Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1868-03-06

ing, at any rate.
No excuse, and her mother was dying
An important trial was just closing, and
all the avenues to the court house were
thrOnged. tt 0
"T6ey'n be through soon," said the
officer to the baker; "we'n wait here
few minutes. No danger of her getting
away while my grip is on her." and he
frightened his grip on the shrinking arm,
till the flesh quivered with pain.
Take me home first" said she,
sadly "they will worry about lne SO.
My poor mother will die if she thinks l
am lost"
"They'll soon find out where you are"
said he, gruffly. /. Bad news.is like light
ming, it travels so fast"
"Oh dear, oh dear What will become
of them?" and she sobbed aloud.
A little girl about her age was passing
by-a rich mans child-you would know
it by the embroidered dress and cloak, the
rich velvet hood, and the costly fur tippet
and muf. But there was no false pride
hidden under the expensive raiment
a warm heart was beating there, and
its sympathies went out far toward
the poor little prisoner. For moment
SIG DdusCu, DIS IL lllCSOlNUO NPo1 i@iSA
plan of action then laying her mittened
hand gently on the officers she said,
politely:
"May / speak with herr"
"Oh, yes; she is not committed yet"
Putting her soft, rosy cheek close to the
purple, cold one, she whispered very ear
nestly. Marie told her the touching story,
and begged she would, by the love she
bore her mother, find out her humble
home, and comfort the distressed ones.
"I will, will" the stranger replied
earnestly; and don't you cry any more !;
my father knows the Judge, and he'll get
you away tomorrow. GoOG-bye-keep
up good heart;" and off she ran.
She knew her mother to be one of the
most charitable of women, and fastened
home to tell her story of Marie; but un-
fortunately she had just gone to ride, and
would not be back till near dinner time.
"What can do?" she cried, and wrung
her hands. "They want coal, and bread,
and tea, and so many things, and have
only ten cents in my pocket"
She sat down on the marble steps and
pondered. All at once her eyes bright
ened, and beautiful color flashed in her
face.
civil do it." she said, resolutely "ma-
ma will forgive when she knows all.
Without fire, without food, nearly naked,
quite starved. Oh, she will be glad I
thought so far" and she bounded down
the street and rushed around the corner.
Pushing open the plate glass door of the
most fashionable hair dresser in the city,
she went quietly up to the attendant and
asked to see Monsieur B. He ushered her
into the inner room, saying he would call
him.
Her heart futtered while she waited, but
her resolution did not fail.
"Ah! it is my little Theresa; and Mon
sieur B. took her hand kindly. "Good
morning, dear. Come to have your ring
lets dressed for the ball tonight mo ?"
as she shook her head, why not?-you
60 certainly; you are one of Monsieur's
best pupils. What is it then, my dear?"
For moment her lips quiyered; then
she spoke up quickly:
"You said once, sir, you would give me
an eagle for my curls. viii you do itnow
to. day-this minute?"
The hair dresser was astonished What
could the child mean? To cut off those
curls, long, silken and golden colored, the
pale gold of stray sunbeam; to sell them
was surely a crime.
Il tOOCS Suc, JOui uOGuCl, QOCS SIG hnOW
you came here?"
mo, sir; but she will not blame me
when / tell her how it was. Oh, no! she
is too good "
"And how is it, my dear? Make friend
of me, and tell me how it comes you ask
me to buy your hair" and he stroked the
glossy curls as tenderly as father might.
She hesitated, and then opened her
heart to him. There was mist in his
eyes when she finished her plaintive story.
He walked the floor a moment, as if irres-
olute, then stopping before her, he took
out his pocket book, and handed her two
half eagles. She put them in her purse,
and took off her hood.
"Not now, my little angel!" he said
huskily, "not now, am too busy; to-mor-
row will do as well Or, stay, will come
in this evening Till then, do not men
ton it to any one Go now on your mis-
sion, my sister of charity" and he led her
to the door.
How quickly her little feet flew
over the pavement. She could hardly
speak when she had reached the bakers
shop.
"Two loaves, sir-large ones, too" she
gasped, and threw down one of the gold
pieces.
The man stared at her curiously. The
color rose to her brow but she said nothing,
and hurried away with her warm, fragrant
bundle.
as that you, Marie? What kept you
so long, daughter? Quick, break me
crumb, | am faint"
Like an angel the little stranger
looked to them as she glided in, her cheeks
like apple-blossoms, and her hair falling
over her shoulders like ripples of sun
shine.
"Marie cannot come home, yet" she
said, in voice that was as robins in
May time. But she will return to NOR
row; perhaps this evening. She has sent
me with the bread. See the two nice
loaves I've brought" and she broke it in
fragments.
Tears coursed down her face as she saw
how eagerly they clutched them. She
had never dreamed of poverty like this;
never known how hungry folks may be
and live.
al must go now," she said, opening the
door but will come again soon and
make you comfortable, and she hurried to
the nearest grocer and bought a basket of
provisions, and engaged him to send in
some kindlings and coal. SAT
The little Buys helped her build 8 fire
in the coal stove, and when it blaZeG mer
rily, she put On the kettle, and soon had
refreshing cup of tea for each invalid,
and platter of smoking potatoes for the
children.
"Where is Marie, do you know, my lit