Rensselaer Union, Volume 11, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 July 1879 — IMPROMPTU FIRE-WORKS. [ARTICLE]

IMPROMPTU FIRE-WORKS.

“Are you jfry uncle Robert?" saida sweet, childish voice. And stopping the cheerful whistle that always accompanied his work, and looking up from the plane that was loudly lisping as it rapidly skimmed along the board ho was planing, Richard Foster saw, standing in the door of his workshop a bright June sunbeam resting on her pretty little fair-haired girl. Lost in astonishment, he did not answer the child, but gazed at her with wide-opened ej es. She had appeared so suddenly and quietly, and, moreover, she was so unlike tho roundfaced, rosy-cheeked, white-haired, chubby little ones of his native village —so fair, so fragile, with a strango, yearning look in her large violet-blue eyes, and a tint of purest gold on the long flowing hair that fell about her small delicate lace—that she seemed to belong to an entirely different race. “Are you my uncle Robert?” she repeated, coming a step pr two into the shop. “No, I’m not, baby; I wish I were,” answered the cheery young fellow, recovering from his surprise; for he dearly loved children, and this child touched some chord in his heart that had never been touched before. “My name’s not ‘Baby;’ it’s Eva,” said the child, shaking the hair back from her face, and regarding him with a serious look. “And mamma’s name is Eva, too.” And then, with a little sigh: “I fought perhaps you was him.” “What made you thjnk so, baby—l mean Eva?” asked the young man, with a pleasant smile, tossing his plane aside, and sitting down on a huge block of wood that stood near. “You look like him”—speaking with quaint preciseness. “He went away when I was a very little girl— I’m ’most five now—but I ’member him. He had a face like you, a nice laughing face; but ” —glancing at the shirt-sleeves—“ he wore a coat, and lie used to give me candies for kisses — two candies for one kiss; and mamma cries because ho does not come back and take us away with him.” The dinner bell raug loud and long in the cottage adjoining. The young carpenter mechanically rose to his feet, and then deliberately sat down again, as he said, with a tender look in his honest brown eyes,-“l’m sorry mamma cries.” “ Yes; she cries"—in alowered voice, and, completely won by the kind look, coming to his side, and putting her mite of a hand confidingly in hiS—- “ bocauso papa has gone up there” (pointing to the sky). “I don’t ’member him; ’twas long, long, long ago; and Uncle Robert don’t come back; and she’s a beggar!”—this last remark evidently quotod, with a dramatic little

gesture. Again the dinner bell rang violently. “ VVijyi you tell mo where you live, Eva?’’ asked Dick, paying no attention to the summons; but before the child could reply, a stout, buxom, black-eyed girl flew Into the shop from the rear door, and a slight, graceful, fair-haired woman came in at the Other. “ Dick, why on earth don’t you come to dinner?” almost yelled the buxom girl; and, “Eva, my darling, what are you doing here?” cried the pretty woman... “1 fought he was my uncle Robert,” said the child, smiling at the young workman as she dropped his hand and wont toward her mother. “ Be?" exclaimed tho pretty woman, searoelyglanciugat him. ..." W.hy, he” —with a light laugh, and a slight inflection of scorn, or something very likeit, inher voice—" he’s a carpenter." And catching the child in her arms, she disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived. “ Goodness gracious sakes alivo!” said Dick’s brown-faced, red-chceked sister, with not- an ihflection, but a whole volume of scorn in her voice. “■A. carpenter,!, indeed! And what is ' she?" “ What is she?” repeated Dick. “Oh, come along to dinner, Dick, and don’t bother. Tm hungry, if you ain’t”—giving him a by no moans gentle pull. “Stopa moment, Lib”—jerking away from her—“ that’s a good girl; and Mil me all about it.” “ All about it? Pshaw! you men aro all alike.® All about her, you moan. Do you think she’s pretty?” - “ WeU.jUly about her, then,” said Dick, utterly ignoring the question. “Mother’ll be hopping mad, and the victuals’ll be stone-cola, but I s’pose I’d better hurry and tell you what I know at once, or you’ll be pestering the life .out of me till I dp. She’s a widow—‘Mrs. Leonard Doming," M. D,,' that is, Mr. Leonard Doming was ‘M. D.;’ and she came here two days ago to live in the brick cottage round the corner with her aunt, old Mrs. Paulding, who is always talking of * better clays, T *sHd bb'asufig"that nr’ere never has been a mechanic in her family, And yet ahe’s as poor as a church mouse, and’hotebe knows how she manages to live.’*'-

“Go on, Lib’’—as she stops to take breath. “There goes the bell again!” turning toward the door. “ You shall not stir a step until you finish your story,” says l)iok, detaining her with firm but gentle foroe. “Oh, Richard Foster, what a tease you are! and only yesterday you was palling me' a gossip, and saying how wdmen’s tongues did run on, and—oh!” (with a shrill scream), ** what a pinch, you tormenting thing! Well, her husband'was a doctor, ana went off to some placo or other when they’d boon married a year or so, and caught the yellow fever and died, and left her nothing bpt his ‘M. D.’ And she’s as poor as old lady Paulding, and just as proud; and, oh, Dick, the funniest thing—she’s filled one of her aunt’s front windows with wax llowcrs for sale, just as though any one in this place, would buy wax flowers! Come along.” 1 “ Lib, I think wax flowers are beautiful"—ho had never thought of them in his lifo before, and in fact knew nothing about them—“and I wish you’d set the other folks a good example, and buy a lot of them from—Mrs. Deming, for our parlor mantel;” and he thrust a bill into her hand. “ Dick Foster, aye you crazy P Wax flowers, and mother wanting a new cook-stove this minute!—the old one’s falling into pieces—and I haven’t—” “ A stitch to your back.” says Dick, smiling. “You never'have. But buy tho flowers, Lib, dear, and mother shall have a new stove and you a new dress before tho week’s out. I’ll work nights.” “But, Dick—” But Dick had rushed away at a fourth and most furious ringing of the bell, and she was fain to follow without another word. Day after day Dick Foster sot his shop door wide open, and replenished the pretty bonbon box that was hidden away behind some tools on a shelf in the corner, in hopes that he might some day again raise his head from his work and see the fair-haired child standing before him. But day after day went by, and June merged into July, and she came no more. The wax flowers had been bought a few days after Dick had so suddenly discovered how much he admired them, and wonderful imitations of nature they proved to be, but, alas, wanting. nature’s wonderful fragrance; and they stood between tho china dog and cat that Dick remembered from his earliest boyhood, on the high old-fashioned wboden mantel in tho low-ccilinged sunny parlor. Lib had come back from purchasing them with a quick step and a snap in her black eyes, and had immediately—as Dick knew she would the moment ho caught sight of her—rushed into the shop to—as she was wont to express it —“ free her mind.” “ There, I hope you’re satisfied,” she begin, with a toss of her head, putting the vasto of lilies and roses into his hand; “ but / think you’d better saved your money. Not but what they’re pretty enough, and I don’t see how she makes ’em; I couldn’t. But of all the stuck-up things / ever saw, she’s the worst. ‘ Your little girl thinks your brother looks like my brother,’ says I, trying to make myself agreeable. ‘Does he? I’m sure 1 don’t know; I didn’t look at him. My brother is a very handsome man, and an „ .artist. We” were a family of artists, although my share of talent took a very lowly form,’ says she, handing me the vase —she called it ‘ parse.’ ‘ Good-after-noon.’” To all of which Dick replied not a word, but turned away and sawed like mad, whichT so offended Miss Elizabeth Foster that Bhe never referred to the pretty widow again until the afternOon of the 3d of July, when, with a gleam of mischief in her face, she burst out at the supper table: “ Oh, Dick, I’ve a message for you. I met 4 Miss Eva,’ as tho little servant-girl calls her. They say that girl serves Mrs. Deming for love; wish I could get people to serve me for that. • Please tell the—the shavings man,’ said Miss Eva, ‘that I wanted to come again, but mamma won’t let mo.’ And. oh, Dick, if they haven’t put lire-works tor sale in the other parlor window! Waxllowers and lire-works! Ain’t it f unny P” But judging from- Dick’s clouded brow and closely-set lips, Dick thought it any thing but funny; and Lib, wisely dropping the subject, devoted herself to mother’s soft gingerbread with undivided attention. And the cloud still lingered pn tho young carpenter’s brow as he, pail in hand, just after supper, bent his steps toward the old well that stood a few feet beyond the brick cottage. Ho had developed an extraordinary fondness for tho water of tills well; it seemed as though nothing else could quench his thirst, albeit until a few weeks ago he had been perfectly satisfied with the oold-as-ice, clear-as-crystal water drawn from the well in his mother’s garden. As he drew near the isolated cottage

he saw the fire-works in the window, and his heart came up in Ins throat. “So poor, so proud, so lovely,” he thought. “I’ll buy them all, to-mor-row.” An (hat this moment the pretty woman stepped out on the old-fash-ioned porch, and Dick turned and fled. a few hours after Dick was again seized with a terrible thirst—a thirst that he was firmly convinced could only be assuaged by a draught from the brick cottage well, and again, pail in hand, he set out, this time to reach the place of destination and begin slowly to return. It was ten o’clock. In the cottage all was silence and darkness. Dick paused as he reached it, and leaned against the maple infrontof the door and gazed at the shutterless windows, where tho wax flowers ‘and fireworks entreated, “Come buy me.” And as he gazed, smash went a pane of glass, and a blue-light shot past him and fell with a prolonged hiss upon the ground. Then in quick succession came another and another. Then fizz! bang! pop! pop! fizz! bang! and the pyrotechnic articles were shooting about in every direction, and the white muslin curtains were in. fliujms. * lu a moment the strong young fellpw had burst open the door, throwing the pail of water upon the crackling fireworks, torn down the blazing curtains, and stamped out the fire. And in another moment some due in a long white robe, her golden .hair silvered by tho moonlight, came flying out of the Bpom’just beyond, and flinging her arms about him, cried: “Oh! dear brother, Robert, you have come back at last. -But—but”—looking about her in a bdwihlered manner—“ What has happened?”,^ “Dm not brother Robert,” said Diek; blit he didn’t loosen tho clinging arms, as it bchqoved him to do, when he made the dec'thfffion. “I’m—t&e—the shavings man,, aud your window has been on Are. Fortjqpmely, I was passing—” But he got no further, for the whiterobed figure uttered a little shriek, and

fled with preeipltanoy as old Mrs. Paulding entered the room from the other door, her befit bonnet perohed on her hoad, and her night-cap dangling by its strings abound her neck, a silver tea-pot in one hand, and her favorite mat, grasped by the throat, in the other, on a queer little run, totally unlike her usual dignified tread. ■ To her did Dick explain the cause of the wet catpet and tho smoke-begrimed walls, and amid her profuse thanks for his timely help, was taking * his leave, when Mrs. Doming* lamp in hand, again made her appearance—this time in suitable evening dress. “Oh, aunt, what an escape!” she began, setting the lamp on the table; “ and to think I nover awoke until the very last, I was so tired; and Eva has slept through it all. We might have been burned in our beds.” And then, turning to Dick, she said, her swoet voice trembling in spite of her great effort to maintain her composure, “I beg your pardon for thp_ absurd mistake I made; but I was so bewildered, and only half awake, and I’d been dreaming of my brothor, whom you”— looking him full in the face— 44 resemble very much.” And breaking offsuddenly, her voice trembling still more, “ How can wo ever thank yon, Mr.-” 44 Dick Foster, the carpenter,” said Dick, with as much dignity as though he had said “doetdr” or “ artist.” “ —Mr. Foster,” her lips quivering and her fair cheeks flushing red, and she held out to him her dainty hand. Dick flushed as rosy red as she, but made no movement toward her. His right hand hanging listlessly at his side, his hat held in his left, he stood in silence as though uncertain what to “Do you refuse to shake hands with me?” she asked, a look of pained surprise flitting across her lovely face. “ Why, God bless us! he can’t,” screamed the old lady; 44 his poor hand is dreadfully burned.’’ And she hastened away in search of old linen and sweet-oil. . . A Bj JW

And it was—his working hand —terribly burned; but when Dick went home that night he scarcely fel tthe pain tor the momory of two violet eyes shining through tears, and a sweet Vbice saying, “Oh, I’m so very, very sorry—so very, very sorry!” The next morning Mrs. Foster had just cleared away the breakfast things and gone into the sitting-room, where Dick sat, installed in the only easy chair the house possessed, his right hand enveloped in bandages, a book in his left, and the vase" of wax flowers on the table before him, when there came a gentle knock at the street door. The good mother, opening it, beheld a pretty blue-eyed woman, holding a pretty blue-eyed little girl, standing upon the threshold, “ Oh, it’s you, Mrs. Deming,” said the old lady, bridling, and fluttering her cap ribbons. “Good morning, ma’am.” “ Your son,” said the young widow, with a hesitation strangely foreign to her—“ is he better? Has he suffered much through the night?” “ His sufferings can be of no consequence to you, ma’am,” returned the old lady, sharply, in spite of a warning 44 Mother!” from the room she had just left. “ He’s only a mechanic, ma’am.” “ He’s a noble fellow!” exclaimed Mrs. Deming, seizing the wrinkled, toil-roughened hand that was raised as though to wave her away: “ and, ohl please don’t be cross to me. I haven’t slept all night thinking of him.” Mrs. Foster’s face began to relax, and the stern look completely faded away When little Eva, looking up with pure, beautiful, beseeching eyes, entreated, ‘‘Don’t be cross to poor mamma.” =~" “Well, I suppose the fire warn’t your fault,” she said; “though how them fire-works exploded passes my comprehension. There must have been some powerful carelessness somewhere; and it’s mv opinion that folks that doesn’t understand things should let ’em alone; and his hand’s very bad indeed; and he won’t be able to work for a month, just as he had the most industrious fit I ever*know’d him to have—though a lazy boy he never was—and was earning lots of -money. And his hand’ll have to be dressed night and morning, and take about au hour each ■time— ‘ “Ob, then 1 can be-of use!” cried the pretty widow, a bright smile breaking over hor face. “I am a capital nurse. Let me come every day and dress the wounded hand. Your time, I know, ifi precious; and, it is tho least I can do, for it was in mj* service—l mean my aunt’s—that it was wounded.” “Well, that’s clover, and I’m obleeged to you; but me and Lib —’’ “Mother!” from the parlor.

“Well, Richard?” “I shall be only too glad to accept Mts. Deming’s kind offer;” and Mrs. Deming went in. Three weeks had gone by, and the hand was nearly well. “1 never saw anything heal so quickly,” soliloquized Diek, one pleasant, fragrant morning, in a tone that implied that he wished it wouldn’t. “Shecan’t come here but a day or two longer, God bless her!—l don’t really need her now, .though I protend I do—and then I’ll be nothing to her but Dick, the carpenter, again.” “ Dick,” chirped a bird-like voice, “ mamma’s got a letter from Uncle .Robert. I run in to tell you,” tle Eva danced into the room. “ Great heavens!” thought Dick, turning pale, “he’s coming to take her away;” and a moment after Mrs. Deming came in with the letter in her hand. “ Are you worse this morning?” she asked, anxiously, looking at the young fellow’s pale face. “Yes, much worse,” he answered, dryly. “Eva tells me you have a lete r from your brother.” “ I have—at last, and he’s in Paris, and does not expect to return to this country for many years. He has married a beautiful French girl, and, I fear, has almost forgotten me.” “ Your brother married and forgotten you?” burst in Lib, poking her head in at the door. “ Well, that’s nothing strange. Brothers will marry and forget sistqrs till the end of time;” and calling to Eva to obiqp and see the newly-hatched chickens, away she went again. “ And personally I resemble him, that is, I-suppose, as much as a mechanic could resemble an artist,” said Dick, with a feeble attempt at sarcasm; “but there the resemblance must end. I never could have forgotten you." ~"" And then they* are both spent for a few moments, Dick breaking the silence at last. “I am very sorry for your disappointment You had hoped to leave this humdrum place, Where there is n6' one you could care for.” “No one I qould care for,” she re-peated,-«loWry. “I am not so sure of tiat; but l am sure of one thing, Rich-

and that is that 1 do not need your sympathy. I have learned to love this pretty, miiet plaoe—’ u “You have?” shouted Dick. “Oh, i| I were not fi poor carpenter—if 1 were an artist, ft phvsioian, a lawyer, juiything professional—Pd ask yon to try and learn to love me, and stay here forever.” “Try to learn to love you! Why, Dick, you dear, splendid, darling old goose, don’t you know I’ve loved you ever since tho night of tho impromptu fire-works?" “My blessed darling!" cried Dick, catching nor in his arms and kissing her sweet lips. 44 Goodness gracious sake* alive!" said Lib, appearing at tho door again. "My brother’s going to be married, too!”— Harper's Weekly.