The Lafayette advertiser. [volume] (Vermilionville [i.e. Lafayette], La.) 1865-19??, 1908-01-17
The Little
LaundreSS
BY Zoe Anderson N0rrJs
(Copyright.)

He returned the little laundresa
glance with a quick flash of admire
ton. she was so pretty, so UNUSUAL,
pretty. with SO pathetic an expression
In her big blue eyes. His glance swep
across the ironing-room filled witt
laundry girls Of every age and descrip
ton. Many of them were fairly pref
ty, but one of ttaem came I'D to hi
little laundress for real beauty. Sh>
shone amongst them like a gen..
is this our bundle?" asked thu
clerk.
Clifford looked long at the name
written seemingly in hieroglyphics
Yes said he, discovering at las
some letters that reminded him dimly
OF his W name, and he still re
NAMED after the clerk had counted
out his change, looking at the pretty
little laundress, patiently ironing away
at the linen Of worthless fellows like
himself. Perhaps she had ironed his
own. He took up the bundle tenderly.
1t had suddenly become precious to
him.
Her face haunted him. How pretty
she was! Entirely too pretty to work
a. she did. Heavens! Couldn't she
md some easier work than that? To
think Of standing on ones feet all
day long day after day ironing! He
could hardly imagine anything more
tiresome.
In his studio, he found himself con-
stantly drawing her face on bits Of
paper with a pencil. Failing in catch
Ing the likeness, he tore up these lit
u papers and made numerous
sketches of her in black and white,
the lifelessness of which Knocked 1T
the beauty of her features. In the
course Of time the studio came to be
strewn with these Indifferent sketches
and still he had failed to catch the
features of the laundress in their rare
perfection.
May I ask who it is?" said HE
friend Wonderly, who in the interim
OF his law studies made Clifford's stu
do his loafing place.
my IDEAL" answered Clifford short
~, and indeed by this time that Is
what the little laundress had become.
One evening as he stood on the cor.
ner opposite the la~undry--it had be-
come a habit of his lately to haunt
those morning and evening
worshiping her from afar-she ap-
peared at the door and glanced up at
the clouds. With her blue eyes raised
thus, he thought she had the look Of
. madonna.
He followed her at . discreet dis
lance. absorbed in the p~earliness Of
her skin. and the witching curls that
hung clingingly to her white neck.
Was there eve anything so exquis-
tie.
Meanwhile the laundress walked
briskly into q narrow street, and low
ering her umbrella, entered q cottage,
exactly like every other cottage in the
row, neat. square and covered with
morning glories. Losing her thus.
Clifford turned back and went home
to his studio, where in the waning
light he tried in vain to reproduce her
face. 1t eluded him like a will-o.the- !
wisp. He squeezed out color after
again and again, mixing in
rather than with the knife |
to avoid muddying. but careful a. he
was, the cOlors were moi to be COM
pared with the transparent beauty of
her skin as he remembered it. He
mixed the blue Of her eyes with the
:arnation of her cheks. but failed to
the faint purple beneath
her eyes,. He found his ochres too
:hromish. There was no yellow in his
paint box the color Of her hair, which
vas like the hair on the heads of very
children, pure gold, beautiful
III his 'alchemist art failed to produce
lnything like 1t.
He tossed his brushes aside in des.
,air, and flinging himself in a chair
the window, leaned out. The rain
ell silently like tears. The smell of
he wet grass rose gracefully to his
window, mingled with the odor of a
ed of mignonette on the plot be
cath. These tranquil odors and the
aim Of the quiet night failed to quell
is r~estlessness and disappointment.
had made a miserable failure. He
'as always making miserable fail.
res. He wondered if all artists
ove their mistakes as ne did.
lie began to wish hat he had chosen
ONE other occupation in life.
-
At that moment. a natty bank clerk
the steps across tine street.
lrled his umbrella, brushed the rain
rops from his oat sleeves and en-
sred his boarding house. He had
ten Q e him returning from his
ork and envied him. His life was
3ssibly prosaic enough. In all prob
oility he went through . daily tread.
Ill of work mapped out for him with
!. variations. but he rested well
hen that work was done There were
poor drawings to grin hideously Ct
m from studio wallA no ruined can
'ses worse by far than skeletons
zned with their faces to the walls In
} seudio closets, no pictures to
mt him upon which the paint was !
4 thick as slabs because Of tho /,