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About Omaha daily bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 187?-1922 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 2, 1904)
: f Vf, n . ... . as a Soldier SeoreWasKi-ntDtCs N. (Jif4- oFiVe- Vko, His Earned Thousands. : Tu tK as feTbuptk July RW YORK has a little girl who Is on the road to having a million dollars; and, what Is more, she has earned It all herself. Little, plump, dark-eyed, brisk, and self reliant, she Is proud of her success in the busy world. She has done at 5 what many a man would be proud to do at 50. ( She has made more money In her few short years than most notearmtio manev 'Ru.tK pls with "her pets people make In their whole lives. Ruth Abbott Wells Is the. little girl who enjoys the unique dlstlnotkin of being the only little girl alive who has made a fortune. She. lives In Harlem; she Is the smallest member of n family of three, nor mother, her grandmother, and herself. Ruth began earning money when she was 2 years old. By the time she was 2',i she had money In the bank. When she was three she had money Invested In other ways. Now, at the age of S, she Is a little heiress. She has thousands and thousands, and Is busily earning more. Ruth, who Is a little New York girl, sat upon her grand mother's knee one day about three years ago. " What a pretty child," said an artist, " will you pose for me?" " xem, mir, nspea me cnna. The next day she and her grandmother went to the studio, and there, to the amazement of .all, the baby of 2 took the pesefl, kept them well, and was an Ideal model. What is more, she kept the expression, and that is a most unusual thing In A model, big or little. J J Begins Posing for Artists. Ruth and her mother and her grandmother began from that minute to plan the future. The baby would stand upon tiptoes, trying to be tall, so that she oould pose as a grownup lady. Then her mother would put a big hat on her and she would pose aa a seflorita. There was absolutely nothing she oould not do, from posing as Miss Liberty, wrapped In a flag, to posing for a big wax doll, as she once did. She has been a flower girl, she has been the seasons, she has been a soldier of the colonial days, she haa been a Span ish girl any number of times, while as for posing for childish pictures, she has done it again and again, thousands of times. Miss Ruth has a handsome apartment of her own, as befits one of the highest priced models in the world. Her room Is a large, airy one, fitted with a complete set of furniture for a young lady of 5. Upon her dresser there Is as fine a set of miniature toilet articles as can be obtained. Miss Ruth brushes her teeth every day, and she takes care of her com plexion, and Is a grand lady all around. Her dainty little manicuring set Is displayed upon a little dressing table at which she sits dally. No society belle was ever so well groomed. When Miss Ruth goes away her clothing Is packed In a little trunk that is Just big enough for her. Here lie her little dresses, her coats, her hats, and her dainty little boots. And into the trunk go clothes hangers and brushes, and all the things which a lady adds for her own comfort. A small dress suit case holds her Immediate belongings. She has her small umbrella and her little handbag, her wrist bag and everything that a small lady can need. Ruth, when In town, receives high prices for her Work. She poses for all the artists, and she Is a favorite model of the photographic studio. She receives $10 for her posing, In. "kef nicture. kat ready to enterbitv. the. 400, nor will she put on her small hat and coat and start for the studios for a cent less. Often Gets $25 for a Sitting As she is busy all day, for there are few days when she does not have an appointment, both morning and afternoon, this means something like (20 a day. Often she receives as much as f-J for a single sitting, and she has made as many as four appointments In a day. She loves the studios, and Is never so happy as when before the camera. Miss Ruth Is businesslike in her methods. She is the owner of handsome stationery, which Is marked with her name. Her picture is in the corner and, under the picture, tt says Ruth Abbott Wells, artist's model. Then comes her ad dress. Every spring Ruth goes away with her grandmother. But before going she sends out announcements to that effect. This year she wrote little notes to dozens of artists and photographer. The notes read like this: " Dear Sir: I hereby notify you that I am going away with my grandmother next week, to stay a month. If you wlsh to make an appointment with me before I go, kindly let me know at once. Very truly yours, " Ruth Abbott Wells. " Per her grandmother." The grandmother doe the writing because Miss Ruth is too young to write, but her small ladyship asks her to write the letters, " so they can finish up their pictures," Bhe says. Often artists call to see Ruth when she Is not working, but her grandmother will not allow her to see them. " She must rest," she says. And so the liitle girl who has nearly made her million plays with her dolls and has a good time. This winter Ruth is to m:ike a great deal of money three or four times as much as she has ever made before. She Is an accomplished little l:idy, and dances exquisitely. She also sings divinely, for she h is a fine ear for music. IV Dance for the 400. This winter she is going to dance In the private parlors of the Pour Hundred. One Woman has offered, her $150 to come and dance one evening. Ruth will arrive early, dance a charming little dance, and go homo In her carflage. At another entertainment she Is to dance and sing. She will weir a little fancy dress, and, looking like a fairy, she will sing and dance. There are many unfortunate little mode ls who work hard and support the family, and have little left for themselves. In Brooklyn there Is a Httle girl of 6 who supports an invalid father, a tired out mother, 'and four small brothers and sis ters, all younger than herself. She earns $13 a week, and the family scrapes along on that. But Miss Ruth spends her money on herself. What she does not spend is put Into the bank for her. She Is one of the richest little girls In New York. She has earned thou sands and thousands of dollars, and this money has been well and fortunately invested for her. Jl FRAGILE is Oinele Sam" and Pfost Reliable Lid scssssssssee5ssessssssssessssssecseesscssss3 F. 60 YEARS' - - Hs7 Many a time this small girl has received $2.1 for a sitting, and later in the day another $2.", and a $10 bill besides. And this has gone to swell her fund. The little girl who earns as much money as this Is amiable. She Is anxious to please. She tries hard, as she will tell you, and she does Just as she Is told to do. Has a Style of Her Own. Ruth's style Is noticeable. She has dark brown hair which curls. She has big brown eyes which are decidedly expressive, and she has a plump neck and white skin. Her hands are beautifully formed, and her figure, though tiny, is erect, and she carries herself with dlstln6t!on. Ruth goes to bed early every night, and she does not get up until she feels like It. She sleeps until 0 o'clock, and nc studio appointment is ever accepted before that time. When she feels so Inclined she rests In the middle of the day, or attends a children's party, or goes for a drive. She goes to the matinees often, and she enjoys a day In the park. She Is a luxurious little personage, and lives well, as befits a young woman who Is earning so much money. The powers of expression of this young person are great, Bhe can look severe and she can look wise. She has a way of frowning which Is the delight of the artists. Then, again, she can laugh. She enjoys playing with pets, and is suc cessful In the studio with her dog, her cat, and her doll. Miss Ruth poses often with Malty, the famous cat model. Malty, who is a tiger maltese, posee before the camera, and does precisely as It is told. Ruth and It have made many a pretty picture together. Ruth Is only 5 years old too young to dress In grown up dresses. By and by she can pose as a young lady. But she vlH have completed her million by that time. ssssssssssessssoessssscs MM HE oldest, stanchest, most reliable lighthouse keeper In the United States Is a woman. A little, fragile, pretty maid of more than 80 years has broken the records of all lighthouse keepers In this country In length of service. In age, and, above all, in the fact that her light never failed, never went out between the hours of sunset and sunrise during the forty-three In the winter of 18fl0-'Cl little Miss Harriet E. Colfax, a fcousln of Vice President Schuyler Colfax, was a teacher In the little town of Michigan City, Ind. Her health had failed; she was frail of body and active of mind, and close confine ment and hard work had worn her health away. Self-reliant, Independent, she sought a position that would be not too 'aborlous, that would permit her to pendt much time out "doors. Her cousin, Schuyler Colfax, suggested the lighthouse of the little port In which she lived as a field for activities. She assumed control of the lighthouse and the old harbor beacon In the spring of 1801. Since the first day of her stew ardship the great gleam of the harbor light ha never failed ;to blase across the waters at sunset, and never while the old beacon at the entrance of the harbor stood has she failed to flssh Its yeHow radiance across the water before dark. At eventide each day during the navigation season for forty three years she has sot In place the blazing guide of two gen erations of mariners; at midnight every night for forty-three years she has replaced the waning lamp with a fresh one; and at dawn for forty-three years she has quenched the bea con, and crept silently to her lonesome bed, happy In the sense of duty done, sure that the voiceless message of her unfailing light had carried courage and brought safety to many a ship and small boat tossed on the rough waiters of Lake Michigan. 1 Does Duty Through Uiness and Storms. 1 There were times when she was 111. There were nights when the grooving, wind driven seas, lashed over the long pier that led to the harbor beacon. . But she never failed. l)renohed with Icy spray, almost blown from the slippery footing, groping her way from the lighthouse to the beacon, toross the wind swept sand dunes, floundering, tired with the burden of her big lamp, chilled with the blasts of belated spring or early winter, she never failed to keep the beacon bright and constant, never permitted the terrors of the storm I-r the fears of her womanly heart to deter her for a moment. Little Miss Colfax's light." 1 That's what the lake navigators have called the harbor light at Michigan City for forty years, and so it will be known, perhaps, for forty years to come. For it was the most eertaln of them all. The old town set its clocks by (" Mlea Colfsx's light "; the people of Michigan City rose by It, and to this day the gleam of the sunset light In the old bouse by the margin of Lake Michigan Is as true to the moment of sunset as the clock and the calendar. I And the dear little, smiling, gentle, courageous lighthouse eeper Is so old! Pust f! 1 Bhe was seen at sunset the other evening trimming the treat lamp In the tower above, her lakeside home. She clipped the wicks and tried the burner, looked at ber watch, and itruck a match. i " It Is time," she said, lighting the lamp and smiling a dappy smile. In an Instant the tiny, glass covered cage was looded with the fierce glare, 1 5i Loves Her Work. "I in still able to do the work, you see," she said In her bin, sweetly quavering voice. " I have a helper to carry ip the lamps, but always trim and light them myself. In urty-three years none but ine has done it I love the Unripe, he old lighthouse, and the work. They are the habit, the I house Keepejp Oc ' 'e "Vt - - O - y Silt 4 v Tfc.' 1.. . bat. V. sTk 1 -JjLswj I ' ,- . . 11 A Ml'.. Vfe . vV If H f ' If WvMf I home, everything dear I have known for so long. I. could not 'bear to see anyone else light my lamp. I would rather die here than live elsewhere. The work Is easier now than It was once. Since the old beacon light was awept away I have but this main light to tend. In the old days they used lard oil for the lamps, and In cold weather we had to beat It. It was great trouble In cold weather to make the old beacon , burn. The lard oil would get hard before I could get the lami. lighted, but once lit it never went out, you may be. sure. My lights never went out till I quenched them myself." The slow moving, bowed old woman is proud of her reo ord. The harbor light is in a glass cupola on the apex of the old house In which she lives, so that she can attend to her work In all kinds of weather without going outdoors. It was) different in the days when the old beacon stood at the end of the government pier, half a mile from her house, and ac cessible only by a narrow walk, with a single rail to hold by. It was a stormy night towards the end of 188(1 that Miss Colfax made her last trip to the beacon light. With her patl of heated oil In one hand and her lantern In the other she sallied forth into one of the most tumultuous storms that ever raged along that coast of Luke Michigan. The fleet stung her face, the furious wind drove the spray of the seas and the sand of the dunes pelting against her, and the dark ness of the tempest fell so suddenly that she could hardly find the wave washed end of the pier. But Bhe gained It,' grasped the handrail, and, with head bent, struggled forward to the beacon tower. Fights Way Through Storm. The waves dashed over and smote against the piling and woodwork of the pier till the timbers groaned and the frail woman could scarcely keep her footing. Bhe fought her way along, gained the stairway, and In the shelter of the tower top tilled the great lamp and lighted It. Then she came down, drenched to the skin, chilled to the bone, and, for the first time, scared almost to fainting. The tornado had Increased In fury, the slender stairway quaked beneath her, the tower wavered, and the noise of the wind and water was like the rending of a thousand groat sails. Bhe bad hardly gained the mainland when there was a grinding crash. She looked ,back In terror to see the great beacon, like some big meteor, whirl In an aro through the livid night and .fall hissing Into the luke. jrcozmr7mc OIDlSr llGHT. HOZOZKEEPIB mm I n r r Ti - t . w t rrr wi7t rr All night she watched In the tower above her own house praying that no ships would venture In, or that the wan light, which she kept burning more brightly than ever, mlrht guide them -past the wreck of the beacon pier. And In the morning when daylight came, and she had snuffed tha harbor light, she went down to the pier to ses the rum which the storm had wrought. The beacon tower waa gone, half of the long pier had been dismantled, and the shore was strewn wlrth the wreckage of a structure that had withstood the storms of fifteen years. " I have seen many storms, " aald Mist Colfax the other day, " but never one like that. I was sorry to lose the old beacon, In spite of all the trouble and danger It brought me, for I was getting fond of it, and It was a great help to the Bailors who didn't know the old harbor entrance." -.' Lives In Lighthouse with Friend. That was eighteen years ago, and since then Miss Colfax haa bad only the regular light to look after. Bhe lives In the lighthouse, a strong, square, homelike house, built for the harbor service in 18u& Only the big lanternlike cupola on the top of It distinguishes It from any other cosy country home, and the dense grove whlcb'has grown up around U threatens to obscure the harbor llgba which now scarcely peers above the tall cottonwoods and willows. The house la hard by the margin of the lake, surrounded by a pretty garden and but a few steps from the One park af Michigan City. ; . But the hand of progress has been laid on the old light bouse. In a few weeks more the beloved beacon will be quenched never to be relighted. Already a dozen govern- ment workmen are busy about the building. New porches, broader doors, new windows, and a score of modern Improve ments are being added. The little old woman inside lookt wistfully at these changes, but It Is the knowledge that her beloved light Is to be abolished that brings the tears to hei dim eyes and makes her low yolce tremble. In he house of Miss Colfax, her confidante and compan ion of seventy years, lives Miss Ann Hart well, a tiny, slim, blue eyed woman with curly gray hair. Infinitely gentle, and like her aged comrade In many ways. , Passing the four score milestone together, these two quaint, lovable spinsters have been bosom friends since the days of their childhood in Og densburg, N. Y. Miss Hartwell waa a pioneer school teacher of northern Indiana, she taught three generations of Its people, and when old age and falling health brought an end to her work she went to tl)e lighthouse to pass away her final years with " Harriet" Here they have lived for many years, clinging to the old fashioned habits and methods of half a century ago. Both Once Village Belles. Winter and summer on Sunday mornings these two slow going, weary but dainty ladies can be seen wending away to church, arm in arm, dressed like the fashion plates of the ante-bellum days, smiling upon middle aged men and women who were their pupils forty years or more ago, cheering ona anothtr with gosolp of the romances of the far time when they were themselves belies of the same town In which they are now ending their peaceful lives. There is something al most childlike in the tenderness with which the two cronies love one another. ) JOJfO 7J3 ZZD? . ' We have never quarreled, Harriet and I," Miss Ann will "And we never will. Ann," Miss Colfax will answer, tak ing the other's small, thin hand In hers. " Never! That Is, unless you again Insist on tending my light. That's one thing you or anyone else shall never do while I am lighthouse keeper." And then the queer, guileless pair will laugh right heartily, 1 smiling In each other's faces as though It were a merry ' topic. But how long will Harriet Colfax, little Miss Harriet, be keoptr of the Michigan light? Already three new beacons have been built. The new harbor light 1b at the end of a long, long pier, with a steam engine and boilers; furnaces to be fired, coal to be shoveled, fog horns to blow, winding lad ders to climb, and work for three men to do. One of the beacon guide lights Is on a detached breakwater far out In the harbor. It can be reached only In boats, and when tho north winds blow that coast Is beaten by the roughest waters of Lake Michigan. These new lights are nearly ready. The old one, the famous " Little Miss Colfax Light,' Is doomed. The wonderful little woman who keeps it kno-'s that the days of her Ions service are soon to end. " I have not spoken of resigning," she said, " I can't betr to leave the dear place and the old light. I expected to die here with Ann and the pluce Just as they have been fo.' so long." Then, her bright brown eyes twinkling: " If I rem iin It will be neoessary to have help, of course, but I would hav all the responsibility, Just as I have always had. It might be all right that way. But no. No. It can never be the same after my old light Is gone. I don't know how I shall sleep, knowing that it is out and that I cannot light it again." J J Tells Tales of Old Wrecks. And then, If you will listen, she will tell you long forf.'tun tales of shipwreck on the Indiana coast Of storm that al most blew her into the lake; of castaways and rescues of bold sailors who brought her presents In the days of her youth, and of how some famous captain praised the bright ness of her light. and the fidelity' with which It always " showed," But of the romance of her own calm H'e. if there was one, sKe will say nothing. The town gossips say that ever so many years ago, when little Harriot Colfax was the prettiest srhoolma'.im In Michigan City, theie was a Hut MIhs Colfax doesn't like this kind of gossip aboil herself, and if you auk her she will change the subject. " What a dreadful noise the carpenters are making," she will suggest. " I suppose It is necessary, though. The place was good enough and I'm not fond of changes." And the hammers sound sad, too, when you remembai that the little old lighthouse keeper 1 uust HO, and tht the '' great old light that she hus tended f ' going out forever. f I I J 'I