News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1903-06-10
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NINE. AdNleF kepI bAop dG IAle
end Of the street, such tiny shop,
with only one window to it and bit
of a counter piled high with bunch
es of gay yarn and boxes of cheap
tinsels. There was a bird in a cage
in madarne's window. He always
sang furiously in the early morning,
and a pot of mignonette in blossom
adorned the sill.
just across the road lived the
sausage vender,- a little old man,
who wore a wig and dressed in snuff
color.
He was early at his post every
morning frying sausages; but, being
cruelty afflicted with asthma, he
could only speak in loud, hoarse
voice, so his daughter, Annette, a
very dream of health and beauty,
would stand beside him in her neat
stuff gown and call in a voice as
lusty as a chanticleer:
4 eliot sausages! Hot sausages"
Now, diagonally across on the
next street was a tall brick building
used as storehouse. It's lower
rooms were piled with dusty white
bags full of grain, over which the
satin coated mice frolicked and
grew fat the livelong day, but up in
the peak of the building was a large
garnet, rented to a poverty stricken
artist.
Here were pictures strewn all
about the room, while in the middle
of the room stood a stout easel sup
porting bare canvas. Every morn
ing the artist crept down from his
lofty quarters to buy hot sausages
of NJ. Daubeau and to cast sly
chances of intense regard at An
nette, who, for her part, kept on at
her calling as if there were no young
men in the world.
But when he turned to go back
to his garnet then would Annette
smile and toss her head, with its
white cap, in coquettish nod to
the little madame across the road,
saying as much, "See; have an ad-
mirer." And madame would smile
back, for she dearly loved a ro-
nance. Sometimes she would beck
on to Annette, and when the girl
ran lightly across the street the old
woman would say:
"When shall the wedding be? ?"
fUgh!" Annette would answer.
"Could I eat paint? | thrive now
and am comfortable. Monsieur
must make his fortune ere Annette
WEEDS HIM"
'And he shall do it, returned the
little madame. q will myself speak
to monsieur"
That very day when the artist pass
ed her shop with canvas we'll wrap
ped in paper under his arm the lit
tie Frenchwoman called to him.
"Come in" she said. "Show me the
picture"
Reluctantly he undid it and dis
closed a pensive faced Madonna
"Fi done, monsieur!" exclaimed
madame. "But she has sickly
look. l do not wonder you may not
sell her We have enough like her.
Monsieur must paint different
something gay and cheerful-fresh,
you know"
81 am too poor to hire a model"
said the artist gloomily.
"Ah, truly" replied madame,
N'but suppose | could find a model.
Would monsieur paint?"
<'Pcrhaps."
{ She led the way through the
tiny shop to a timer living room.
There, in one corner, looking very
big and clumsy, stood an oaken
chest, with the lilies of France
carved upon it. The old woman I'M
fastened a key from her chatelaine
and knelt before the chest. She
paused.
"Monsicur must know" she said
gravely, Gong way back in France
my people were not poor, but rich.
That was before the revolution,
monsieur; before their names were
knitted into the cruel madame's
stocking They fell. We have al
ways been poor enough since. &c
coffre contains my great-grand
mere's ball gown. Monsieur shall
see."
She unlocked the chest and, lift
ing a covering of tissue paper, shook
out rich white satin gown heavily
embroidered with pale blue forget
menots. The stomacher was thick
ly sewed with seed pearls, and wide
ruf1es of rare old lace edged the
meek. -. -.-es-.,-----.o..-spa-'s'"+s-'s
The artist gave a cry Of admira-
&ion-"A costume of the time of
Louis XVI! How exquisiteP'
J "Here are her slippers" contin-
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