Democratic Northwest and Henry County news. [volume] (Napoleon, O. [Ohio]) 1894-1905, 1897-03-04
A PAPER FAMINE.
By MARY HARTWELL OATnRRwooD.
[copyrIrht. lgo0. BY the Author ]

Ehe had found cent piece in crack
of that trunk. Eut half Saturdays
probing with knitting needle failed to
find such treasure again. 1t is hard to
be / / years old and an orphan and the
genius of your town all ut once, for
when you are / /, particularly if you are
IN orphan, people have ceased to call
you a dear little thing. Only your ia
ther and mother know what you need
much more than food and clothes.
To be praised at school and be called
poetess by ladies with albums may be
~ fine thing, but genius even Mt II is
a lonesome animal, with crying wants
which the people around him do not
hear.
The attic echoed that cry, Of which
it was perhaps as tired as Marietta s
folks down stairs, "Oh, do wish I had
some paper!'
One golden day, when the schoolmas-
TER praised her compositions, GRANDPA.
ther Brittles had put his hand in his
pocket and bought her five foolsoap
sheets. They were an oily, blue kind,
which took ink reluctantly, but she
made book out of them, "The Her.
mitess Of Marston Moor 1t lay now
in the old trunk by the side of q tan
colored epic written on wrapping paper
and called "The Indian Poetess" Her
Golfer of treasures also held number Of
poems and short stories, varying in
length from all inch to quarter of a
yard. Besides, her fathers leather note
books were there, his medical lectures
oil afloat i'll tho stories his daughter had
written around them. Marietta could
not afford paragraphs. She wrote in one
thick block, punctuating nicely, but
making no breaks for conversation. She
could only admire the spacing of tales
in print and muse on the wealth of
writers. People who wrote like that
must have loads Of paper. To this little
girl riches took the form of creamy,
smooth stacks Of fuolscap.
Once her cousin from college made
her an heiress with all his scraps of
pink, blue, green, buff and ivory white
note paper. Such golden days come sol
dom in lifetime. She ought to havo
hid some Of this windfall and denied
herself the lavish use Of it, SO "Tho
Knight and the Lady" would not have
TO ride around and around in her head
i'll repeated stanzas without blank
page to receive them.
The poetry about Mrs. Bope's baby
was written on the very last pink scrap.
Marietta wished ink could be wiped off.
Bat while she was ruing she reoollected
that Mrs. Bope had hinted at some pay
ment for any piece Of writing which
Marietta might bring her. 1t was not
pleasant to do poetry to order, yet she
had enjoyed writing about that dear,
dead baby, only she did not want to
read it to the mother.
The force Of hor promise and the
chance Of Mrs. Bope's having writing
paper to use as currency took sudden
hold Of her.
She opened the trunk and took out
the pink baby poem, and hid it in her
pocket with the loving shame Of authors,
and went down stairs to ask il she might
go to Mrs. Bope's.
Grandmother Brittles and the two
young aunts were sitting straight III
their chairs. making over muslin gowns
which had to be handled carefully.
Sometimes Marietta really wished sho
was not Brittles. 1t seemed so hard to
live in the largest house in town on the
smallest income. II she were one Of the
Smith Or Burden girls, she could be
cheerfully earning money to buy paper
with. But the Brittles were old stock
and great people in their neighborhood.
A Brittles would bo pattern of gentil-
ity il he starved at it,
The grandmother said Marietta might
go to Mrs. Bope's, and her aunts told
her not to run her shoes over and cut
the uppers She could walk instead
of run--which strained leather and
started the pegs-and she must not take
her sunhonnet off to slap any school
mate with it, She could play tag with
her naked hand. A child's hands are
tougher than much washed calico
Marietta went to Mrs. Bope's without
any desire to run. She usually liked to
play that she was an Indian princess
rushing OIL feet moccasins through her
native woods, and there was not girl
in school who was swifter on foot But
she stood at Mrs Bope's gate, smelling
tho sweet brier which climbed the
house, Iilled with aching dread that she
could not herself understand.
Marietta never asked anybody to listen
to what she had written. She thought
Of herself as two little girls, one within
the other. The outside girl was ronp-
ing hearty creature, very we'll satisfied
with life on tho playground. The inside
girl was eager for some world Of libra
ries and gentle spoken men and women,
world in which she might meet and
shyly gaze upon Nathaniel Hawthorne
and Washington Irving and tho great
poet, Lougfellow. The inside girl hated
to write in ladies' albums and only did
so because Grandmother Brittles said it
would be impolite to refuse. She did
not expect anybody else to be interested
in what so delighted her. Itnow seemed
to be the inside girl who hesitated at
Mrs. Bope's gate, half minded to 60
back and stuff the baby poem in some
crack of the old, trunk.
But Mrs. Bope saw her and called
her into the cool, dark house, pushed the
auburn hair off her warm forehead and
sat her down in horsehair parlor chair.
There was always a smell OF dried
flowers and leaf mold in Mrs. Bopes
house. and the engravings on the walls
had stained look like high water
4 mark. Mrs. Bate played on q dulcimer
with d small hammer and was in the
habit Of singing many shrill, sad songs
Y 10 the nenking Of this instrument. She