The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1867-04-10

cnllu, (Neu, you hnoW you uavc-uOA
torture me any longer
"Bell, what do you mean ?"
"She's gonc-Litte Pearl You stole
her, Ned, TO frightcn mc?"
"No, on my soul, Bell"
aThen she's gone; God has granted mo
my wish Oh! my baby! my baby !"
I was rushing past him, bus he caught
and held me fast, commanding me to tell
him all-and did. And then his after
words thrilled my soul with horror
.sThe Indians the Indians, boysp' he
cried, slhey passed us, you know! They
must have stolen her Come" !"
They followed him without a word
and SO did /. Over the spongy prairie
mud, the chill wind and driving rain beat
ing in our. faces, through dense, dripping
woods, down to the Shore of the river.
But we were too late The last canoe
was moorcd on the opposite shore. God
had granted me my wish. l had no baby!
Little Pearl could not be found, al
though our efforts were ceascless. Her
crib remained in its corner, with the i'm
press of her head on its pillow but the
little, laughing face, that had looked up
at US from the depths of the coverlids,
was gone forever. l had ample time to
perform all my household labor then.
No little, quivering cry to dctain me
when I was busy; no clinging hands hold
ing mine, and keeping them idle. My
wish was granted me; had no baby!
The desolate, inconsolable sorrow Of
the days that followed, no tongue can
portray the tender longing, the sharp,
singing remorse. But we lived and
worked, for life and labor must go on, no
matter how sore and weary our hearts
may be- At the end of five years, Ned
looked round him on the ripe fruition of
his most sanguine hopes. He had built
him up not only home, but q name, in
this new country. We had pleasant
homes, and luxurious furniture, and birds
and flowers, and all the little attributes
that 90 to make up a happy home. All
did say Not alive were childless
Little Pearl had never come back, and
God had given us no other child to fill
her place; but we desired no other, our
grief for her loss boing dearer and more
sacred than any new love could ever have
been.
: Poor Ned, that unforgotten sorrow, to-
gether with his arduous duties, made him
an old man before his time; IT, silvery
threads were thick, On his temples, and
the burrows on his head deeply cut; when
we went back on visit to our old home,
the friends of his youth did notrccognize
him. His life had lost its impcling aim
and motive.
One night, in the great city, we were
returning from the opera, when voice
startled us.
"Pleaso, sir" it said, "a penny to buy
a loafw
1t was mid-winter; the pavements
werc glazed with ice; and the countless
stars overhead glittered in the cold, blue
sky like SO many points of steel. was
dreaming Of my home in the far West,
and longing for the honr of my return to
come. a strange feeling Of tenderness
bound meto the spot where 1 lost my
little Pearl. l could not bear to be away
from il, because of foolish fear that she
might come back again, and I not be
there to welcome her
The slender, pleading voice broke in
upon my reverie; and glancipg out at
the carriage window, saw a small, child
ish. figure, and tiny hand, blue and stiff
with cold.
"Stop the carriage Ned Il sban't close
my eyes tonight. Il we pass that child"
My husband started up from his half
doze and obeycd me-
"a penny, please, sir, to buy loaf for
granny--she's sick"
Ned took silver piece from his pocket,
but J. caught his arm before he dropped
it into the little, waiting hand. Some
thing in the soft blue eyes, looking up
SO pleadingly in the winter starlight,
thrilled my heart to it's inmost core. i
yearned to clasp the little, shivering form
to my breast, to stroke back tho tangled
golden Lair from the pallid, want-pinched
face.
4"Talsc her up, Ned" j cntreated; she'll
freeze if we leave her here. We can put
her out wherever she lives"
And good-natured Ned who never de-
MED me thing in his life, complied
Down dark and unfrequcnted streets into
one Of the lowest haunts of vice and pow
erty then she guided us up long fight
of stairs into careless attic
An old woman lay upon q heap of
straw, her face wearing that cold, grayish
hue which is the unmistakable precursor
of death.
"Have you como," she questioned ca
gerly, as we entered; ''give me the loaf"
The child ran to her side, and began to
stroke back her gray hair.
"a good lady and gcntlcman's Gomez
she iispcd, softly.
"I'm glad yer come" she said, address
ing Ned: "l'm goin', you see; and some
one oughter look arter her," pointing to
the child. "She's goodlittlc thing; I've
had her wi me six years next winter.
She amt mine, though. l got her from q