Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1921-04-07

lOuT years OlueT llldn DUD, "uO WIS
thirteen when his painting began. The
Shepherd looked at her with an eX-
| clamatiOn of delight; until then he had
never seen beautiful young maiden.
Homely, ill-clad daughters of the
working folk had come to his room
with field flowers now and then, but
no one like Pauline. He felt her hair
and looked wis*fully into her face and
said that she was like pink and white
and yellow roses. She was discov-
ery-a new kind of a human being.
Often he thought of her as he sat
looking out of the window and often
he dreamed of her at night.
The little Shepherd of the Birds
was not quite boy. He was a spirit
untouched by any evil thought, I'M
broken to lures and thorny ways. He
was like the flowers and birds of the
garden, strangely fair and winsome,
with silken, dark hair curling about
his brows He had large, clear, brown
eyes, mouth delicate as girls and
teeth very white and shapely The
Bakers had lifted the boundaries of
his life and extended his vision. He
found a new JOY in studying flower
forms and in initiating their colors on
canvas.
Now, indeed, there was not hap
pier lad in the village than this young
prisoner in one of the two upper bed
rooms in the small cottage of the
Widow Moran. True, he had moments
of longing for his lost freedom when
he heard the shouts of the boys in the
street and their feet hurrying by on
the sidewalk. The steadfast and cou-
rageOus Mr.. Bloggs had said: 81 guess
we have just as much fun as they do,
after all. Look at them roses"
One evening" as his mother sat
reading an old love tale to the boy, he
stopped her.
Mother" he said, 81 love Pauline.
Do you think it would be all right for
me to tell herr"
"Never a word" said the good
woman. "Ye see it's this way, my lit
tie son, ye're like priest an it's not
the right thing for priest"
81 don't want to be priest" said
he impatiently.
''Tut, tut, my laddie boy It's for
God to say an for US to obey" she
answered.
When the widow had gone to her
room for the night and Bob was think
ing it over, Mr.. Bloggs remarked that
in his opinion they should keep up
their courage, for it was very grand
thing to be priest after all.
Winters he spent deep in books out
of Judge CrOoker's library and tending
his potted plants and painting them
and the thick blanket of snow in the
garden. Among the happiest moments
of his life We're those that followed his
mothers return from the postOffice
with the Bingville Sentinel. Then, as
the widow was wont to say, he was
like dog with bone. To him, Bing-
| vile was like Rome in the ancient
world or London in the British EN-
pire. All roads led to Bingville. The
| Sentinel was in the nature of a habit.
One issue was like unto anOther-as
like as two chaws off the same plug
of tobaccer,' a citizen had once said.
Anything important In the Sentinel
would have been as misplaced as a
cannon in Westinghouse. Every week
1t caught the toy balloons of gossip,
the thistledown events which were
| floating in the still air of Bingville.
The Sentinel was a dissipation as en-
joyable and as inexplicable as tea.
To the little Shepherd, Bingville
was the capital of the world and Mr.
J. Patterson Bing, the first citizen Of
Bingville, who employed eleven hun
dred men and had four automobiles,
was q gigantic figure whose shadow
stretched across the earth. There were
two people much in his thoughts and
dreams and conversation - Pauline
Baker and ]. Patterson Bing. Often
there were articles in the Sentinel re-
garding the great enterprises of Mr..
Bling and the social successes of the
Bling family in the metropolis. These
he read with hungry interest. His
favorite heroes were George Wash
ington, st. Francis and J. Patterson
Bling. AS between the three he would,
secretly, have voted for Mr.. Bing In
deed, he and his friends and intimates
Mr.. Bloggs and the rubber tree and
the little pine bureau and the round
nickel clOck-had all voted for Mr..
Bing. But he had never seen the great
| man.
Mr.. Bling sent Mrs. Moran a check
every Christmas and, now and then,
some little gift to Bob, but his char
tiles were strictly impersonal. He
used to say that while he was glad to
help the poor and the sick, he hadn't
time to call on them. Once Mrs. Bling
promised the widow that she and her
husband would go to see Bob on
Christmas day. The little Shepherd
asked his mother to hang his best
pictures on the walls and to decorate
them with sprigs of cedar. He put on
his starched shirt and collar and silk
tie and a new black coat which his
mother had given him The Christmas