OCR Interpretation


The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, March 17, 1915, NOON EDITION, Image 18

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1915-03-17/ed-1/seq-18/

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THE FROSTED PANE
?
By Beatrice Wellington
The room was cold, something
more than that, in fact, but no one
withn its rather cheerless four walls
seemed to mind it. Asturdy, pleasant-faced
young man of about thirty
was amusing four children and their
bright, excited faces and merry
laughter showed that he was amus
ing them well.
"It makes them forget the cold, you
see," he spoke to a decrepit old wom
an, their grandmother, as she entered
the room.
"What would we have done with
out you?" she murmured in heart
felt gratitude, as she glanced at the
first fire there had been in the stove
for Several days.
"It will soon be comfortable here,"
said Rufus Blair cheeringly. 'Tve
ordered a ton of coal and something
to fill up these little empty ones."
"It is too much to expect from you
a stranger!" brokenly murmured the
t4 laQyi tears in her patient fading
eyesr
"Bless you! Haven't I become your
boarder? And I am only advancing
you a little money that I will soon
eat out with a good hearty appetite,"
spoke Blair bluffly.
"Yes, but for the same price you
could get a place so much more com
fortable." "And miss the company of these
four little ones!" cried Blair. "Neveri
You call me a stranger. Why, they
are the only, the closest friends I
have."
Then he was back romping with
the little ones, diverting their minds
from discomfort, until the room heat
ed up. They watched him rare in
terest as he approached a window, a
sharp pointed stick in his hand.
"I'll draw you some pictures," he
announced. "I used to be quite good
at that. Here's my easel, the window
frame, and old Jack Frost has given
me the best canvas in the world."
"Oh, dear!" shrieked the smallest
of the little group, as Blair deftly out
lined a cat. Then they all laughed
as he put a bird on each of its ears.
There was one evenly frosted pane
that presented a fine surface for ar
tistic effort. Blair began to outline
a human face. It was clearly sil
houetted. He seemed to forget his
mission of entertainment and a cer-
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Wmm
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"You Are Still Thinking of Hen?"
tain sadness crept into his face as he
proceeded with his task. '
"Why! Oh, Mr. Blair," spoke the
eldest girl of the family, "that is just
the way our school teacher wears her
hair."
"Why, yet, it looks like her in the
face, too" supplemented her brother.
Old Mrs. Warrington glanced keen
ly at the face of the good Samaritan.
She noted a tear in his eye.
"It is the picture Qf his last wife,"
murmured the sorrowful old lady
I sympathiziugly to herself.-

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