The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-02-09
USSgxR

T was all the Curfew's fault" sighed Mother. N "The Curfew's?"
 ''Well, Charlotte is intense. dear Ana
 so-so high-mnded."
 Charlotte is an orphan, and Fathers ward and perfectly beautiful. and horribly poor.
 do with it, pray?"
 And she has always felt that Langdon Bogardus had some such low, material tastes.-Lucy Ann, run along to the library, dear."
 1 ran, obediently. But not quite out of earshot
 "The FOOT child so longed for them to be truly congenial! But Langdon could never rise to her standard. He loathes good music; yet he sings coster songs and impersonates dellciously And Charlotte felt it was sheer contrarness, that he would appreciate better things"
 And the final break came right there Don't you remember the Nasty Puddings Reunion, just before you sailed?"
 4I should hope did," Father chortled "And Bogar- dus spoke pieces, Marco Bozzaris' and 'Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight in pink gingham sum- bonnet, and pantalettes. and shaving curls, and lisp. Can't hear him?
 "At midnight in hith guarded tent,
 "The Turk wath dreaming
 "Unluckily, that affair fell one of Charlottes ing for joy at Langdons antics, Charlotte sat un- smiling, rigid as statue. l knew tremendous you remember; and for the sixth, you men rushed behind the scenes and dragged him out and made him speak 'Curfew' again, twice over. When he finally escaped he came grinning down to Charlotte and me- His pink sunbonnet hung down his back, his shaving curls were over eye, his ruffed pima fore ripped from chin to toes, where he'd swung out into the belfry with the Curfew. He didn't look like dignifed Corporation lawyer, I'll admit. 1 began chafng him, but he didn't hear me- He was fwaiting for Charlotte. And she never glanced his
 "1 say. Charlotte,' he began. haven't you any bouquets tonights Not even bone to throw your
 "charlottes lashes narrowed, exasperatingly. fReally! Haven't you won sufficient prase? said paint.
 "'rm sorry you didn't like it, Charlotte knew tMarco Bozzaris' would bore you. But hoped you'd laugh at the 'Curfew.'"
 "Curfew seemed even more tedious than the other selections,' said Charlotte, deliberately tdont believe that I care ever to hear you recite rCurfew' again."
 "Langdon turned on her." said Mother "His "very well. Charlotte. You will not hear me sTcak 'Curfew' again, till you ask for it. And you may be thankful if you get it then And he swung on his ridiculous scufed schoolgirl heels and -~shot away"
 Bully for Langdon!" remarked Father inelegant- ly. Hell never yield inch, either. Charlotte will have to ask for Curfew, and ask mighty pret- ", at that"
 And she never will ask She does not really care, either"
 Him. Yet she has fretted and moped till nobody but tranquil Lucy Ann can get long with her. Lucy Ann always was the most comfortable chidl Now. 1aa Melvipa says Lucy Ann needs sea air. And Char. oete mas enged for italy eyer since she studied the two girls to Italy for the spring"
 (Melvina used to be Grandmother's housekeeper; and nowadays she's Grand Lama to ali our family. And you'd better believe she's brought up to look sharp! Even big majestic Father steps lively un- der Melvina's steelgray eyes)
 We'll, the night before sail, the whole house. hold began that Pufhng-Lucy-Ann stunt again. No wonder thought was Public Benefactor
 We'll. started off next morning. feeling so noble and so sanctihed. so loaded down with my tact, and trustworthness that it's wonder didn't l helpful and considerate to Charlotte. But Char lotte didn't appreciate my gentle ministries When I'd oner to go to her musty old galleries with her, instead of looking touched and pleased she'd heave :; weary sigh, clutch Baedeker. and hunt collec- ton suited to my stainless youthful mind.
 Discouraged, switched my helpful passions to Melvina, but Melvina wasn't grateful and found myself denied any object for my pentup devotions. As {! sat wont ering where to turn that golden flood, remembered Mothers last letter. She'd marked tnat & gne haa just become president or the my luckless inspiration. Why not visit Italian orphanage. then write dear Mother all about it?
 It hard to make Pasquale, our guide under stand where wanted to go, for his English and my Italian both rather sketchy. But finally he grasped my orders After long, twisty trip, climbed out of the gondola, and scrambled up weird, hippety-hop street. to the Asylum.
 That Asylum simply disgraceful No crisp gingham nurses no brass cribs no frly curtains just an old yellow marble pergola. And one tooth less old woman for Superintendent, and Board of Managers, and nurses, all at once! But the babies! Nine of them the darlingest, velveteyed dumplings, like lovely puppies! l poured all my small silver mo the nurses Iap ana LOIu ueT lC was TOT tue 44sylum, which sent her into spasms of gratitude. Then l sat down, and played with the babies till dinner time Oh they were so dear! Garlic, and strings of orange beads and pettcoats made of old damask chair seats, and all.
 At last Pasquale said must go. And what howl those angels did set up! Especially the three cunningest ones, wee godenheaded girl. Addoorata. and the podgy twoyear-old twins, her brothers They were the prettiest of all; and how they did cling to me- and how they did roar! I looked down tenderly at those lovely heartbroken cherubs then up swept my noble generous emotions, and fairly swamped what little sense had left
 "Are they real orphans? Are all their relatives dead? Father? Mother? Grandmother?" asked, in my best Berltz.
 Now do wish that nations like Italy, which use pantomime all the time, would establish an official gesture code instead of wig-wagging at random. The other day when Pasquale showed us the Doge di Lapponi's tomb he made three large, flowing gestures to indicate that di Lapponi reposed here, that he was dead, and that he had been dead for time