Year: 1879

A SKETCH IN A NARROW STREET,


It was so narrow, this little back street in
the quaint, old-fashioned German town, that
Hans Gottleb could, if he SO wished, have
shaken hands out of his window with his op-
posite neighbor.


The sun that shone so bravely elsewhere
was seldom visible here only in the early
morning few golden CLEANS found their
way in, and gave faint encouragement to the
two or three flowers that blossomed in pots on
the window.sill.


Or such occasions Hans would pause in
his work, knowing full we'll what was COM
ing-how the easement opposite would be
flung open, and girls voice, singing blithe
little French song, would ring across the
silent street to his listening ears 4; how slim,
pretty figure would for moment stand franz
ed in the blossoming scarlet runners-a pret.
ty figure, with dark French eyes, and black
hair, drawn up under white cap, beautiful
contrast, so Hans thought, to his comely,
yellow haired countrywomen. AS soon as
this vision appeared Hans would pause in
his work and turn his eyes toward it, would
wait till the watering Of the flowers and the
singing of the song were alike ended, and
then would approach his window. :,


"Good morning" his neighbor would call
across in that pretty foreign German that
was so enchanting in his ears-"Good morn.
ing, Monsieur Gottlieb," and then with nod
and a smile the trim little figure would van
ish into the dark shadows, and Hans return
to his work.


But though life was too busy with these
two, and bread difficult to win, even when
one worked hard for it, so that neither could
afford to idle away the minutes in talk, yet
Hans, as he worked, dreaming of the days
when stone carving should not mean daily
bread, but honor and glory to those he loved, /,
was pleasantly conscious all the time of a dark
head bent over table drawn close up to the
window opposite-a table covered with many
bright.colored scraps of muslin and paper
which in due course, under those dett, small
hands, became summer flowers, at this short
distance seeming to the looker-on the spoils
of June garden.


Thus they worked day after day, these two,
so near together, yet so far apart, abstalnlng
from all conversation which might have
made the days pass more quickly, but then
an hours idleness might mean going supper
less to bed, so that even Rose Cordier, dearly
as she loved the sound Of her own voice, re.
Trained from making use of it, except for an
occasional song. But when the day was over,
when the GOODNESS came over the little close
street, and the shadowy gray Of the long
summer day was drawing to an end, when
the small room grew dark, then Rose would
rise and open the door, to interchange greet
ings and gossip with the neighbors-with the
women sitting on their doorsteps, knitting in
the peaceful twilight, their children playing
about them with the fathers returning from
their work with the young men lettering
about smoking; for Rose had always bright
word and look for every man, woman and
child she knew.


And they were all fond of her-of this
little foreigner who had come among them
four years ago with an old mother, since
dead, and who earned her daily bread honest
ly among them.


Then, as it grew even darker, Hans Gott-
lieb would become aware that the day and its
work were over, and would lay aside his chisel,
and also seek what little fresh air there was
at the door of the dwelling. He did not
laugh or gossip with his neighbors, as did
Rose Cordier; it was not his way, and this
fact was quite recognized by the dwellers in
William street. Beyond good evening,
neighbor," they did not seek to disturb him
in the en- joyment of his evening pipe, only
occasionally Rose would step across and ask
him what he was at work upon, or if he had
good order, and then poor Hans, flushed all
over his fair face, would, proceed to describe
his work, his prospects, until Rose, with
pretty shrug of her shoulders, would tell
him in her foreign German she could not uu-
derstand him; he must speak slower, much
slower; it was too late now, but tomorrow,
yes, tomorrow, he must try and explain it
all again, for it was interesting, so interesting.
But for now it must be goodnight, good
night to every one" and the slight, trim fig
ure had disappeared, and the door was closed


The neighbors, watching Hans as he stroll
ed up and and down the little street after
ward, pipe in mouth, nodded and smiled to
one another. "Ah, when there is enough for
two over yonder, there will be wedding "
Such was the form the whispering took.


Even the hardest workers take holiday
now and then, and the feast of St. John the
Baptist is esteemed in Friedrichburg the legit-
innate summer holiday of all its industrious
inhabitants. The happy day is spent accord
ing to an old custom at small village some
three miles distant from the town, where a
time-honored fair is held.


Lion-Tamers, fat women, dwarfs, giants,
all the hundred and one shows that are the
rightful property of fair are to be found
there, and later on there is dancing under
the soft evening sky, and after that, home
early, so as to be up and about on the morrow,
to work, if possible, harder than ever, to
make up for the wasted day.


To Rose Cordier, with her quick French
blood, her youth, her light heartedness, this
fete was one to which she looked forward for
many weeks beforehand, and the little foreign
er knew she was never likely to want a caval.
ier, and this was looked upon as almost a
sine qua non of the entertainment


The neighbors smiled more than ever when
they saw Rose come out Of her door the morn
ing of the 24th of June, looking as fresh and
bright as the roses in her belt, and Hans ap-
pear Immediately afterward, a companion
rose in his buttonhole.


They were all standing about in little
groups preparing to start themselves to the
,o,,,, &c +bor, with hoh hi oc