Alma record. (Alma, Mich.) 1878-1928, 1894-10-26
FROM THE CITY TO THE COUNTRY.
How Some Lives Passed out of the Rush
Into the Meadows.

A young girl sitting before an easel
in tapestry hung studio. Through
the open window the summer sun is
throwing nom his luminous palette "A
Titan glory Of rcd-goid on "a sheeny
canvas oi chestnut hair.
In the street below wandering mu-
stefan ~ he PASSES i, singing with all
the wild patho, OF a child of slavery:
Dey hunt no norc for dc postum and de coon,
on de- meadow Dc hill, and de shore,
DcN sing 40 more bl de -limmcrO or The moon,
On dc bench by dco' cabin door.
De days go hy Ike shadow Ger de- heart
Wild sorrow where All WAS delight
From the little park uclos. the way,
set down in the midst of the busy city
like IA lost bit of the country, scent Of
swCetbricr iloW, IN and fills the room
with tide Of fra france.
a RIM at the door. a smile of eager
expectancy, "a white mis,ivc tossed at
her feet. followed closely bY a yellow
envelope from the fat hands of the land
lady, the flash of a blue coat around the
corner, then "A blank of dull misery.
Hours She sits there making no sign:
but when at last She rises and puts away
the palette and drops the curtain over
the never-to-be finished picture the face
turned toward the dying sunlight is
ghastly pale. the white lace at her throat
moves convulsiveh, and the brown eyes
are like IA hurt dogs.
Before her dullcd vision. like continu-
Gus lightning, dances a waycring line of
fire" Mother is dead. No one to care
for the children Come"
As she moves about the darkcning
room her slippered foot unconsciouSly
losses aside torn bit of cream paper
from which stare up the words, Don't
blame me too much"-"I have loved
you iu'---"Yours cordially, Edward
Far down the street, going home in
the twilight, the negro boy sweeps the
strings of his guitar. and the refrain OF
his song floats back:
I'm coming, I'm coming,
For my head l. bending low,
hear those gentle voices calling
until il is drowned in the roar OF "A COM
ing cable car.
And the tide of sweetbrier flows wide
through the windows.
Gould We give me bite to eat?"
The gruff voice startes the small, calico
gowned woman feeding chickens by the
barnyard, and she Chances around in
quiringly.
I'm awful hungry" the tramp be-
gins and stops, for the little, gray
haired dark-faced woman before him
has grown suddenly pale and as she
wipes her toil-hardened hands free OF
meal he sees they are trembling.
That voice. She would know it if
she were dead.
'Ye needn't he scared o me- | won't
hurt ye he growled, with a hitch at
his tattcred hatbrim But | want to
know if | can get something to eat
here?"
Why, yes, guess So" she says
slowly, looking into the bleared eyes.
Come to the house and sit down on the
porch. I'll get you something in a
minute"
Much obliged" mumbles the tramp
a few minutes later rising from the lit
tie table with its emptied dishes; and
taking cob pipe from a recess some
where in his rags he shufiles down the
green lane.
Hurry up with dinner Little Sis; the
hands are coming in from the field
calls a stalwait young man from the or
chard well, where he is watering the
horses.
What on earth are you dreaming
about?" he questioned at her elbow IA
moment later.
II was just thinking where would
put some sweetbrer bushes in the yard. "
she replies quietly, with her faded eyes
fixed absently on the dust-gray road up
which dark figure is slowly plodding.
The youth glances at his sister in sur
prise. She has hated sweetbrier ever
since he can remember.
She goes in and begins putting din
ner on the table as the hungry men
come III from the barn. -Chicago TrT6-
u1se.