The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1903-12-03
Alas. he was better fitted to draw


pictu.ss than to chop kindling, lie pau
vre artist, with his long, slim fingers.
| As Aspasi watched him she seemed to
see in contrast a blue flannel shirt
straining over straight shoulders while
a keen AK flashed up and down with
poetical precision. But who would
have suspected that she saw such vi
sions, the deer-eyed maiden, as she
heaped the chips in her apron with a
shy:
Il tank you, sir"
Helm! 1t is the poets that tell us
the woods is the place to see visions
and dream dreams. VOLTA, Aspasi saw
many visions: ofbroad shoulders, as we
have said; of fearless black eyes when
| she looked at the artists gold-rimmed
| glasses; of swift, strong strides when
she watched the artists stroliing
steps; of back-fiung head and laughing
lips while she responded to the artists
well-bred smile. All, mon ami, beside
the machine-made man she kept seeing
the man primitive with the beauty of
sun god and the bravery of dumb
beast-and she could not comprehend
culture. But, yet; it was fun to have
a man who wore store clothes every
day for beau. 1t made the other girls
81 jaloux.
And then the edge came up to the
artist, sharp and keen. It was a letter
that did it. A cold, typewriter, die
tated ten lines. Helm, that this fugi-
tive from a hustling world center"
| should have found it's way into that
delicious land of dreams and visionsi
An offer which if accepted meant a
cool thousand or so-and prospects;
but which, if rejected, or even ne
| elected, was as door slammed in the
face of success.
The artist walked the night away.
How could he go and leave her, his
incorrigible angel? But how could he
take her with him? In that dollhouse
atmosphere would she not droop and
All, he had meant to give it all up for
her To have a cottage on a hillside
with flowers blooming about the door,
and now And now the incongruity
of it all struck a chill to his heart
Broadway and this beautiful child.
Poor little incorrigible angel. And he
had deliberately taught her to love
him-had wooed her wistfully, think
ing of that home upon the hill that
was not to be. Must he go away in
silence? All the manhood culture had
left with him rose in protest. At tho
thought of those beautiful eyes darken-
ing with pain and those perfect lips
dropping in sorrowful patience his
heart began to hurt him. He did love
her. She fascinated his fancy. All,
she appealed to his tenderness-a ten
derness he had not before suspected.
Dear little incorrigible angel. Sho
would be pitifully corrigible taken
away from the hills and the sunshine
that were as the very breath to her.
But he must do it. Must take her
away and train her to be a proper
partner for his prospects. He was man
enough to give small thought as to
what his friends would say and before
morning even man enough to rise
above the crushing inconvenience of
this unexpected expense. The day wore
to evening and, eh bien, it was a bigger
man than the artist had ever planned
to be that sat down beside his host
when that host had eaten his supper
and washed his feet and was feeling at
peace with himself and Heaven. Very
honestly he told this honest man what
was in his heart and thought, and his
host, being slow-talking as we'll as
honest, said, reflectively:
"Yas?" He smoked a cigarette and
added: "Yas; das one beeg ting, ed
cation. l amt had none, me. But,
know. Vas; das one beeg ting" And
then, unexpectedly, "Ou est-elle done
Aspasi. Aspasi! wien, chere."
In mingled French and English he
told her of the artists intentions to-
ward her and Aspasi sat with demurely
lowered lashes. AS he watched her
color quicken the artist felt his heart
begin to swell. He was doing noble
thing-and how was he to know that
those divine bushes were for dark
eyed boy beyond the bayou who could
do his own love-making. The old man
summed up gently
ITS TO you to say, chere. But me,
t'ink vas"
The incorrigible angel raised her
lashes and swept the artist a single
swift glance of still disdain.
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