Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1902-01-28
mis- a s q
Brennan'S
70 10 Bly,.
hld ceceily Allen
Copyright, 1901, by
A. 8. Richardson.

The entire neighborhood had long
since decided that Mrs. Brennan's
youngest hopeful would close his earth.
ly career through the unwelcome at
tentions of the proverbial hangman.
Maggie Brennan, aged fifteen, was a
popular employee at JOhnson's cigar
factory. Young Dan was district
messenger boy, and even little Jennie
earned odd pennies by caring for the
neighbors' children when the latter
were called away to christenings, fu,
nerals and weddings.
But from the day that the "Kid," "
at the tender age Of nine months, had
fallen from the fire escape to the area
way, striking three clOtheslines en
route, and had sat up, bowling vigor-
ously, but unhurt, his young life had
been marked by succession OF STIR
ring and nerve distracting events.
Even his good natured Irish mother
had begun to regard him as hopeless,
and his one friend was pretty Miss
Harris, whose pink and blue shirt
waists and daintily embroidered skirts
decorated the Brennan clothes horse
each ironing day. Meta Harris always
declared that the Kid was particu'
larly intelligent and some day would
perform great deed.
On this afternoon the "Kid," having
reached the age Of three and having
acquired sufficient wisdom to snatch a
stick of licorice from weaker and
meeker playmate in the gutter. had
wandered far from home.
An overdose Of licorice on this hot,
sultry day had affected the "Kid" as
nothing had ever done before. He
yearned for the narrow, dim court and
the towering tenement, to say nothing
of a drink and his mothers restful
bosom. But all around him was mud,
the thick, yellow mud Of newly open
ed street, and beyond disgustingly new
cottages painted in aesthetic tints and
surrounded by gardens laid out In
geometrical flower and lawn patterns
that is, all were thus laid out save one.
II was overgrown with weeds, which
had choked out the flowers planted
there early in the spring.
A young man In natty flannel suit
had paused at the gate and was sur,
veylng with clOuded brow the scene
of desolation. 1t hardly seemed pos
sihle that just four months previous
he and she had planted those flowers
coming up each evening to water them,
pick out the weeds and put finishing
touches within doors.
The parIor furniture had been put In
place. Even some Of the shining tin
ware had found it's way to the small
pantry when the quarrel came.
He had done his best to smooth over
the difficulty, but finally one afternoon
he had walked over to the little cot,
tage, which represented his savings OF
two hard years, closed and barred the
windows and doors and with heavy
heart had walked out through the small
gate. Never again had he been near
the burial ground Of his high hopes
until this evening. Vaguely he had felt
lately that something ought to be done
with the Place.
The frown deepened as he turned
away and marched resolutely down
the street. He would see real estate
man Mt once and offer the place at any
sacrifice. Then he'd try his luck in
South America. The papers all said
there were great openings down there
for clever fellows from the States.
Mamma! Ma
Jack Griswold stopped communing
with the disagreeable past and stared
down upon bedraggled, forlorn bit of
humanity.
Hello. old chap! Are you black or
white?"
The "old chap" resented the familiar
address, fell to weeping Justify and
rolled discOnsolately in the soft mud.
"Oh, l say" exclaimed Jack. bend
ing over the little fellow, "you mustn't
do that! You'll be sight. Guess you're
lost"
Griswold glanced helplessly at the
neat cottages and then at the child of
the slums. How ever did the yOungster
get way out here? And his sobs were
actually pitiful. Jack thought of a
policeman, but such officials were sell