Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1894-08-01
A BABY'S FACE.
How Woman Drought Comfort to q
Mother Aching Breast.


Mothers Aching Breast.
She had been hanging around the
place for week or more. The police
man who traversed that beat had order
ed her away once, but she was there
again the next day. looking at the pho
tographs on exhibition just outside the
entrance to the building.
"What are you doing around here
again?" he asked gruffiy, somewhat net
tied that his first reproof had not been
needed. Didn't tell you yesterday
to stay away from here? Don't you
know you are liable to be arrested? You
don't look very well, you know" he
added half apologetically, touched by
the appealing look in the faded gray
eyes ''The artist'll soon be raising a
row. You'll hurt his trade What dc
you want here anyhow
''That," she said wistfully, pointing
to one of the photographs in the fine
collection.
The policeman looked It was the
picture of a baby.
cit looks like my boy,'' she said
tremulousiy. Don't you suppose ]
could get one Of them? 1t wouldn't be
any harm to ask, would it?''
The policemans harshness had van
ished. Perhaps the remembrance OF
baby hands gone out of his own life
softened his heart, and he answered
kindly: "No, it won't. Come on, I'll
go with you. Well see what we can
do.''
The fashionable Wabash avenue artist
was visibly surprised when the couple
entered his studio.
''She wants to ask a favor of you, -
said the officer, pointing over his
shoulder to the woman in rusty black.
81 guess you'd better do the best you
can for her. -
''It's about the picture down there on
the street. she proceeded timidly il
answer to the photographer look O.
inquiry. '''I've been coming here to look
at it for 1 don't know how long.
couldn't stay away, for, as L told him
a moment ago, it's just like my boy.
You see, I never had his picture taken
couldn' afford it. I kept putting ii
off and putting it off, thinking that
some time l would have more money,
and even after he got sick 1 neglected
it, for l couldn't believe I'd lose him. -
She stopped.
''Well?' questioned the artist.
''But they sent for me to come to the
hospital one night, and they told me he
was dead. Tho first thing l thought
was, And l haven't even picture OF
him. So ever since then I've been look.
ing for a face like his. I've examined
every photograph and every fancy pic.
ture I came across, but l never found
anything resembling him but this. You
have one up here, too" she said, aris-
ing and standing before dainty face
looking down at her from its place upo.
the wall. ''Tho likeness is perfect. TIL.
same large, earnest eyes, the same long
lashes, the same curve Of brow and
cheek and the same bonny smile. He
was so pretty, my baby was. wish
had that picture. Do you suppose j
could get it?''
The policeman had walked to the
window and was watching the throne
on the street below. The artist coughef
and shaded his face with his hands, anc
the shabby, prematurely old woman gaz-
ed longingly at the pictured face before
her.
cts ali unusual request, the artist
commenced doubtfully.
''But you won't refuse to grant it, u;
low voice interrupted, and its owIe1
stepped through the doorway from the
inner room, where she had been prepar-
ing for sitting.
81 heard what you said," she went
on, and the sweet face was transfgured
with gentle sympathy as she clasped
the hand of her unfortunate sister, ''and
I want to tell you how sorry am tina
your baby died. That is my boys pic
ture. You can have the photograph,
and you can see him. Every hour J
thank God for sparing him to me. -
The bit of cardboard OH which wei
limned the features of child resem
bling her dead baby was given to her,
and the woman, whose heart had yearn.
ed for years for a glimpse of a face like
her boys, went out on the street again.
Chicago Tribune.