The true Democrat., 1898-05-07
Clint LOIing'S NGighbOl !
DY JENNY WREN.

lsleep in his chair on that warm Sep
;ember evening. He had been bend
.ng over his easel all day, and was
worn out in mind and body.
Painting for amusement and paint
ing to keep the wolf from the door he
'ound to be totally different matter.
In days gone by his studio had been
constantly thronged, not with buyers
Ihe had no need to foster his genius),
out with friends and admirers-those
who smoked his cigars and drank his
wine, as they dilated on the merits of
lis pictures.
He had neither the one nor the
other now to offer them, and the pic
cures seemed to have lost their charm.
Fortunately, there were few dealers
who cared more for art than the artist,
md so when Clint one morning
wakened to find himself practically
beggafed, he determined to make his
;alents available, and SO he quietly
moved away from the large and expen-
,ive quarters he had SO luxuriously
furnished to the plain upper room
where we now find him dreaming,
perhaps, of the past, when suddenly
woman's voice, rich, sweet and clear,
breaks upon lis reyerie.
sHe starts, awakened in an instant,
and listens to the end,
1t is in the very room next his own.
Nothing but thin partition divides
The two. Only last night mans
Iread, heavy and somewhat uncertain,
denoted its occupant. Tonight all
bad been silence, until the pure notes
rang out upon the evening air.
Somehow they fingered in Clint
Loring's dreams that night, again with
an echo of the dim past, when he had
stalls at the opera by the season, and
could crafty the very passion for
music which possessed him.
The room had had many tenants
since he had occupied his own; but,
with the next mornings dawning, his
first thoughts flew to his neighbor,
7 with regretful wonder whether she,
too, would be fleeing like the rest.
1t seemed not, for, as the days
merged into weeks, there were many
moments when Clint would forget his
palette and brush, and listen en-
tranced.
He grew to feel strange interest
in his unknown neighbor. Never yet
had he been able to catch glimpse of
her face. Sometimes light, quick
step would pass his door, but, let
him turn his head howsoever quickly,
it had disappeared.
One night, returning home, rather
later than usual, he caught sight, just
ahead, entering the door, OF stylish,
girlish figure, which ran lightly and
swiftly ahead Of him up the stairway.
The figure was graceful, the dress
plain, but he had little time to observe
either as she hurried into her room
and closed the door.
A sudden impulse caused him to re-
trace his steps, and when next he ap.
peared, he bore carefully in his arms
o rosebush full of blossoms. He
neither paused nor hesitated until he
stood at his neighbours threshold, when
he-knocked, A moment later the door
opened, and the owner of the room
stood revealed before him.
It was a face worthy the voice. A
little worn, little pale, perhaps, for
beauty, but with its wondering blue
eyes and framework OF Titan hair,
one could easily imagine how perfect
would be the picture, with here and
there an added dash Of color.
Both stood in silence, she inquir.
ingly, he wondering how he should
begin, when he spoke:
''You will pardon my intrusion, I
hope, but I fear if 1 leave these flowers
in my room they will fade and wither.
I have not much time to give attention
to such things. May I leave them with
you?"
ooh, how lovely! Indeed, indeed
you may! Thank you, very musb,"
STOPPING to kiss one of the blossoms
of the plant she held in her hands.
"But how came you to think Of me,
stranger?"
81 had heard you sing, and I knew
you were q woman, and all women
love flowers. May l come in and tell
you more about it? My name is Clint
Loring, and am your next-door
neishbor If l wait to be formally
presented, l fear I shall never know
you.
For q minute she hesitated, then
bright smile lit up her face, as she
looked into the honest eyes awaiting
an answer to his question. Handsome
eyes they were, too, which had found
their way to many woman's heart.
So she answered.:
"Yes, you may come in. 1t seems
strange to receive visitors, but I bid
you welcome. l am Mrs. Andrews"
Did his ears deceive him? Was
that young girl q wife? Perhaps q
widow, he thought, with a glance at
her black dress, since she seems alone
and desolate.