Newport daily independent., 1903-04-06
"What's his name ?v

 more! Wait for me, will you?" and he raced off eagerly, running, leap ing, dancing like a little Comanche, strutting like a small fat gladiator and making the quiet street ring with shouts and laughter that cer- tainly sounded like those of two small boys.
 The little old lady drew her shawl about her as she sat on her porch, though she was sure she did not feel the cool of the growing evening as much as usual. She heard the invalid father ask the busy little mother:
 What makes the boy so happy? l heard him whining around little while ago, and it made me feel worse and more helpless than ever. That does ones soul good. Listen!" he ex- claimed, at fresh burst of mirth.
 Its that dear old lady" she heard the busy mother answer. He was crying, and what with the supper to get and the baby, l couldn't do any thing; but she has taught him some new game and it has helped me work to hear him laughing since. I was little afraid, thongh, that you would mind the noise."
 Not that kind. It does me good"
 "The baby's growing and laughing, and I declare, the cakes are done to a turn; there's truth in the saying that they bake better in a cheerful oven. Now, l just think l ought to hand her in plate of them for her tea. I'm afraid we have been too busy to be neighborly; it must be a lonely coming home every night for poor body like her, and work ing hard all day"
 The little boy came and rested his plump arms on her thin knees. Eve had splendid time, and I'll always hare someone to play with, now. l T wish" he hesitated, as if he felt he should not ask more, "he could come and see me sometimes in my house,
 "Why, he will," she said. His eyes danced. ''When the lamps are light ed, you get between the lamp and the wall-never very near the lamp, you know-and you'll find him. Your papa will help you"
 "Oh!" The fat, warm hands clasped hers in rapture inexpressi- ble.
 She kissed him and lifted him over the low fence, took the plate of ap- petizing brown cakes from his mother and went in to her lonely room.
 Suddenly, she started; she did not seem to be eating her dreary meal alone, as she had done so long so long! Was there not a figure sitting opposite, lifting sociable cup or | friendly slice when she did, munching | away in a reminiscent silence? A sense of companionship grew upon her. She glanced sidewise, not too sharply, at the figure now and then. She ate again gay lunches with boon comrade of school days, when dreams were bright and the future a coming fortune; again, she seemed to enjoy sisters quiet presence. Ev- cry bite and sup was pleasure, where it had been mere necessity for years. Still half dreaming, she threw napkin over the tea-things, pushed
 
 low-seated, high-backed rocker, sway ing to and fro some moments before she happened to glance up again. She had moved nearer to the lamp, fur ther from the wall. Was that mere ly the shadow of the chair-back, or a tall figure bending over her own shadow, shrinking shyly back? Her n hof carelessly from a side knob of the chair, but the tall figure on the wall held manly chapeau in gallant and deferent fashion. Her heart stopped its mechanical, monotonous beating and kept time to old music. The breath of flowers faded summers and summers ago upon her arms-not even the lonely room might see her face then.
 Swaying back and forth, the rock ing-chair travelled as such things will. | quite a way across the room. The hat swung off unnoticed. The head rest slipped down, as they always do; half-unconsciously she caught it and
 
 face again.
 At last she looked up. "Ah!" she breathed The figure was gone, gone irrevocabiy, gone like the summers and their flowers and the music of the long ago.
 The clock struck an hour past her bedtime Slowly she moved about, strengthening the room, locking the door, disrobing, kneeling a moment in the worthless prayer of those who have nothing to expect, nothing to | ask except that which will surely | come anyway-a long rest, sometime. Then, she began to climb slowly in | bed, her last luxury of the day be- ing that flicker of the still-lingering fire instead of the usual chill. eco-