The Shasta courier., 1868-01-25
COURIER.
THE LITTLE HEROINE.

.0,nanS again J! anu the weary, WaSteu
invalid lifted his head from the pillow and
looked pitifully over the dim room. 90,
that the night had been longer ~ To the
wretched sleep is dear. my wife-my
darling babies-.must they freeze and starye2''
And with tears gushing from his eyes, the
pale man buried his head in the scanty COW
ering and groaned aloud.
1t was no wonder that be was out of heart
on that cold, dark December day. At best
he had hard struggle to get food, and for
the past six months the struggle had been
almost desperate, for his wife had been un.
able to assist him in the least, being confined
to her bed with a slow wasting disease. -
His little daughter Maria, a pretty child of
twelve, kept the room tidy. and herself and
two little brothers, like wax. By the aid of
her mothers whispered directions, she also
managed to do up the weekly washing and
ironing.
My little sunbeam" the father fondly
| called her, while the mother would say, in
her low, sweet tones, "our ANGEL
One night, the young housekeeper waited
until it was pitch dark for her father to come
home to frugal supper, and then, with
fearful foreboding at her heart, undressed
the little boys and put them to bed, and tied
on her hood and cloak to go for him. A
crowd was at the very threshold With a
wild cry, she rushed towards the inanimate
form they carried upon the board. 1t was
her father brought home with broken leg.
A week had passed since this misfortune.
BY the sale of their few pieces of furniture,
the wolf had been kept from the door, But
now, nothing remained save the course bed
on which the distressed ones slept. No coal
for the little CRATE no tea for the feverish
lips, no crust for the famished children l.
What should be done?
1t was question little Maria asked again
as they lay there watching the few pale sun.
beams that struggled through the window.
And she asked it oftener after she had risen
and dressed herself and brothers, and smooth
ed the two beds. Bread they must have and
that day. They were all faint even now,
and the boys clamored for their break fast.
Suddenly a bright thought came to the
little daughter. She remembered having
seen in the coffee houses, young girls no
taller than she, waiting upon customers
Perhaps they would try her. 81 am handy,
quick and patient, and | would try so much
to oblige." | am pretty, too, she might
have added, had there been a spark of vanity
in her heart; for she was a sweet child,
with brow like sunny snowdrift, and
even like the Spring violets that nestle in
woodlands. 81 will try, at least, and see
what | can do" and after watching mo.
ment the weary sleep of her parents she
whispered to her little brothers that she was
going out to get some bread for them, and
then hurried away.
She did 60 to the bakers, but her pitiful
story failed to touch his heart, and there
were tears upon her cold cheek as she turned
IL l. L.
asked herself the question with a quivering
lip. Never before had their poverty driven
them to that strait, and it was hard, even
now, with the picture of that wretched home
fresh in her vision, to plead for charity
But she did it. Again and again she said to
the passer by, "PIease, sir, please, MAJ am,
give me q penny to buy bread with for my
sick parents"
And the gentlemen had their over coats
buttoned to their chins, and the ladies were
enveloped in furs, and it was too much
trouble to find the pocket books or purses
just to supply beggar's wants.
+" Go to the soup house," said one, at last,
more churlsh than the rest. 1.-THE city
provides for such as you."
1t was new idea to her. and as fast as
her feet could carry her she went, and, en-.
the attendant matron.
" will report the case to the committee" /"
said the woman quietly, ma king a memoran-
dunn of the name and number of the street.
" Come in to morrow morning, and | will do
what can for you."
To morrow She would become too weak
to walk SO far by that time, and what would
become of the rest?
With n heavy hnorf cba want boo,o b,r
ing no courage to present herself as a waiter
to any of the coffee houses she passed on her
way.
Did you get some ?' cried the boys,
gathering about her, ard pulling on her
cloak to see if it were hidden under her
arms.
. Did you get some ?' said two faint
voices from the bed corner, and the coverlet
was thrown off, and two pair of thin, white
hands put forth.
No, no." she answered plaintiyely.
/" but | will try again. Keep up good
hope.n
There will be plenty out of the oven
now. Yes, plenty" she said to herself. as
she buttoned her cloak on the threshold
"plenty, and I'll have some, too. They
shall not starve. Men and women forsake
me; God doesn't hear me any longer =
There is nothing left for me to do but to
steal I"
Her face paled as she spoke it, and for
moment there was a wild wrestle in her
heart. Then she went on quickly, pausing
an instant before each bakers door, and
looking anxiously within. By and by she
found one that seemed empty.
A whole pile of steaming loaves lay upon
the counter.
She rushed in and seized one, and hiding
it under her cloak, fed madly up the street.
But the baker had seen her from the little
sitting room. and vas after her crying Justify,
:. 8; sop thief, stop thiefr n A crowd follow
ed her, and the poor child was soon run
down.
a clear case" said tho police officer,
who took her "She must So to the court
ROOM" In vain she pleaded with them and
told her story.
They must do their duty, she might have
begged, she might have gone to the soup