The Press., 1898-09-22

swerved. and the brush slipped. The girl cried out; there was @, daub across the canvas.
 sThere now," regretfuLy, you've made a smudge acrosti yourtname.
 The artist did not answer His silence and abstraction were takenkas dismiss als- She hitched up, her bundle, wish ing him good day.
 "No. wait bit" He got up for the first time and came and stood before her. Wont you shake hands before you go, my-my denr?'
 Bewildered, but gratified, she gave him hers at once. It was rough and sunburned and perhaps not overclean, yet there was curious resemblance be- tween the tramp's hand and his own. He dropped it hurriedly.
 How old are you, my child?" Eighteen come Chris 'mas.''
 His eyes were on her face. They studied it intently.
 "Ah-hp he said and dropped a few steps back. Well, goodby. Good luck. God bless you" Her eyes filled with tears. . What are yor crying for?'' The tears brimmed over. At you. You spoke so kind. You made me think of mother '' "A hint for your future guidance. {" His voice was hard again. Never trust . man because he appears kind They are mostly dangerous, and often the worst sort. ''
 The change in his tone depressed her. She sighed forlornly. "Pore mother told me that" His glance fell to earth. A pink tip ped daisy was peeping above the grass. He ground it into the sod with the toe of his heavy boot. "Goodby again" She took his proffered hand. "Stop that. can't bear to see 8 woman cry" Stop it she couldn't, but she crooked her arm and held it before her face.
 "Life's so 'ard, " she moaned. "Peo- pie is such logs, an, oh, I'm so lonely since my pore mother died" r He stood beside her, listening to her sobs
 "My dear" he said at last, "we are all lonely-you on the high road, in the cities pore mother in her grave. " He paused, laying hand on the girls heaving shoulder. Loneliness is the common lot; we carry it hidden in our souls through life. Even in crowds it cries out ceaselessly above the din. We can make 8 noise to drown it, we can bury it deep down, we can call our friends together and smoke and drink upon its tomb-it will creep out in the nighttime, when the others are all | %0 v,il sit and jabber to us in the dark But back his head, 'its prizes fought for, squabbled over, and errors I suppose, must be committed by the way. There's truth so brutal it might almost keep one good. The man who sees life isn't ask ed to pay the piper; the wages are ex- acted, but it's the innocent who pay" l The tramp's tears were dried; she was lost ill admiring wonder.
 "Take my advice, my dear," said the man, with a curiously gentle smile, "the advice of a man who might almost be your-father: Go on being respecta- ble; stay innocent-keep good" l He patted her shoulder, then gave if a gentle push. And so they parted. He watched her tramping down the long white road
 "Coufound her eyesl'' he mutterei. "That's why they haunted mel"
 She trudged on with her bundle His eyes followed almost yearningly. She rounded bend. The tramp looked back
 "LizP he murmured half uncon scious "Poor. pretty, foolish Lizl' Hi own voice reused him. He smileda&1n vacancy. "That was the name . thought had forgotten
 The road turned She disappeared from view.
 He whistled, drowned and finally shrugged his shoulders
 "H she'd only been lady," present ly. He was staring at the canvas. Bah What nonsense! A trampi Her mother childr'
 He fell on one knee and began pack ing up his traps.
 "Life's so lard. an people is sucl 'ogs"
 His laugh rang out, but it wasn't merry one. Picking up the picture, h. held it in both hands.
 "Goodby, young mournful eyes, h. said. Good luck go with you. You'v given me @ heartache. but I wish yo1 we'll
 His face twitched. He lad the can vas gently down.
 "I'll burn the thing" he said, "di rectly I get home. ''-Sketch. A Brilliant Fraud.