The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1868-05-21


" Well, mother" said John Grey's
gFuf, but not unkindly voice, one
day. the little 'un must go to the
asylum | s'pose?
!" I don't know" was the wife's hes
liant answer, the universal mother
tenderness looking through her eyes;
may be We could keep It ourselves,
JOhnl
Not was the dec ded reply. mol
the child ii be we'll took care of there,
and you've got no extra pair o hands
for baby tendin', let alone its bcin
hard enough sometimes to put bread
into the mouths Of our own.
Anita rose up from her seat by the
fire, with the baby gathered close to
her throbbing heart, and stood before
her father. Some great change had
come over her father. Some great
change had come over her; for one
brief moment the soul within seemed
to Wrest from an untOward fate the
boon of erect grace from the childish,
misshapen form. Two sparks, like
fire glowing in her eyes, and her lips
were pressed tightly together.
Anita Bless me! what ails the
child?"
Father" she said, pointing over
her shoulder. Father, / am not like
other children. | never can do what
they do, or have what they have.
Sometimes | have thought | wasn't Of
any use. Give me the baby"
The fisherman tried to draw her
down upon his knee. There was
world Of unspoken tenderness In the
rough caress.
Child" he said, what could you
do with it-a little thing like you? y
OH / could take care Of him
know know I could" she answer
ed, her voice falling into a low, recita-
tive, the under tone of restless emo
ton. No one need mind him but
me, and [ would never. never be
tired Oh father father! God gave
him to me out Of the roaring sea-to
me, father! You won't take him
away?"
He drew his coarse sleeve across
his eyes.
What do you say, mother?"
His wife was weeping.
Anati's a handy little thing, and
powerfully wOmanly for her age. L
guess we might let her try, father"
The unnatural glow faded from the
child's face, and the little strained
figure relaxed, and she sank down In
his place, sobbing Historically. As
her tears fell on its forehead the babe
turned uneasily; but at its first low
moan Anita was quiet In an instant.
A marvellous expression of age and
self-reHance came into her face. She
held the child closer, and commenced
low, grooming lullaby.
The fisherman rose aud went out,
beC k0ning to his wife.
Mother" be said, " I've a notion
it's Gods work for the child; least
ways, | can't gainsay herl'
Months were counted into years,
and there was none to interfere with
Anita's strange adoption. The boy
-" Rescued was the odd, old-fash-
toned name she gave him-developed
into wonderful beauty. Anita seem
ed to have no life but In him at home
and among the neighbors she came to
be known only as " Mother Anita, :"
or The Little Mother" So proud
of him she was. From the first she
seemed to have accepted it as a quiet
/ certainty that he was fashioned of a
finer material, and for a higher sort
of life. than she had known. She was
never quite content without him at
her side. How much she suffered as
ne grew old enough to be taken some
times with her father and brothers in
the boat, was limited by the red glow
in her cheeks, and the restlessness of
every look and motion, till she had
him safely back again.
City people, who began to find the
| little village pleasant for Summers
| fishing or bathing, werequick to make
/ friends with the deformed girl whose
1 spiritual face, radiant with love for
her beautiful young charge, attracted
/ them like some rare picture. Many
/ offered her gifts Of money, which she
1 declined with gentle gratitude, asking
i for books instead always adding
/ alphabetically. 8 to teach him, you
know" So it happened that a vari-
\ Gus library accumulated by degrees
/ in her little chamber. As she read
7 and studied, glimpses of a new world
opened before her, but as the little
\ she learned only limited at what she
could never know, the sad conviction
\ forced itself upon her that she could,
( after all, never be her boys teacher.
/ The great wrench of her lie came
/ when Rescued was twelve years old.
I Judge Thorne, with his wife and little
/ daughter, came down to the sea shore,
/ their hearts sore for the loss Of their
only son. The strong resemblance of
Rescued to her dead child quite over