Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1895-08-17
HIS LITTLE NEIGHBOR.
BY OLA c. ToBEY.

tcrs with one hand, the other holding
aloft her pink skirts slowly descended
the stairs, intending to confer n stolen
visit upon her friend, the artist.
The little ncighbor, the little neigh
bcr of the artist, had eyes of blue and
curis of gold. She was round, and fat,
and dimplcd as II chcrub; SO, being
good to look upon, the queer old artist,
who didn't care for children, was i'm
tcrcstcd in the small maiden, and
after little enticed her into his studio
and was very pleasant and kind to the
little girl, whose mother did dresSmak-
ing, and lived in the two stuffy rooms
ut the end OF the hall above.
A grim, lonely old bachelor was this
artist. Rumor said that once upon u
time he had loved u fair young girl
and tnat she had jilted him for n
younger lover; but no one knew the
name OF the girl or the name of the
man She welded, though Miss Marker,
who kept millinery shop on the first
floor, told Il tale something like this:
The week after the widow and her
daughter moved into the Won Alstyne
flats, that week, one day, the little
ncighbor's mother and the little girl
had been to deliver some sewing; and
The artist had been to the Italian quar-
ter after model 1t SO happened that
the widow and her child, and the artist
and his model, met just inside the door
of the FIRST hall.
This is the pr inter-man, dear" said
the little neiEhbor, clutching her
mothers skirts to attract her atten-
ton. "Thc nice man in the album,
dear. The painter-man, dear, who
gave me the candy and the beenan-
ers."
"Hush, Mariory!' said her mamma,
her pretty, young checks ablaze
with embarrassment and annoyance.
She disGugaged her skirts from the
grasp OF the little fat hands
Mamma told you she did not wish
Tor new friends. Mamma does not wish
to meet this artist said the widow,
looking meaningly into the eyes of her
daughter's new friend.
but, dear" persisted the little
neighborr when me told you how he
said What q zemblance, you said you
wondered if it could be-you know who
y Ol stt-Aa' iAGs2Ls -AAA-A lAON ,fOu StLh siSh
him, dear; can't she, Mr. Painter
man?"
And the artist, returning the wild
owls icy gaze with interest, replied:
Your mother does not need to ask. &"
And then, suddenly, he stepped for
ward the anger gone from his sad,
wrinkled, old iEce: a great, wonderful
love and pity in its place.
Mrs. Somers, Mrs. Somers," he said.
clutching the hard, needle-roughened
hands of the little neighbor's mother,
may we not at least, be friends?"
Then mammals eyes filled with tears,
and, lifting her daughter in her arms,
she dartad up the stairs. But at the
top of the first fight she paused, re-
pentiug her haste.
MY baby may" she said, with a
smile.
But, very few people in Von,Alstyne's
fats believed the fairy tales of Miss
Marker.
When the widow and the artist met
on the stairs they bowed, but that
was all; and, though the little neigh
bor's mamma gave permission occasion
ally, very often without permission the
little neighbor stole down to the
studio to have chats with the man who
painted pictures.
do you know" said the little neigh
Dor one day, that my papa isn't in
the ground, like mamma said he wasp
"No?' inquired the artist, more for
the sake OF replying than because he
believed the statement.
No affirmed the little neighbor,
'he Isn't Last night when mamma
finbed ire was asleep her looked him
out of little velveo box and lsiss@ed
him. Yes, she did. 'pAare is 90, darg-
lin John?' her said, And then hcr
cried, an me cried, too. Me set right
up, cause me feeled bad, an me cried
mo yollered, an mamma, she kissted
ne, an we bofo kissed me faver. Ne
favors boofer fayer. Yes, he is"
~ suppose So" indiferently re,
spondcd the artist, going on with his
painting. II don't remember him. y
And the little neighbours blue eyes
opened widely. 1t seemed SO strange
that every one did not know OF
mamma's treasure.
.'AIo does" she said. Me does"
And the artist, thinking of the
fathcr, not the picture of the father
sighed.
YES" he remarked, abscntly, per
haPs you do; though you were mere
ba5c."
Oae other day, one warm uncomfort
abl. day IN August, Mrs. Brent, who
lived in the very uppermost hat, ani
who was the mother of three little
girls herself, came down to the door o.
the widows rooms and asked Tor The
compaHy OF the widows littlt
dauEhter.
MY husband and /, Mrs. Brent said
"we are going tn spend the day at hi
fathers farm. We thought it would dc
the babes all so much good, yo,
know"
So the little neighbor spent day OF
a Long Island farm, and the next day
her friend thc artist heard all abou
the cows and ducks and other rura