Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1896-10-01

clogged by floating debris. Even in
the house itself, all around the office,
there is noise of trucking water.
know not why, but the sound makes
you shiyer. 1t drops upon a hard sur
face, and, rebounding, falls upon a
broad stone floor There are marble
tables which makes it seem still more
cold
What do they wash at this strange
laundry? What ineffaceable stain? At
times, when the trickling and pattering
cease, down below we hear the sound
of solitary drops of water, one by one,
like snow in thaw or the beginning
OF a shower. We might think the fog
was condensing, gathering upon the
walls and continual dripping. 1t does
rot disturb our good man. He is en-
tirely taken up with his apples, which
are beginning TO steam in the little red
plate, giving out faint perfume of
burned sugar, and the pretty song
seems to prevent him from hearing the
sound Of the water-that horrible drip
ping,
Are you ready, recorder" says a
hOarse voice from the adjoining room
Our recorder casts glance at his
apples and leaves then with regret
Through the half open door a current
of cold air, smelling of reeds and a
vision of clothes hanging on a line
faded blouses, workingmens garments.
a calico dress stretched at full length
by the sleeves and dripping, dripping!
He has finished and re-enters. He
lays down upon the table some small
objects, all wet, and goes to the stove
to thaw out his fingers. benumbed and
Redeemed by the cold.
They must have been mad in such
weather as his" he said shivering.
What is the matter with them all?"
When he is again comfortably warm
and when the sugar melts and runs
over the side of plate, he breakfasts
in corner Of the office. While eating
he opens one of his great books and
complacently turns over the leaves.
This big book is beautifully kept; the
lines are straight and headed with blue
ink, with little reflections of gold
powder and a blotter for every page.
Everything is in perfect order.
Business seems to be good. Our re-
corder has the contented air of an &C
countant looking over a good balance
at the end of the year.
While he turns over the pages with
delight, they open the doors of the ad-
joining room. There is the sound of a
crowd upon the stone pavement, and
hushed voices as if in church.
"Oh, how young she is. What
pityr'
And there is a hushing and a whis-
pering. What is it to our good man
whether she is young or not? He
TRANQUILITY finishes his apples and draws
toward him the objects which he
placed ON the table but short time be-
fore.
A thimble full of sand, a pocketbook
containing a sou, little pair of rusted
scissors, so rusted that they never can
be used again. Oh, something else! A
working girls book, all the pages
stuck together; torn defaced letter-a
few words are still legible-''the child
no money-a month as a nurse
The bookkeeper shrugged his should
ers as if to say, Il have seen all that
before" Then he takes his pen, blows
away carefully the brelu crumbs which
have fallen upon his book, makes a
little preparatory gesture before getting
his hand in the prope" position, and
then, in large, round letters, he writes,
"Felicie Rameau metal burnisher, aged
II years. From the French of AL
phonse Daudet in Short Stories.