The Dreamer | Page 2

The other two--a boy of
three years in whom were blended the spirit, the beauty, the talent and
the ardent nature of both parents, and a soft-eyed, cooing baby
girl--were clinging about their mother whenever she was seen off the
stage, making a picture that was the admiration of all beholders.
The last roses of the year would soon be gone from the gardens, but
Mrs. Fipps' windows blossomed gallantly with garlands and sprays
more wonderful than any that ever grew on tree or shrub. Not for many
a long day had the shop enjoyed such a thriving trade, for no sooner
had the news that Mr. Placide's company would open a season at the
theatre been noised abroad than the town beaux addressed themselves
to the task of penning elegant little notes inviting the town belles to
accompany them to the play, while the belles themselves, scenting an
opportunity to complete the wreck of masculine hearts that was their
chief business, addressed themselves as promptly to the quest of the

most ravishing theatre bonnets which the latest Paris fashions as
interpreted by Mrs. Fipps could produce. As that lady bustled back and
forth among her customers, her mouth full of pins and hands full of
ribbons, feathers, flowers and what not, her face wore, in spite of her
prosperity, an expression of unusual gravity.
_She could not get the lodger in the back room off her mind._
Mr. Placide, who had been to see the sick woman, was confident that
her disorder was "nothing serious," and that she would be able to meet
her engagements, and charged the thrifty dealer in fashionable
head-gear and furnished rooms by no means to let the fact that the star
was ill "get out." But the fever-flush that tinged the patient's pale
cheeks and the cough that racked her wasted frame seemed very like
danger signals to good Mrs. Fipps, and though she did not realize the
hopelessness of the case, her spirits were oppressed by a heaviness that
would not be shaken off.
Ill as Mrs. Poe, or Miss Arnold, as she was still sometimes called, was,
she had managed by a mighty effort of will and the aid of stimulants to
appear once or twice before the footlights. But her acting had been
spiritless and her voice weak and it finally became necessary for the
manager to explain that she was suffering from "chills and fevers,"
from which he hoped rest and skillful treatment would relieve her and
make it possible for her to take her usual place. But she did not appear.
Gradually her true condition became generally known and in the hearts
of a kindly public disappointment gave place to sympathy. Some of the
most charitably disposed among the citizens visited her, bringing
comforts and delicacies for her and presents for the pretty, innocent
babes who all unconscious of the cloud that hung over them, played
happily upon the floor of the dark and bare room in which their
mother's life was burning out. Nurse Betty, an ample, motherly soul,
with cheeks like winter apples and eyes like blue china, and a huge
ruffled cap hiding her straggly grey locks from view--versatile Betty,
who was not only nurse for the children and lady's maid for the star, but
upon occasion appeared in small parts herself, hovered about the bed
and ministered to her dying mistress.

As the hours and days dragged by the patient grew steadily weaker and
weaker. She seldom spoke, but lay quite silent and still save when
shaken by the torturing cough. On a Sunday morning early in
December she lay thus motionless, but wide-eyed, listening to the
sounds of the church-bells that broke the quiet air. As the voice of the
last bell died away she stirred and requested, in faint accents, that a
packet from the bottom of her trunk be brought to her. When this was
done she asked for the children, and when Nurse Betty brought them to
the bedside she gave into the hands of the wondering boy a miniature
of herself, upon the back of which was written: "For my dear little son
Edgar, from his mother," and a small bundle of letters tied with blue
ribbon. She clasped the baby fingers of the girl about an enameled
jewel-case, of artistic workmanship, but empty, for its contents had,
alas, gone to pay for food. She then motioned that the little ones be
raised up and allowed to kiss her, after which, a frail, white hand
fluttered to the sunny head of each, as she murmured a few words of
blessing, then with a gentle sigh, closed her eyes in her last, long sleep.
The baby girl began to whimper with fright at the suddenness with
which she was snatched up and borne