1t was clear Matt could not apprc-
ciatc banter. She saw him smile and
guessed that he was laughing at her,
and her lace grew blacl, and mutinous.
She would have skunk OFT, but his voice
stopped her
Come here. Matt" he said. Don't
be silly, child: tell me whats, the mat,
ter, and-why, what has become of
your resplendent raimcnt--your COR
geous Sunday clothes?"
Didn't tell you? They're locked
up"
''Indeed?"
YES. William Jones done it cause
he told him. lie don't want mo to
come here and be took"
oh! Tell you what ii is Matt we
will have our own way in spite of
them. For the present this picture
shall he put aside. If in Il day or so
you can again don your Sunday raj
ment, and sit to me again in thcm-if
not, | dare say Shall be able to finish
the dress from memory. That port .lit
shall give to you. In the mean time,
rs want one for myself, will paint
you as von are. DO You approvc?"
Matt nodded her head vigorously
Very we'll" said Brinklcy Then
we will get on
He removed from his easel and care
fully covered the portrait upon which
he had been working. Then he put up
fresh cardboard, and sat down, in
wiling Matt to do the same
With the disappearance of the sun
day clothes the girls stiffness seemed
to have disappeared also, and She be-
came again Il vcritablc child of nature.
She looked like Il shaggy young pony
fresh from race ON the mountain side,
as she threw herself on the ground in
an attitude which was all picturesuuc-
ness and beauty. Then, with her
plump. sU urnt hand, she began to
carelessiy pull up the grass, while her
black eyes searched alternately the
Prospect and the painters face
Presently she spoke:
''He says you're pryin' scoundrcl,"
she said.
Brinlley looked up and smiled
"Who is he, Matt?"
''Mr. Monk" she replied and gave a
jerk with her head in the direction of
Monlishurst.
ooh, indeed" said Brinkley 1T is
my amiable equestrian friend, is it?
L III SuIc III MUCH oDilRci 10 MIN.
And when, may ask, did he bore YOU
with his opinion of mc?"
Last night, when he come to see
William Jones. He said wasn't to be
took no more, cause you was a scoun-
drel polSing and prying."
Brinkley began to whistle, and went
on for awhile vigorously touching up
his work Then he looked up and re-