The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1910-07-13
THE EVENING STORY
Little Rose.
IBy Frederick Hoffman,

PIOAcSAOT 0SSk. ne WAS d 6CuOlch ia
no mean reputation, distinguished
among men of letters. rigid student
and a master of the arts; yet, even
row, within the professors deep gray
eyes, there was a CLEAN of something,
savoring not at all of sociology nor the
science of the people, suggesting no
white Of dust thick volumes, remote
from classroom dictates and the rule Of
college council. Was it that the pro-
fessor smiled?
He held a manuscript, sent him for
correction. review of his latest book,
accompanied by brief biographical
sketch. The professor was reading:
1T is noticeable that, from the first,
Dr. Carl Sternbaum. our eminent sci
enlist, was attracted toward the study
of human nature in all it's varied
phases. A boy OF 16. he ran away from
home and joined band of wandering
gypsy tramps, ostensibly to make per-
sonal observation Of the peculiar habits
of this people,.
1t was at this point that the profess
sor laid down the paper and the sug-
gested CLEAN of humor took possession
of his features.
Yes; he had run away. Who would
not have run away from the stern dis
cipline of q moody foster-father and
the continual nagging OF a sternfaced
aunt? Had his mother lived he would
have scorned this thing, but, when she
died all sympathy and love went with
her and he fought his way uncham-
pioned and alone.
He recalled again that day in early
spring-a Saturday half holiday it was
and yet he sat alone within the bar
rem spare room, swinging his legs, de-
Jected and distressed. What business
had Aunt Maria to treat him so? He
vas no child, though he was fra.l and
slender for his age. He was It, and
because she had discovered him buried
deep in a volume Of history at time
v. hen he should have been drawing wa
ter from the we'll without, she had sent
kim peremptorily into the cherries
room, there to await his fathers later
judgment. Sixtee n-was he not a man!
She was but a woman! A man is al
ways greater than woman ana ms
ipmost soul rebelled.
Again the professor seemed weigh
ed down, as on that day, by the op-
pressive tick-tock-tick of the moon
faced-clock, looming times tyrant in
the corner. Tick-tock-tick! 1t was
very damp and still. But what was
that?
Down the road, far out beyond the
gardens whitewashed wall, and the
rows of nodding daffodils, came
sound suggesting to the boy many
things. At first it was but vague
and formless tinkle. then the clear
and shouts, the rumbling of many
wheels. There was sudden call to
halt the hoof beats paused awhile,
and above the clatter of the rest, one
voice shrieked, Fine lace for sale!-
your kettles we will mend!-your for
tune while you wait!"
With the last blithe statement the
sound ceased. Aunt Maria came,
raging from the kitchen, Away" she
scowled, you good-for- beg
gars-away from our clean streets!
Go on to the Black Forest when you
come"
A gay laugh was the answer to
her ranting and the band went jang-
ling on.
But the gray eyes of the boy with
in grew wide with sudden question?
The Black Forest? There would be
ny! There he would be free and gay.
Why not? The window sash was open.
Already it was dusk. A moments
final argument, and he had dropped
upon the new soft grass, was down
the road, away to gypsy-land.
They welcomed him, those artless
gypsy waits, made much of him and
claimed him one of them. From the
first, he was useful in countless ways.
He had a head for figures and bal
ancing accounts, and saved the lawless
band many a scrape. They were kind
enough, but he, too, did his part.
Yet what had kept him there, en-
during hardships of summer drough
and winter freshness, uncomplaic-
ing, with brave grace? Was it that
inner sense of scholarly investigation
subtly asserting itself? Was it the
mere obstinate braggadocio of a boy,
misunderstood at home? Or was it
something else?
Little Rose was fragile thing,
blue eyed and fiaxen curled, start
lingly unlike the other children of the
camp. The boy watched her won
deringly and used to ponder deeply
on her parentagle. Being wise beyond
his years, and knowing the uncon-
fornity of gypsy wanderers, he asked
no pointed questions. However, he
was sure, though she. herself, could
tell him nothing of her early life, that
the frail girl had been stolen from
her home in hope of rich reward. Yet,
she was happy here, rejoicing in the
flowers and the sunlight.
The boy, lying beside big, swarthy
Joe, the chieftains Oldest son. night
after night. stared at the stars through
rift within the tent. dreaming of this
child.
After many months of joyous COM
ra1eship, of care-free life in sun and
wind, the great terror came. They
were riding along through the valley,
up hill and down dale, thinking no
harm, imagining no evil, when the
deep fear burst full force upon them.
The Rose and Carl were lettering be-
hind the vans. singing, when sudden
" the girl raised her flower-crowned
head, and the boys gaze followed
hers.
A gentleman on horseback, having
ridden for some time unobserved, was
close upon them now. It was up into
his eyes that the girl was staring with
that startled apprehension. The boy
saw. in a flash, the clue to her strange
loneliness; the kinship was past ques-