The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1898-01-30
THELAST HOUSE ON THE STREET.

evident Either the observer has reacneu
that stage of civilization in which he re-
CARDS all objects animate and inanimate, as
simple, illusory manifestations Of thought,
or the inha bitants of the house in question
turn out to be of extraordinary types. IL
was, perhaps, from combination OF these
reasons, rather than from its conspicuous
position, that the Last House on the street
was remarkable. Certainly it was not re-
markable from any architectural beauty OF
its own. 1t was high and gray, and faced
the street coldly. The blinds of the front
rooms were habitually drawn and the
warped floor of the tiny wooden stoop IN
front held always a little pond of black
water in which the SCOT from neighbor-
ing brewery smokestack swan feebly. On
the side there was a gate and long line
of wooden pickets, which turned with mill
tary precision where the street began to
curve, and thereafter went through all the
metamorphoses Of picket, rail and board
partitions, until it finally merged into a
stone wall This was overgrown with hon
eysuckle and blackberry vines in it's incip-
iency, but waxed higher and higher as it
retreated and lost itself in one of those will
dernesses of sweet fern and walnut sap
lings which abound in the river country of
Indiana. The cratic construction of fence
inclosed a yard that, for primeval seclu-
sion, might have served John the Baptist
himself. Beginning at the street 1t sunk
away gradually through gorgeous ranks OF
holyhock and towering almond in their
summer bravery, to a dense shrubbery OF
japonca, juniper, orchard trees and grape
trellises all in inextricable confusion. The
fragrance of this mass of vegetation was
unspeakable, and, mingled at times with the
healthy smell of brewing hops was sufh-
cient to give the sensitive soul an acute at
tack of that nostalgia" which Du
Maurier so keenly touches in the childhood
recollections of his Peter Ibbettson' "A
long porch, supported by many pillars
looked eastward and southwark into this
fragrance. and through it, by lace-like open
ings, to the river. And over all, the big hill
ascending abruptly on the east, brooded ike
a great copper temple in the sun-lts req
clay terraces shining ont Enthusiastically from
the ancient habitation of trilobite and fossil
vegetation. At its base the street curved
and became a country turnpike, dusty and
much-traveled by the heavy market wag-
ons three times a week, dusty and sped over
at all times by good horsefiesh from the
town.
But of all this the Last House on the
Street rocked nothing, was nothing per-
turbed by the sense-sound and sense-sight
of travel, and traffic, and human restless
ness around it. One would have said it was
quite deaf, and unconscious of all the raw
ing world. Whatever vicissitudes of life ex-
listed behind its gray walls must have been
strange, detached vicissitudes. But life
there was, for one morning as the garish
light reflected from the Copper Temple lay
over the garden, sportive breeze found
plaything on the high stone wall. 1t was an
artists PORTFOLIO filled with loose sheets,
water-color sketches, sketches in sepia,
drawing paper, scrubbed with faces, figures
and notes for pictures unfinished or unat-
tempted It was a shabby portfolio, dog
cared and worn, and quite at the mercy of
the teasing wind which tapped its old gray
covers to and fro and sent its contents fly
ing to the ground. Most of the sheets fell
on the garden side of the wall. All OF them,
indeed, but one rough sketch in mono
chrome-probably indigo blue. This hest
tated a moment on the brink, and then
futtered out into the stranger country
where the Traveller, choosing his steps la
lilly through the narrow way, half alley,
half country lane, found it and picked 1T
up. 1t represented a girl child OF nine or
ten years, standing before the bars OF an
inclosed field. There was an open gate near
by and fields beyond. The immediate and
vivid impression produced, in spite of the
hasty workmanship and limitation to sin
gle color, was one of intense sunlight and
silence. On the reverse side was something
written with a lead pencil in family legi-
BILE hand The Traveller turned the paper
and read with some difficulty:
iT1n /
Thro' quiet way, where ranks Oh Iehhel
strobe
Beneath the hedges. and the clever sweet
And, riding idly thus through Stranger
l came into a little lifted place.
Where was a gate that opened TO the rye
All golden in the sun beyond. And l
Saw standing by the bars a golden child,
With tangled yellow hair all curling Wild
And fearless brow uncovered to the sun,
And eyes like amber sands wnere swallows
run.
Does the road go, when pass the ryeheld
there?'
And. Where does the road go?' she repeat
ed slow.
When pass the rye feld?' My. did not
Nor had time to ask before she said,
With sudden lifting of the wind-blown
head,
'A-down to grandpap's.' And the lips
Almost a smile though yet the skies aloft
Were not more solemn than her steady
eyes
And who is grandpap?' in amused surprise
Interrogated l. But as before,
She Knocked me. Who is grandpap" only
slower
And then repeated, with a puzzled look,
'A-down to grandpap's.' And she slowly
shook
Her head when would question her again,
Grew in her eyes a look akin to pain,
And yet not pain. She pointed TO her ear
One of Gods children who would never
heart"
The sketch was marked with the title,
1.-THE Little Speechreader," and the date
July Z, 1884," but was unsigned. The Trav-
eler, who was something of a critic himself.
smiled little at the direct conversation
quoted in the verses, which was, to say the
least, obviously poetcal. Mine, ten, eleven
feet in that one" he commented silently,
scanning the lines. Then suddenly sound
of voices made him start guiltily as he re-
membered that the owner of the sketch
might be not far away. AT the same time
he discovered that the old wall, though
higher than his head where he stood. had
crumbled and lost plaster in the middle,
and had left small crevice through which
he could see into the yard beyond. He
looked unhesitatingly.
What he saw was an unkempt plot OF
weeds and garden heliotrope, against
background of brush and fruit trees. Near
the wall and in the shade of one of the
trees was an artists easel, with paints,
brushes, oil cup and canvas still upon 1T.
Ii. he Mot