The Madison daily leader. [volume] (Madison, S.D.) 1890-current, 1894-06-08
MY TEL

MY NElUHbUR.
A fatiguing journey up six long,
winding flights Of stairs carried me tc
the door of the room I occupied In -
street; but, no matter for the name oi
the street, no one, I am confident. will
visit London for the express purpose Of
satisfying himself that / am TO be de
pended upon, and that there is q house
Of so many stories In Lambert street.
Here I lived in enjoyment OF mo end ot
fresh air, especially in winter, and a
brilliant prospect up and down the
street and over the roofs of the houses
across the way.
/ was studying painting ut that time,
learning to paint the landscapes and
figure pieces which I produce with 30
much ease and dispose of with 70 much
difficulty.
At the head of the last flight Of stairs
in my lodging house vas a marrow pas-
sage way, in which ! was Obliged TO stop
and recover my breath after finish
ing, much wearied, the I39 steps
that led to my paradise, before 7 could
| get my key into its lock, and into this
passage way opened two doors, one Of
which, of course, belonged to my room,
and the other to some one else'G But
who this some one else was ] was nm
able to find out. Was it q man or wom-
an? / was persuaded it must be d wGan-
an, and as a woman ] always used TO
kIs@lp - 10. ord c~>no1r ~ Han 80 ~sez4AA1R
and / thought and spoke of her Uften
enough.
OF course / could have settled the
question at once by knocking nc her door
and asking for a match or by inuuir-
ing of my landlord, who occasionally
honored me with a friendly call, but !
scorned resorting to such methods.
Every time / heard the door shut /
resolved she should not go out agnin
without my seeing her, and / nearly fell
into the street as I frantically attempt
ed to reach far enough out Of my win
dow to see her as she came out al. the
street door.
Was she young and pretty and good?
What did she do, and what was her
name? My thoughts were perpetually
running up those six flights and stop
ping baffied at her close shut door.
/ drew ideal portraits of her in my
idle moments, introduced them into all
my pictures and would often finish ont
an accidental face in a study Of rocks,
much to my instructors surprise and
my fellow students amusement
The only communication / ever had
with people in the house was an occa-
sional conversation with the dust color
ed old woman who cleaned the windows
and swept the halls.
A day came for cleaning my windows
when it rained heavily, and / could not
give the old woman a clear stage by GO
ing out for a couple OF hours, but told
her to clean away and be az lively'As
she could, while I sat there and painted
dodgers, she told me as she polished
up the panes, came and went 10 fast
that she forgot one when another came
and never knew any of their names.
She had an eye for character, though.
and told me the pecu1iaritles of some Of
them In a quaint way, mailing her SEN
fences now and then with odd, hard
words, independently of the general
text
Gentleman who's under you keeps
'imself quite to 'imself,' she said
plants out queer sasses in boxes all the
time an some of EN- ON the balcony it.
self P'r'aps makes q kinder tea of 'em,
On root drink Decoctiies.
"And who 10 i'm the room below thatg''
inquired, more to make her talk than
to satisfy any curiosity ] had ON the
subject
Empty now. Two dark little gentle
men 'ad lie for q fortnight-Jews, I fam
CYAN al like one another as two spots
o. dirt on this 'ere pane o. glass. Spoke
q hard billed kind o. tongue an was fur
riners, most likely Polyanders.
/ might have asked her about my
next door neighbor, but refrained Tor
fear my pretty romance would be de-
stroyed by q description of middle aged
spinster who wore glasses and wrought
green roses I'm crewel work.
When she had finished the windows
and gathered up her brushes and pals,
she paused an instant TO give q back
ward glance at her completed task. The
sun had broken through the clouds and
rested tenderly ON the STOPPING figure o&
the old woman I'm her faded rags.
what . pic~turei''T thought fnvol-
unfairly. Then aloud / said, "Wi1l you
come some time and let me paint you,
Maggie?'' /
Mel she cried, startled
Yes. just M You are now, scrubbina
brushes and all Win ron conner, I
cried, my enthusiasm rising.
'Iawi Why dye want 70 paint Il,
old woman like ms, Mr.. Carroll, with
d face urinkled like q peach pitt Why
don't you paint q pretty girl2 Ola wo.
men are painted though sometimes, bui
only 10 make 'emselves look young agen.
ne point wial