Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1900-08-07

upon.
could imagine a. looked at the pic
ture that the Judge, II put down alive
In the queer room, would make some
sort Of intelligent effort to comprehend
the conditions around him.
Miss Fanny tlecked at the frame with
her pocket handkerchief. she carried
me to one side and the other to see the
picture, and she impresslvely told me
the name OF the poor soul who painted
II. Then she sat herself down In front
Of II and told me about the Polk and
Clay campaign In which Judge March
banks and my grandfather had stump
ed the state together. trying politely
but fruitlessly TO remember as many
Instances Of triumph and adulation for
my ancestors as for hers. That both
gentlemen were on the losing side In
that contest had never occurred to her
as dlmming their honors.
always remember her as she looked
that day. like some quaint little priest
ess before a shrine. She sat In chair
close against the wall that In the mar.
row room she might be able 10 see the
picture opposite. Her white hair was
crimped little and drawn softly back
In n very good compromise between old
styles and new-Miss Fanny was not
the person to cling to the old for It's
own sake-and at her wrists and neck
were. Of all things. bits Of thread
lace. Her figure was girlish rather
than otherwise and pretty. too. with Its
nice fiat back. But the old black gown
made me sorry. because | knew the
little woman was not and never would
be Indifferent to her dress. As she
talked away so proudly. 80 feelingly.
Of my father" l wondered what place
In memory had all the rest Of her long
past--,he wifehood and widowhood
and motherhood. the common. blessed
warm joys and common. crushing
griefs that fate had bestowed upon her.
and which, good and III alike. she, 20
little and tender still. had survived.
All seemed to have sunk out Of sight,
to be buried. and only the first ties to
be stiil active and operative despite
time and death.
reflected that after all she had
spent most OF her life with her father.
that II was as his daughter she had
chiefly found her title to existence. but
| did not know ut that time the thing
that really explained her special devo-
ton to him-the fact that she was then
spending herself In his service, for bis
good name. The flial tie was re-en.
forced now by one yet stronger. by
perhaps the firmest Of human bonds,
that which binds the server to the
served. and at last something Ike q
mothers love mingled with the daugh-
ter's loyal alteration Of the long dead
man.
staid to dinner with hsr-supper
she called Il. and In fact the bald little
meal might as well be termed the one
as the other, but she was unapologet-
ically hospitable and graceful over It
II was not till I came to 60 home
that Miss Fanny's adaptability failed
her. "Oh. my child. cannot let you
20 out into the street alone. II Ii bad
enough for me. but you'll can't think
Of II at all"
every well, then. Miss Fanny, I'll
ring for messenger boy"
"what for. dearT
ITO go home with me-"
"a messenger boyy
"why, yes: that Is whas we do when
we are too proper to go alone"
Mercy on me! Ny lamb, II Ii to
save you from messenger boys and
their like that I'm going with you my.
self"
"Tt is perfectly safe anywhere In this
part Of the town." volunteered Miss
Boggs. a big boned. dust colored young
woman reading calf bound volume
at a drop light.
eyes. Miss Boggs. know; suppose
II Is. and I think II IL lovely to see you
northern girls so strong minded and In
dependent. You could go anywhere;
but, you see, Adeline was not brought
up TO take care Of herself as you were,
and feel q sense OF responsibility for
her. I ought to be fairy godmother
to her, but I can at least take care OF
her when she Is my guest" And she
went on getting out her shawl and set |
Ting her bonnet with the CHEEKY deci-
sion of q dear. damaged old canary |
bird.
Miss Boggs looked at me with curios- |
ity. She had not recognized me as
fragile young southern blossom before.
Let me give myself the pleasure Of
saying that sent my protectress home |
In cab, form Of luxury which In the
course Of our acquaintance found she
particularly appreciated. She never
became accustomed to the city streets.
She went about always In fiutter OF
fear and nervousness, yet she must
have done a deal Of going" to get to- |
gether her little articles and sell them.
| saw her down town sometimes. pick.
Ing her way about among the rushing
crowds and cars and trucks, going |
through the great buildings, with their
incoming and outgoing streams OF hu.
manity eddying around the rows Of ele- |
yator doors, and In the grimy newspa- |
per Offices, where the air was tense
with silent activities. and as ! looked |
at the quaint figure. the gentle, half
frightened. high bred old face, won
dered why she was there. She must |
have lived some way since the war. |
Why did she not 60 on now as she had
before and satisfy her ambitions.if she |
had them, by such ladylike efforts with
genteel journals as she had made In |
the past. which had brought her much
neighborhood consideration and little |
money and which did not tear her |
away from the dingy. dignified. green
old home where she was born and the |
simple, fixed. old time life In which she |
was surrounded by friendllness, albeit |
most Of the friends were gone?
It was gallant-yes, surely there was |
something to stir the blood In seeing 30 |
frail. so unarmed creature take up |
the gage Of battle against such Odds
but It was painful too. l all but re-
sented the pangs she gave me. One
day said to myself, This Is worse |
than living ones own struggle over |
again." and that was bitter saying.
was standing in one room Of news |
paper Office when I saw her enter an |
adjoining one. She went up to the
managing editors desk with her little. |
soft, unbusinesslike manner and seem |