Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1895-08-17

of seeing her mothers grief, for time
and again had mamma warned her to
leave the velvet box alone.
me don't like dear to cry" said the
little ncighbor; inc wis me had
faver what wouldn't break. Me wis
me wis"
The studio door was unlocked, but
the artist was absent when his little
ncighbor entered. lie had gone after
some color that he had suddenly need
ed, no doubt; the child often found the
studio empty, SO IL did not surprise her
in the least. Leaving the door ujar
that she might hear mamma when she
passed through the hall, or her friend
when he returned, she began her usual
tour of inspection.
There was new canvas on the easel,
very large canvas with great many
people on 1T, some outlined, some dead
colored, and some nearly completed
The picture represented, though the
little neighbor did not know, scene
from the verses OF very famous poet,
! and was intended to express the folly
of strife and the trouble that awaits
those who do not let the cloak of love
hide one another's shortcomings, And
there was one man who seemed to
stand very near the little neighbor
He was n tall man, with blue eyes and
fair curls, like the little neighbor's,
but oh! his eyes were SO sad, SO full of
vain regret
The little neighbor looked at this
man long and fixedly How familiar
that. face seemed to be! Where had
she seen that face before? Her little
brain turned over all the events of her
four years of existence. Where?
Where? Where had the child seen that
face before? Suddenly the little one
remembered.
"Faver" she cried, loudly, gladly.
'Faver-ne faver!"
Yes, her father, older, sadder than
the father in the velvet box, but still
the father of the artists little neigh
Dor. But how had he come on the
artists canvas when the child had left
him broken in the velvet box? The
| little girl did not know, the little girl
did not care; her darling was whole
again and before her in all his fresh
ness and beauty-that was' enough to
know. A hassoclS stood near, and,
dragging it to the canvas, the child
stood upon it, and her face was level
with the painted face. "Faver!" she
cooed, lovingly. Mes faver!'
The rosy lips touched the painted
face in tender, loving kiss, and then
the door opened and the artist and
another stood upon the threshold
"Mariory Somers!" the artist
gasped, as the little neighbor turned
to greet him. The child's lips were
wet with paint, and the ''faver" on the
canvas had been utterly obliterated by
| the child's kiss.
Me faver!" cried the little neighbor.
He's me faver."
Then the other brushed past the ar
tist into the room. His face was like
the face spoiled by the childs kiss
like the face of the broken father in
the velvet box. For an instant the
child looked at the stranger and the
stranger looked at the child. Then
the little one held out her hands to the
stranger, and the stranger gathered
her, pink dress, paint, shining curls
and all, in close embrace.
''Baby!" he said, softly, gladly; my
Marjory!"
And the little neighbor, twining her
arms about the strangers neck, kissed
him until his lips were as paint-be-
daubcd as her own.
Mamma won't cry now," she cooed.
me brolSed the yuther you, but this
you wont break, me knows you won't
Mes faver, mes darling faver."
And the artist, being n man used to
the ways of the world, understood.
Softly he stepped out into the hall;
quietly he closed the door behind him;
and whatever hopes this second meet
ing with the love of his youth had
awakened, alas! lay dead on the inner
side OF the studio door.
He could see how 1t all happened. A
foolish quarrel, then silence or both
sides, until the world of poverty
looked upon the woman as widow,
and the other world, the world OF art,
in which the father moved, forgot his
welded life, so brief had it been.
The artist remembered the gossip he
had heard of Somers being widower,
or something in the same strain, re-
mernbcred it all now and wondered
why he had not before noticed the
wonderful resemblance of his little
neighbor to his fellow artist.
And then" he rnuttcred bitterly, as
he paced up and down before the
studio door, Il knew my Mariory mar
ried a Somers. Good reason why |
never cared to see him. But how could
j know that Somers, my friend, and
Somers, whom Marjory loved"
Just then the mother of his little
neighbor entered the hall below. How
well he knew that footstep! Should be
tell her? He must tell her, but how:
Oh, how?
Perhaps the artist had hoped to be as
father To the little neighbor, but she
did not need him now. No one needed
him now.
"Marjory," the artist said, as he
went to meet her, your daughter is
in the studio. Pm going for walk
will VDu-nr that l. ,voul1 ,roi, he