The Iowa transcript. (Toledo, Tama County, Iowa) 1858-1866, 1866-02-21
A CHECK FOR A CARPET.
ny LOUISA CHANDLER MoULToN.

nAnd how about the carpet"
Pretty little Mrs. Lane spoke coaxingly,
with her hands claspcd on her husband 8
arm. He looked down ut her . moment be-
fore he answered. She had been his wife
for five years, but her face was IS sunny
and rs girlish Us when he first woocd her.
Her blue eyes had scarcely shed a tear in
all those years, except the lazy, luxurious
tears such happy little souls weep over the
ideal woes Of story-book heroines Her
monthly rose in the French window was not
pinker than her chceks-her scarlet gera-
mum was not brighter or redder than her
lips-and the pet canary chirping above the
blossoms was no gayer or merrier than the
little bird-likc woman who waited for John
Lanes answer. lie smiled as he looked at
her, and brushed back her soft, brown hair
with IN unconscious tenderness.
Yes, about the carpet, Annie. If
thought we needed it, | would get it, of
course. But We use the drawing room so
little. The carpet that is on it now is al
most as brigh. as it was the day we chose
it, and you know how pretty we both thought
it them
The girlish young wife pouted her dainty
lip
"WHl, John, but it's been down FIVE
years, and its only nice because I've taken
such nice care Of it. Ii I'd been careless
and let it get spoiled, you'd have got another
without grumbling, you know you would.
It's too bad, if I've got to see things round
forever, just because Pm careful Of them.
Don't you get tired Of seeing the same things
always, john"
"Not easily, so long as they are the same,
fresh and bright as ever. am not tired of
you, yet
She laughed, and her pink cheeks flushed
little.
But I'm not carpet. Ours is only a
Brussels, you know, and did SO want a
Wilton, like Mrs. Maync's."
$50 Mrs. Wayne is the serpent in our
Eden! Well, Annie, give me till night to
think about it." and he bent toward her for
his good bye.
After he had gone, she went into the
drawing room, and took a survey of her
possessions. The carpet was that soft, many
shaded moss-like green, on which everything
looks SO well. She confessed to herself that
il had more rcfiucd air than Mrs Mayne's
large figured Wilton, which held your gaze,
like the eye Of the ancient mariner, from
the moment you entered the room. But
then, she thought, she needn't buy great,
gaudy thing; and Wilton was really 50
much more elegant, so much more III keep
ing with her rosewood and brocatelle. Then
she began busting some Of her books and
ornaments.
While she stood there she heard the bell
ring, and a short parley at the door-a
child's voice, apparently asking for food,
and the cook $ answer that to-day there was
nothing to spare. A sound in the young,
sad voice. a short Of accomplishing hope
lessness, struck her, and she stepped down
stairs just as Bridget was about TO shut the
door.
.sCome back moment, little GIRL" she
said, in those gentle tones that John Lane
liked SO well to hear.
The child turned, an eager light coming
into her face for u moment, and then going
out. Mrs. Lane was acting on impulse.
She almost always did; it was good thing,
therefore. that most of her impulses were
sweet and gentle and true.
.'Are you hungry" she asked, pityingly.
"It doesn't matter 50 much about me,
mn'anl, | could bear to be hungry, but l
don't know what to do for my mother. |
have tried to find 4 place to work, but no
one will take me. They say child ten
years old is more plague than profit. Moth
or had to work SO hard to keep US, and now
she's been sick while, and she can't work,
and so we've eaten up everything. So
came out to see if anybody would give me
something for mother, and I've asked at
every house in the street, and everywhere
they said just the same, and that they had
nothing to-day"
"Where do you live,-is it far ?" Mrs.
Lane asked.
"Only u few steps, ma'am-three streets
off"
swell, then, I'll go home with you, and
while put on my bonnet, and Bridget will
give you some bread and butter and cold
meat"
Mys. Lanes sweet young faco was full of
pity, as she hurricdly packed basket with
bread and tea and suger, for the sick mother.
Then she ran up stairs and tied on her pref
ty summer hat, and down again while the
hungry girl was finishing her breakfast.
.Come little GIRL" she said, "what is
your name?'
ELLEN Stanton; but my father always
called me Nelly, and SO does mother"
Sand is your father dead -
"On, yes that's the way our trouble be-
gan. Father died, and mother wasn't used
to hard work, and she had to work go hard
10 keep the baby and me-"
Mrs. Lane asked no more questions, just
then. She was thinking moro seriously
than she had ever thought in her life, re-
membering how she had been born to case
and luxury, shielded all her days from care
how her deepest discomfort had been when
some other persons carpet was handsomcr,
or their Indian shawl had deeper border.
And now she was going whore hunger and
sorrow were tenants. Had she been living
all this time for herself? She questioned,
with sudden pang of terror and self-re-
proach, whether ever in her life she had
done really one unsclish act-whcther, if
the great harvest day were come, she would
have one sheaf to show to the Master. She
had given of her abundance now and then,
Of course, when charitable subscriptions had
been presented to her; but she had thought
it bore and burden, not privilege or
her own accord, what good had she ever
lone-what man, woman, or child was there
TO rise up and call her blessed
Here we are, ma'am," said the child,
breaking the silence.
1t was two-story, wooden house before
which they had stopped. They went up
stairs, and the little girl opened door.
Mother" she said, "a lady has come
home with me to see you-a kind lady, who
has, given mo my breakfast, and brought
you yours"
Mrs. Lane stood moment on the threshold