The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1895-08-31

mind having him around for the sake
of the prices he used to pay for what
Ire happened to take a fancy to-
''When / went back he was sitting
just where l had left him. with the
tears running down his cheeks.
II went right up to him. Mr.. Heath
ly,' said, of course You don't remem-
Der me, but ! used to be Nan Murray;
you must remember my father. John
Murray He looked at me little be-
wildered at first, and then seemed to
collect himself John Murray! Are
you his daughter? he said, and tried
to smile; you never saw anything so
pitiful in your life, Horace, as that
smile.
"'Yes,rI said, and kept hold of the
hand he had put out, and patted it
moment, think. l was so sorry for
him. L went to your house ever SO
long ago, and remember seeing such
quantities of pictur es there / stopped
then, afraid had been saying the
wrong thing, but he looked little
comforted, and saw 1t was relief to
him to talk. and SO sat down beside
him.
g That was one of my pictures he
said. pointing to it. 4 haven't seen it
for six or seven years. 1t was Corinna's
favorite of all we had. Do you remem-
Der my wife?' he asked, Strengthening
up and speaking with more dignity.
She is dead, you know
No; / don't think ever saw her.
But what beautiful picture it is!'
"'Yes, isn't it? wish could have
kept just one,' he said, his chin culver
ing pitifully for moment, and then
lie regained his self-possession. L
failed in 49, he went on, lost every
dollar, and that had to go with the
rest; but, thank God, it came when she
could not feel it.
i am so sorry! Was it necessary
to give them all up?' asked. l knew
what it must have meant to man who
cared like that.
Everything. First she went. then
the money, then my pictures, and then
my friends. You are like your ia
ther,' he said. Il see him once in
awhile even now. He has a heart; he
does not forget
81 said / was glad he thought me
like him, and drew him on to talking
more and more until he told me most
of his life. He started poor boy, and
married when he was still poor, but
was beginning to get on little. They
were New England people, with some
education, suppose, and ambitious to
4 box rs,1,-
er. They never had any children, and
they both loved pictures. He did, at
least, and ] believe that must have
been why she did, as she followed him
in everything then, as she had worked
for him while they were poor. He
finally went into Wall street. Every
thing he touched turned out well, and
they were as happy as could be, when
she died, eight years ago. That
seemed to have broken his nerve. for
he began to lose his head from that
time. He told me that after she. had
gone the pictures were his greatest
comfort; he used to spend hours
among them, and they somehow
brought her nearer. They had selected
them together. but this one of all had
been her favorite, because it reminded
her of the view they had from their
first real home ia Montclair.
They never knew whether it really
was done there or not, but, as Inness
sketched around that country great
deal, they thought it probably was.
''Then his money began to go, and
he seemed to lose his grip on managing
his business, till finally the smash came
and he gave up everything. 1t broke
his heart, l think. L can't seem to
pull up and make q fresh start he
said; L guess Pm too old; for have
had a couple Of chances, too He
blushed when he said this. and
thought of what McWilliams had told
me about his drinking.
Then he went back to the picture.
It's wonderful Bit he said. DO you
see the way that brook winds clear
back to the trees?-though you don't
notice it at first-and the shadows on
the grass are SO transparent they seem
to come and go while you look. When
l came across it suddenly to-day it
brought her right to me. III could only
have it back again, the rest wouldn't
seem so hard; it would help me to re-
member better said good-by to
the Cain that minute, Horace"
Mrs. Hubbard stopped with little
sob at the thought of old Heathy's
hopeless anguish, and Hubbard
pushed the low table between
them away, and she moved nearer
and leaned her head against his arm
while she finished.
II asked him to let me give him the
picture then; knew it would not bring
more than the Cain, and that could
although was almost afraid to offer
it to him; but put it on the ground Of
old friendship.
1t would not do any good, my
child he said. i could not keep it.
do you wonder told McWilliams
to get it for me? could not do any.
thing else; could 1, dear?-with you
away, too. After i had arranged
about it l told him he could come
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