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58
TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
Inside all was dust and gloom and huddled furniture. Then, when the old content would not come back again, and the coals were damp from Mr. Spriggins ' efforts on the tiles, and the badly used couple had taken to sour looks and hard words as the only way out of their difficulty, the door opened in its old impetuous manner, and Mr. Harry Gethings, the miscast and forgotten lover, burst in upon them, more like sunshine this time.
" 'Ello, 'Arry," grunted the former owner of a villa, quite natural like, and Harry, reassured, asked Sue to go a-walking out with him.
You see, they had never forgotten each other, and Camberwell was to them merely a change of scenery in
cident in their all-absorbing little world of love.
When they returned, Sue's eyes were shining like stars, and quite put to blush the coals in Bill's grate. For he had at last got them to burning, and the rocking-chair was sending up spirals of tobacco smoke.
Sarah's knitting, tho, had fallen to her lap, and she was regretting, with fixed lines about her mouth, her sudden fall from ladyhood. Harry crept up* back of her and kist her soundly, without warning. She smiled broadly, and clinging care seemed to drop away from her still round cheeks.
' ' 'Arry, ' ' said Bill, from the observing rocker, "I 'ear the strike 'as ended. "Ow's wegitables — up or down?"
The Dream of the Seamstress
By M. K. GILLIAM
She is only an orphan girl, alas !
Her pleasures and joys are few ; All day with an irk she toils at her work,
While her veins grow heavy and blue ; But yet tho her body is tired and worn,
Her heart's ever cheerful and gay, As she dreams of scenes she '11 see on the screens,
When she goes to the Photoplay.
Her hours tho long, still" hasten along,
And soon her day 's toil is o 'er ; Then off to the show with her chum she'll go,
Her spirits and strength to restore. And ah ! what sweet peace, what pleasant release
From burdens do these moments pay To this little waif, who sits there so safe,
And watches the scenes of the play !
No wealth of the rich can make her heart itch,
Nor fin'ry of fashion can lure ; Nor has she an aim to strive for a fame
That would cause her name to endure ; She seeks but the chance to enter that trance
At the end of each wearisome day ; The loss of her heart to her favorite art — .•
The delight of the Photoplay !