Tazewell Republican. [volume] (Tazewell, Va.) 1892-1919, 1900-02-22

yum lSSSOhJ JOu "1S uOihS SPASA
didly."
When Mrs. Keener next came to Ru-
lolph he began, in conciliating fash
ion: Mrs. Keener, l am awfully sorry
but l cannot conscientiously continue
with you"
She quickly raised her head and
looked him in the face with hurt as
constituent. Then she dropped her
square chin on her breast and fixed her
eyes on the roses in the carpet, but she
did not utter word.
81 am sorry" Rudolph repeated, "but
it is quite useless for you to attempt
music. You have no ear; no ear what.
ever. What am 1 to do? 1t is a waste
of my time and your money. 1t would
be unfair for me to keep this from
YOU" He paused, annoyed to think
that he was forced to express himself
so plainly.
Presently the woman arose and re-
piled, quietly: "All right" That was
all she said, and when she left the room
Rudolph inwardly commented: Il sup
pose she is half pleased not to pay out
any more money"
He did not see her draw down &
heavy veil to conceal the great teal
drops glistening in her dull, blue eyes
She hurried along the street with shut
fling haste until she reached a dilapi
dated two-story house and raped al
the door. She waited patiently until il
was opened by a slovenly young woman
with several dirty children clinging tC
her skirts.
"Oh, it only be you, Miss Keener,
said the young person in whining tone
Of relief.
Eyes, 1 am home early. I have some
sewing to finish for a lady who is go
ing to the seashore this week." Mrs
Keener replied, as she passed into q
narrow hall and went up a fight OF
worm-eaten stairs, but so slowly she at
tracted the attention of the young
woman, who called out:
"You amt sick, be you?"
"Oh, no, mol" was the hasty response,
"Only tired, a little tired" She hur-
riedly entered the small room she
called home. 1t contained three or four
pieces of old furniture. Everything was
clean. but no roses graced the floor, and
the sun could not creep in through the
one small window facing brick wall
only three feet away.
She sat heavily on one of the hard
wooden chairs and flung aside her bon
net and thick veil, then she buried her
face in her hands and wept.
Her little history is soon told.
When a young and happy girl she left
her country home to share the fortune
of the man she loved, who was fireman
on the road. Mrs. Keener's mother
died, and her father remarked, thus
making it impossible for her to visit her
old home, but she was contented with
her husband and life appeared bright
Mr. Keener was devoted to his plump,
fresh-looking country wife. No chill
dren blessed their union and time lent
no charm to the wife, but this did not
decrease the husbands love. They had
had been married rs years when a ter
rible calamity befell them. Mr.. KeeneI
accidentally caused a disaster on the
road, and many lives were lost. This
proved upon his mind until he became
insane. His wife bravely faced poverty
for his sake, and it nearly broke her
heart when neighbors forced her to
place him in an asylum. The poor man
had forgotten everything, and seemed
only to vaguely recognize his wife, who
called to see him as often as she could
meanwhile supporting herself and
clothing him by the use of her needle.
One day she discovered that he
listened eagerly to some simple air
played across the street. An inspira-
ton seized her. she rushed out of the
asylum and accosted the bewildered
musician, demanding thename of the
instrument on which he played. He
told her it was a mandolin, and very
easy to manage. She went home happy
for the first time in many months. AT
last there appeared one chance of gain
ing a soul touch with her unfortunate
loved one. From one of the ladies for
whom she sewed, she heard that Ru-
dolph Oswald was good instructor.
No wonder that she kept track of the
precious hours, when every minute
counted loss of time in sewing, and
consequent thinning of the little leath-
er purse.
1t was all over now. The cherished
hope of bringing one ray'of reason to
those beloved vacant eyes was not TO be
realized. She arose and dried her tears;
there was no leisure for grief; she must
finish that dress and tears would ruin
the delicate silk. She exchanged her
plaid gown for calico wrapper, then
she lit a lamp, it was so dark, though
not later than four o'clock. Soon she
was seated near the poor light stitch
ing patiently, while from time to time
she drew a long sobbing breath.-N. 0.
Times-Democrat.
A story of FuseII.
Fuseli, an eminent historical painter,
who grew in fame after 1870, when he