he new century! Her earliest
impressions of life must have been the dusty stairs and torn stair
carpet of her aunt's house, defaced under the dirty feet of many
transient "roomers," and next her aunt herself, a silent, morose woman
over fifty, who accepted life as nearly in the stoic spirit as her
education permitted. Mrs. John Clark had none of Addie's cheap
pretentions, fortunately: she was obviously the poor woman with a
worthless husband, who kept cheap lodgings for a livelihood. She was
kind enough to the little girl as such people have the time and the
energy to be kind. She could not give her much thought, and as soon as
Adelle was old enough to handle a broom or make beds she had to help in
the endless housework. At eight she was sent to school, however, to the
public school close by in the rear of the livery-stable, where she
learned what American children are supposed to learn in the grade
schools. At twelve she was a small, undersized, poorly dressed,
white-faced little girl, so little distinctive in any way that probably
hundreds exactly like her could be picked from the public schools of any
American city. If this story were a mere matter of fiction, we should be
obliged to endow Adelle with some marks of exceptionality of person, or
mind, or soul,--evident to the discerning reader even in her childhood.
She would already possess the rudiments of an individuality under her
Cinderella outside,--some poetic quality of day-dreaming or laughing or
sketching. But this is a plain chronicle of very plain people as they
actually found themselves in life, and it is not necessary to embellish
the truth so that it may please any reader's sensibilities or ideals.
Adelle Clark was a wholly ordinary, dumb little creature, neither
passionate nor spiritual. She laughed less than children of her age
because there was not much in her experience to laugh about. She talked
less--much less--than other little girls, because the Church Street
house was not a place to encourage conversation. She liked her aunt
rather better than her uncle, who was an untidy, not to say smelly,
person, who sat dozing in the kitchen much of the time, a few strands of
long gray hair vainly trying to cover the baldness of a blotchy head.
His principal occupation these latter years was being a "Vet." He was a
faithful attendant at all "post nights," "camp-fires," and veteran
"reunions," and when in funds visited neighboring posts where he had
friends. O