A LiTc Lesson.
There; little girl; don’t cry 1
Titij have broken your doll, I know:
And jmr ten-set blue,
And your plnv-hou *-, too,
Ar,' things of the long ago;
Rut childish troubles will soon pass by.
There! little girl; don’t cry!
There' little girl; don’t cry!
Tin y have broken your slate, I know
And the glad, wild ways
Of your school-girl days
Are things of the long ago;
But life and love will soon come by.
There: little girl; douTcry!
There' little girl; don't cry!
Ttiev have broken your heart, I know
And the rainbow gleams
Of your youthful dreams
Are tiling* of the long ago;
Bo! tmnven holds all for which you sigh.
Ttieud Hitle girl; don’t cry 1
[Juiim- Whitcomb Riley.
THE FACTORY GIRL
II wn* a little studio, quite at the top
of the hou “. Upon the oasol that oc
ctipl 1 the post of honor in the middle
of tl room, a largo pices of canvas
glow d with tho soft tint* <.f a spring
land-,< spe, and Frank Seymour stood
before it, pallot in hand, hi? largo
brown eyes dreamy with a sort of in*pi
. ration.
In a comfortable, eaiy chair, by the
■door, -at a plump, rosy, little female,
in ii face cap with a plenty of narrow
white satin ribbon* (l ittering from it,
«tn<i M ver-gray poplin dress—Mr*. Sey¬
mour, in fact, our artist's mother who
had just coino up from tho very base¬
ment “to sea how Frank was getting
along.’’
“Here, mother," said tho young man,
with an enthusiastic sparkle la hi*
eye*, “just son tho way the sunset light
too< hoa the topmost branches of the
old apple tree. 1 like the brown, sub
slur I gold of that tint; it somohow ro
mind? mo of Graco Teller’s hair."
Mi . Seymour movod n little unoasily
in her chair.
“Ye , it's very pretty; but it strikes
mu, K auk, you arc lutuly discovering a
good many aimilitudo* between Mi „
Teller and your pic uros. ”
Frank Inughod good liumotedly.
“Well, mother, alio i* pretty.”
“do,. I don’t deny that shu’s pretty
«tlOU“ll.’
“Now, mother, what's tho meaning
of that ambiguous tone?” demanded
the young artist, pleasant’.y. “What
have yon discovered about Miss Uraco
Teller that Isn’t charming and womanly
and lovely?”
“Frank, do you know who she is?”
“You, I know that sho is a remarka¬
bly pretty girl with a void that sounds
eJACtjv.lUw ttitrtbw (off rippfe of tho
little rivulet where 1 used to play when
1 wa« a boy.*’
* Nona map,” said Mrs. Soy m our,
sharply.
“Well, llicn, if you aro not ssti*fh>d
with my description of hor as sho is,
would you tike to know what Hio will
bet”
Mi-. Seymour lookod puzzled.
“Mother, I think ono day she wilt lie
my »uk"
“Frank I Frank! are you crafty?”
“Not that 1 know of," -.ail Mr. Srv
moor, composedly, squeezing a little
d«ep blue on hi? pr.1 et out of a dainty
tin tube, and mixing it thoughtfully.
’ W know m- littlo aliout h r,”
thought Mrs. Seymour, ‘‘To be sure
she i- visiting Mary E ton, and Muy
bolo-ijg* to a very good tnmlly, if she
do<M live ia half a hmno and take in
coo cmbroid-'-y .'or i umg. But the i
•he hs* nortylo t .11 onmparoi with
Cynthia 1* rker.au Gynthia *1 wrays -lid
fancy our Frank. Then, moreover, sli
h»s five or aix thou-and dollars of her
own. Hut dear me, a young man i
love I* th. - most head*trong crcituro
• live.'
Mr-. S vin ur mu*.d awhile longer,
nn 1 then ; u' oi her* mouse-colored
■ilk t o;.net «i.d gray sliaw , andjset out
upon a tour of iuvesti gstion.
“I'll tin t t ut someth!ug about Mis*
Teller, or 1 I! know tiie rsason why,"
thought tho i tb'Iiti-a*»’.t* wi<b»w.
Mus itmee Toller v\ i •‘at home,’
halpm ■ Msry HI on in an o s'.iorjte pi c.
of embroidery, The room whor# the
two gill* sat was very p ain, carpeted
with the cheapen ingrain, and cur¬
tained with v.-ry ordinary pink and
white chir.tr, yet it looked «nu* and
cheery, for the fat blackbird was chirp
ing m v i i tin window, and a stan I
ot mignonette and velvet-blosaomed
j>an«iv* .,-iivo a delightu! ti,:t to this
pretty picture cf every-day lite.
M.- U on was pate, thin and not nt
a ^ pr* tty ; th re was a tremulous sweet
n m •> at>out her mout lx that teemed to
whisper that sho might hav been dii
fereni under GitT’rciit citcumstancft.
Grace Teller uaa * lovely blonde, with
large blue eyes, rost-’eal skin, and hair
whose turn in us gold foil over her fore
head lik« an aureole.
A- Mrs* S-ymour entered a deeper
fhade of pink sto e over Gr cr’a beauti
tu! cheek, lut otherwise she was ca m
and *elf-po«*cstfd, and teadi'.y parried
tbr e d lady’s t terrc;:atcries.
“V. ry warm ti.u morning,” said the
old lady, fssniag herself. “Do tiny
have is wt’m weather where ycu came
lrom, M s TeUerT
“1 b'iteve it i* very sultry m Fucto-
THE DEMOCRAT, CRAWFORDVILLE. GEORGIA.
ryvi!!o," said Grace, composedly taking
another needleful of white silk.
“Factoryvilie? Is that your native
olscc? Perhaps, then, you know Mr.
Parker—Cynthia Pirker’s father, who
is superintendent in tbo great calico
mills there?"
‘•Very well, I have often seen him."
“Are you acquainted with Cynthia?’
“No—I believe Mis* Parker spends
most of her time in this city."
“That’s vdry true," said Mr*. Sey¬
mour, t-agely; ‘ Cynthia say* there’s no
tociety wortli having in Factoryviile—
only the girls that work in the factory;
Cynthia is very genteel. But—excuse
my curiosity, Miss Teller—how did you
become acquainted with Mr. Parker
and not with his daughter? ’
Grace, colored.
“if i«dno*« brought me in contact fre¬
quently with the gentleman of whom
you speak. But I never happened to
meet las d aughtor."
.Mrs. Seymour gave a little start in
her chair—jho was beginning to see
through the mystery.
“Perhaps you hove something to do
with the calico factory 1"
“I have,” said Grace with clam dig
nity.
“A factory girl!" gasped Mr?.’Sey¬
mour, growing red and white.
“I« there any disgrace in tho title?”
quietly asked Grace, although her own
cheeks were dyed crimson.
“Diigrace! Oh, no—certainly not;
there's no harm in earning one’s living
in any honorable way,” roturnod Mi*.
Seymour, absently. Tho fact was, she
wa< thinking in lior inmost mind,
‘ What will Frank say?” and antici¬
pating the flag of triumph sire was
about to wave ov r him. .
“I do not hesitate to confess," went
on Grace, looking Mr*. Kiymour full in
the eyoi, “that to tho calico factory I
owe rny daily broad."
“Very laudable, I’m sure,” aaid tho
old lady, growing a little ifnoasy under
tho clear blue gaze, “only—there aro
step* and grndution* in al! society, you
know, and —I am a littlo surprised to
»"<! you so in innate with Miss Elton,
whoso family i,
Mary camo over to Grace’s sido and
stoopail to kiss hor check.
“'G friend,my most precious
companion," she murmured. “I should
bo quite lost without her, Mrs. Sey¬
mour."
Tho old lady took her Icavo stillly,
ami did not nsk Graco to return* her
call, although sho extended an invita¬
tion to Mary, couched in tho politest
and most distant torms.
“Frank!* she ejaculated, never onco
stopping to MIKA.V .Vi’ or 6otfnot,
and bursting into ber son’s studio like
an expess-messongor of life and death
news, “who do you suppose your para¬
gon of a Mi*s Toller is?”
< t Tho lovliest of her sex,” returned
Frank, briefly nnd comprehensively.
"A factory girl! ’ screamed tho old
"*■ **"’ height o( her luags, “a fac
tory eirir
“Well, wlint of that? ’
“What o( that? Frank Seymour,
you never mean to say that you would
linvo anything to say to a common fac
tory girl! ’
“1 diotll i pronounce hor a very un¬
common factory girl,” said tho young
man, with nn aggravating calmness.
‘ Frank, don’t j • -1 with me," pleaded
tlie poor little mother with Oar* In liar
rVDM, “Tell mo at onto you will civo
U P ‘M* f “ at; y ft, r » «'f l ‘bat i* in no way
ojusl to yr u "
“No- he t* 11 no respect my equal.”
returned Frank, with reddening cheek
arid sparkling oye, "but it i* became
ho 1* in ov iy respect my superior.
“ r * c ' ! Toller i* ouo of t'le noblest
women that ever breathed thi* torre*
tint air, a* W'-li a. or.e of th ■ in.i.t b-au
tiful. M,-titer, 1 lov hor, and slu In*
!’ r ‘nysed to be ray wife. ’’
Vlr*. Seymour *at iljwn, limp, life
les* and despairing.
“Frank! Frank! 1 never thought to
' ei> ,n . y u ' a marry « couim in factory
girt”
And then a torrent of tear* caino to
her relief, while Fraak went on quietly
touobi up ti»* scarlet fo*H:|;e of a
splendid old maplo m the tpreground
of hi* picture.
“So you aro determine arry me,
Fra ;k, in spite of everyth
Grace Teller had l>een crying—the
dew yet on h r eycla*hes, and the un
natural crimson on her check*,a* Frank
S'. mour came in, an 1 M irr E ton con
sideratfly slipped out “to look tor a
missing pattern.”
“I should think so,’’ said Frank.
ooking admiringly down on the gold
head that was stooping among the pan -
stes.
“But your mother think* me far be
low votl in social po-ition.
’Social position be—ignore 1. What
do 1 care for ao*'ial position, as long as
^y little Grace has consented to make
the sunshine of mv own h^me.”
“Yea, but Frank-”
’ Well, but CrtceiA
“Do you really lore mef”
Fer answer, he took both the fair
delicate liitle hands in his, and looked
steadily in her ey rs.
“Frank,” said Grace demurely “I’m
a raid jou will make a dieadful y
strong-willed, obstinate aorv of a bus*
band.” *
“I shouldn't wonder, Graci'f.”
An so the gold twilight faded into a
purple, softer than the shadow of L st¬
ern amethysts, and the stars came out,
one by one, and still Mary E ton didn’t
succeed in finding tho pattern.
Mrs. Siym-ur was the first guest to
arrive at Mr*. Rindall’s select soiree on
th first Wednesday evening in July—
elevating her kid-gloved hands, “what,
is tho matter? i hop3 Frank isn’t in
any sort of trouble.’’
“Mydear,” sail the old lady in my*
terioui whisper*, “Prank ha? been en¬
trapped, inveigled into the most dread¬
ful entanglement. Did you ever fancy
that fie, the moit fastidioui and partic¬
ular of created beings, ecu d bo reso¬
lutely determined on marrying—a fac¬
tory gir' ? ’
Mrs. Randall uttered an exclamation
of horrified surprise, and at the tamo
momenta party of guests were an
nounced, among them was Miss Grace
Teller, looking rather more lovely than
usu al.
“Well,” thought Mr*. S ymotir, as
her hostess hurried away to welcome
the new comers, “will wonder* never
C-aie? Grace Toiler at Mr*. Randall’s
soiree' Rut I .suppose its all oa ac¬
count of M iry E ton's uncle, tbs judge. ,
Kero come* M\ Parker and Cynthia—
dear me, what a curious mixture cur
American society is; how they will be
shocked at meeting Grace Teller."
Involuntarily she advance 1 a step or
two to witness tho meeting, M . Par
ker looked quite a* much astonished as
she had expected, but somehow it was
not just tho kiud of astonishment that
was on the programme.
“Miss Grace; you here? Why, when
did you come from Factoryviile?”
“You are acquainted with Miss Tel¬ I
ler?’ asked Mr*. Randall, with some
surprise. !
“Quite well; in fact I have had tho
managoment of her property for some J
year*. Miss Teller is the young lady ;
who owns tlm extensiva calico factories,
from which our villago takes it* name.”
‘Dear me!’’ eihculated Mrs. S y
mour, turning palo . and , sinking • i • down i
on a divan noar her. “Why, they sny
t)io heiress of the old gentleman who
owned the Factoryviile property h tho
richest girl in tho country.”
“Grace," said Frank, gtavely and
almost sternly, “what does thi* mean?”
7ho bluo eye* fl.lod . with ... tears . as she ,
clung c’oser to his arm.
“I cau't help owning the calico fa
tory, Frank, Don’t y - ■.Xreiwrif ,ti*t
a? woll as if I didn’t!’’
“My littlo deceiver. But why didn’t
you tell me?"
“Why should 1 tell you, Frank? It
was so nico to Icavo tho heiress behind
and bo plain Graco Toller for awhile.
And when 1 saw how opposed your
mother was to our engagement, a spaik
of woman's witfulness roso up within
me, and 1 resolved I would maintain
my incognita, come what might. Mrs.
Seymour," slit- added, turning archly
round and holding out hor hand to tho
discomfited old lady, “didn't I tell
you that 1 owed my daily bread to tho
factory ? ’
And poor Air*. S.\vmour, for onco in
her life, was at a loss for an answer.
The Scnsallun nT Being Sculped.
Th • in .n who can tv I more isles of
ICtii.iQ liohtiEbear hunting, and wild
life "cner.Hy than a* v other man west •
of tho Ueckies i* Cirroll Bronson,
pioneer of the S irk mountains in
British t o umbia. it is forty-two years
since he mu t“ hi* way alone !rom tho
ltoa-1 waters,of the Missouri to those
tnountsins, an*i he t* now in San
Franci-cn, seeing for the first time in I
ail thosff* year- a town of more than
thou-and parsons.
Hi* face i* scarred from arrow
wounds received in Indian fight*, and if
j Jtf lifts hi* long white hair from the
„j | c 0 f ip* hoa j h e shows a great
circular sesr extend in g from above his
right eye cl« ir around the right side aud
l-ack of his head almost to the left oar.
That is whore the old man was scaipid.
"It was in ’*>G, with the Sioux,’’he
exp alned, "and it was th- worst bru*h
I ever had with tho Indians. They
came upon a camp of nine of us and one
of thorn pounct d upon me, seized me
by the hair ami cut right around my
head whero you see this scar. Then he
s ,ive a sharp wrench Itpward with his
right arm ami laid the yvholo skull bare.
j cannot describe the pain it gave me,
>nd 1 don’t be t-v- 1 could have endured
more without simply dying of it.
There is no other torture man can be
subjected to that will begin to compare
with being scalped.
“it is a common belief that a man
can’t live after being scalped, but I’ve
survived the cx -oricnce. a matter of
twenty-two rear*, and I don’t think I'm
quite to the end of my journey yet,evcn
if I am seventy year* old. I knew
another min up there, too, who didn’t
die under the scalping knife, The
scaip was torn completely ofl from the
whole top cf his head, *o that it had to
be constantly swathed in cotton and
olive oil. He lived a year. That man
knew what suffering means, if ever a
man did.’’—yNew York Sun.
Dr
c..
Hi
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