The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1869-03-25
From the Standard, Chicago.
30 Y.
BY MRS. NJ. L. RAYNE.

the dairy, talking to Susan, who was Jus
putting up the last pan in the Furnishes
row on the shelves, and telling me at tn
same time about her brother who hat
broken his leg week or two before ant
whom she had not seen since the accident
The soft May wind, scented with earl.
blooms, came in at the open window, IKE
the welcome breath of dear friend, anc
could see beyond the emerald meadows
musical with the tinkle OF sheep bells
my husband was leaning over the gate o.
the farm yard, talking with vagrant boy
who, with bundle slung on stick, carried
on his shoulder, gave picturesque effect
to the sunset painted scenes. l was tran
GULLY happy, and at peace with myself
and the world at that moment, and out OF
my superabundance charitably gave per
mission to Susan to go and stay all night
with her sick brother, and felt complacent
ly happy, as though l had done some COM
mendable deed which involved much sac
ritice. rs
Il was still in this mood, looking out
through the vines which were beginning
to lose their dead, wooded, look, and were
vined with living green, when my hus
band approached the window. followed
by the boy I had noticed him talking to.
He was forlorn looking object, dusty
and travel-worn, with villainous looking
face, according to my wav of thinking a
low forehead, with profusion of brown;
tangled hair above it, and keen, suspic-
ious eyes, that were fixed on me with an
intensity almost painful. He was bare
footed, about fourteen years old, and look
ed the thorough tlamp.
Mildred" said my husband, "can we
keep this boy all night? He wants place,
and thought he would do for chores and
rough work through the season."
ooh, no, no" cried hastily, with ges-
ture of disapproval that saw was notlost
on the subject of it. at will be quite i'm
possible. Susan has just gone home, and
there is no bed that looked at him
again-"that could put him in"
II am sorry" said my husbrnd, coming
nearer, to take little Annie, who had
climbed to the window sill, and held out
Ter arms to her papa; II think l could
make :ius boy useful, and he really wants
friend"
Don't think of it." whispered, "he
looks like an escaped convict; he might
murder us, or burn the house over our
heads"
am not sure but he heard me, so dark
a look overspread his face; but he turned
and strobe away without word. Then l
knew he had OWNED the import of my
whispered suggestion, and felt rather q
twinge of conscience for my harsh dismiss
al.
II wish, Mildred" said my husband
gravely, ''that yol had little more char
ity toward the unfortunate of this world"
Before could answer, a man rode up
on horseback and inquired for Mr.. Clark,
who was particularly wanted to sit up
with q sick man who had exhausted near
attention Much as | dreaded to have him
leave me alone, felt that it would be in
human to ask him not to go. He entered
the house to make few preparations be-
fore leaving, and urged him to take a
roll of bills, amounting to nearly thous-
and dollars, which he had received as adj
mnistrator of an estate, and which was to
be paid over on the following day to the
legatees. felt much safer without the
money, and had no fear that would suffer
any other Inconvenience during the night
than that of extreme loneliness, which
would be somewhat hghtened by the
company of nay little three year old girl.
locked up the house after Mr.. Clark
was gone, and went up to my bed room
on the second floor, q bright CHEEKY room
just over the garden could see, at the
distance Of half mile, numerous white
farm houses, and the public road ran very
near our house, and occasionally a belated
team went past, and caught friendly
nod from some farmer who was neigh
Dor.
As the twilight deepened into night,
and l sat by the open window enjoying
the warm, balmy air, little Annie climbed
into my lap to 10 ok at the pretty specks,"
as she called the stands, and amuse mo
with her artless prattle, but was not pre-
pared for her frank question mamma,
what did you send poor boy out in the
dark for ?"
tried to make her understand that /
did not think it best he should stay, when
she grayely said:
"If he had a home, and good, kind
mamma, like me, you would have let him
stay, but as he didn't have anybody, you
turned him away"
had nothing to say to this, and the lit
tie teaZer went on:
~ But he did have somebody, after all
God went with him, mamma, to take care
OF him, didn't HEP" 81
III Il hope So. answered earnestly, anG
there was Z long silence, in which Annie
counted the stars and hoped the boy
would find shelter for the night and
was almost startled by Annie's little voic,
suddenly urging, "Mammai let us pra.
for boy"
I did not pray had no words or hear
to join in the sweet petition that went u
to heaven for the poor, poor boy, tina
hadn't any home, and mamma wouldn't lie
stay just one night; and would God pleas
spare one little white angel to take car
Of him thrOG0h the dark"