The Somerset reporter. [volume] (Skowhegan, Me.) 1868-1909, 1898-12-22
| BRAVE LITTLE
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1t wasn't SO very happy to begin
with. Christmas eve was little dreary
Maggie only hummed carol because
it was more her way to sing than to
cry, and the carol was the only thing
she could think of Just then. 1t was
the first care she ha& ever learned She
could remember just how sweet her
mother had looked while teaching it to
her aud Jimmie, the brother, who
would keep his seventh Christmas to-
morrow-keep it in heaven, she thought
with a CLEAN of sorrowful joy The
dear mother who was in the hospital
now, whose Christmas would be spent
in whitewashed ward, clean, bright
and tender, with kindly care, but still
not so bright as the little attic room
would have been if only she could have
been there. Maggie's song grew very
queer at this point of her reflections,
and her voice was trifle unsteady, but
she persisted in humming 1T came
upon the midnight clear" and even
smiled a little as she laid down the
cheap little doll she had been dressing
for Sweetie, the dear little sister who
was her darling, and who was now
being cared for by kind friends of her
mothers youth.
In another moment she was dashing
down newspaper alley at full speed, ell
bowling her way trifle more gently
than the average habitue of that far
famed locality, but pushing to the front
with logged resolution none the less,
and no sooner had the bunch of papers
which came in answer to her warcry of
Twenty specials-throw 'em
along quick, Jimmie!" reached her
arms, than she was off with bound,
and Cry of "Papiers Papiers Here
is yer extryP' which sounded startling
ly loud and harsh to come from that
girlish throat. Down Mason street she
flew, anxious to reach the stand y
which the boys of that corner had nnan-
imously ceded to her with rough chiv
airy when she had first appeared upon
the scene, timid, nervous, afraid to cry
her wares She was the first of all the
crowd to reach State street. "Papier,
papier Here is yer extry All about
the accident at Borrioboola Ghap" she
shrieked in the voice which would have
been sweet and clear but for its hard
treatment and out of doors use, or rather
abuse, and queer little smile curved
the corners of her mouth as she gave
vent to her peculiar trademark, y as
the "other boys" were wont to call the
odd name which invariably closed her
exhortation to buy an evening paper.
That exclamation had quite a history.
When Maggie had been driven by her
mother 3 illness and the want of food
in the home cupboard to try paper sell
ing, she had been afraid to cry loudly.
and her conscience, home taught and
tender, had forbidden her to invent
news announcements after the fashion of
others of her "perfesh For some days
she had sold very little in consequence,
and the capital she had each morning
invested in papers seemed in fair way
to be lost, when Irish Pat, the tough
est boy in the gang, had taken her to
his heart and shown her the mistake
which spoiled her sales
Eyer don't know nothin, yer don t, "
he had said contemptuously, striding
along by her side with an exaggerated
imitation Of the walk Of the last actor
he had admired from the peanut heay-
en-" of the Academy and keeping level
with her as she dejectedly started
homewaad, crying softly and wiping
the tears away with her ragged but
clean handkerchief.
Eyer too bloomin scared" he said,
again copying the Academy actor, both
in speech and gesticulation, IAN yer'l II
never do no good till yer makes yer roar
more like better Teller than yerself. -
He paused and looked at Maggie ex-
pectantly, but Maggie had no idea that
the "better Teller" was Pat himself,
and she never dreamed that the pause
should have been filled with oompli-
ment, we'll deserved, in Pats opinion,
so she said nothing, and the boy took
up his parable again.
NOW, this yer's the way yer calls, "
he said, initiating her weak little cry
to the life, IAN this yers the way yer
oughter yell" And he let out shout
of paper here Paperl All about the
great fire ON the west side! Many lives
lost Nineteen firemen go down III the