Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1896-03-13


What he would do with this money no
one knew; only the mothers in the
house hoped he would remember their
children when he died. For he loved
the children in the house.
There were many children, for many
families lived there, SO he had much
to love. When he went to rehearsal
he had to clear q passage on the stairs,
the little ones crowded SO to meet him.
He usually had paper of sweetmeats
for them. Again, when child of the
house was missed, Its mother would
trudge up the many stairs to the top
most room and say: "M. Clerville,
my little one should be here" and,
sure enough, there it would be.
When the little ones were disobedi-
ent, you had but to say: "Ah, if M.
Clerville could see you now," and the
naughtiest one became an angel of
goodness.
His love for their children made the
mothers hope he would some time
bestow some of his savings upon
Jaqueline, Armand, and the like. For
he had lived here for nearly eighteen
years, had worked all that time and
spent but little, so he must have saved
much. And for what? No one ever
came to see him, he went no where but
to the theatre, and he had no friends
save the children.
They did not know that the little
old man was boarding and saving for
n child he had never seen.
1t was like this: He had once
thought that he could compose great
opera. For years and years he had
dreamed about it, worked at it. In
these years he had earned but little
money, his wife toiling hard to sup
port herself and her daughter. At
last, just before the daughters mar
riage, NJ. Clerville finished his opera,
sent it to manager, and had it re-
turned to him. His wife was angry !;
she had stood so much. She and her
daughter left the disappointed man,
and he had never seen them from that
day to this.
He knew that his daughter had mar
ried, that little child had come. He
determined to work and save for this
little child. He put away his opera,
and went into an orchestra. This was
eighteen years ago. He had lost sight
OF his wife and child, and grandchild;
they had drifted somewhere. But one
dream remained to him; he would
some time have goodly sum of money,
and then he would hunt out his grand.
child and give it to her, thus proving
he had not been entirely useless in the
world. He always thought of her as
O little child. For this reason he loved
oil children.
Now, one night as he returned from
the theater and was going up to his
room, he heard sw et voice singing
a tune he had not heard for years.
He stopped on the stairs. The song
rose on the quiet air; it was an old
Provencal song his mother had sung
years ago, the tune he had sung to his
wife in the early happy days, the tune
she in turn had sung to their child.
The door opposite where be was
standing opened-a young girl stood
there.
'Mademoiselle," he said, 81 thank
you for the song; my mother sang it
to me when l was very young.
In his garret he thought of the song
and of the young girl-what sweet
face hers was. Was it really like q
face he had once known? He thought
and thought about it until he fell
asleep.
Now Marie, the young flower maker,
was alone in the world, and had moved
into the house that very day. It
pleased her that she had pleased the
little old nah. So the next night
when she heard him toiling up the
stairs she again sang the old song.
''It must be pleasant for him to be
reminded of his mother" she thought.
MY mother sang it to me, too. and
now she is dead"
The old song took the old man way
: back to happier days.
"And where have / seen face like
this young girl's?" thought he.
Night after night ne heard the song
when he came home from the theater +;
he would leave his room door open
that he might hear it to the end.
Once-it was q soft spring night, and