The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1871-08-24
ny VOCATION. AND WHAT CAME
OF 1T.

|.
It was not strange that people should say
| married him for d home; l was homeless
enough when he took me, God knows
Worn and tired, too, with years of teach
ing, 1t had rackcl me, body and mind. Il
lad tried me, soul and spirit, until at last
almost hated the sight Of the high brick
walls and heavy gate that made my prison
until at last | almost hated the faces of the
children. Al my youth went there, though
! clunG to it: all my beauty-if ever had
any. Nothing remained that could charm
unless it was my hair, hcavy and dark, and
soft to the touch.
" Why 30 you not leave it? Why dc
YOU not marry?" friends would question
me. They did not know-how could / tel
tham that ! loved no one who asked me,
until John came. And then, though they
had urged it upon me- they whispered
among themselves that had married him
for home! Perhaps because he was year
older tlan I. perhaps-I did not know.
I L troubled me, and yet what did it matter
since #c knew.
- left the school The great gate
/ changed after me for the last time, and ]
could have cried with Joy. Then Invent t.
be } Ohm wife, and to take care Of little
I bc"uio: for he had been married before.
A first 1 wished it were not so. vt first
I 1t gave me pang 10 think Of this woman
/ who had been to him all | could ever hope
/ to bo--IerhaEs even more. " hen he asked
/ mo to be his wife, in the grave, quiet wav
that seemed even then 50 strong, 50 restfui
hc told M this. Il was like him, the way
lac spoke Of her-thc young wife who had
maze his home ST bright for little while.
AMI thcn hat gone away, leaving this little
cliit. i was as | would like to be rcmcm-
/ brrci if anything should take me now
from him. Bat | was new in nv GREAT
possessions then | was Jealous of inva-
SION or prior claim. And | cried that
night when he left because he had said, 1T
has been TIE one hope of my life to 80
away and meet her Until | knew you.
Esther, | diduo think that anything but
the child could hold me here | should
Ike to stay awhile now, to brighten your
life little If | can. But do not ask YOU
to help me to forget her. Help me to be
more worthy to meet her"
Yes; it was strange request, perhaps,
and many women would not have taken
the little hc had to offer. But | would
rather have had that one corner than the
whole heart room of any other
man. Still l did cry. When
we went home from the church
where we were married, the first object
that met my gaze was her picture. |
knew it must be she, though l had never
seen her face. The tears sprang into nv
eyes. John saw them. "Estherr' he
said, and the tone of his voice, ike his
face, was troubled and perplcxed. And
then | sobbcd. /, who should have been
happy this one day if never again! lie
was not inpatient with my childishness. rs
many men would have been. lie was dis
turbci and hurt only-most Of all for me-
You will not mind in time" he SAID,
gently, "but now-Shall it be hung in
Bennie's room ?'-'N Wait, John, wait.
The blood sTged in and out my heart. It
took away my breath | went away from
him and stood before the picture 1t was
a sweet young face, younger than mine,
with thar pitiful look in the soft blue ewes
! that seems often a promonition Of early
death. John had told me about her. How
happy and frolicsome rs a child she was.
But this was one of the saddest faces |
ever knew. Did it cross her mind at that
moment, poor young mother, that she was
to go away and leave her baby and john !?
There came over me such Il pity for her
with the thought, such shame of myself
that | caught Beunie in my arms and made
q great vow with my face hidden In his
curis.
We viii go 10 her some dav, dear
John / said,-" Benuie and you and l.
and there was never anything more said
abou, moving the picture.
| thing Bennie did not seem the same to
me after that. Ny heart had warmed to-
ward him from the first for his fathers
sake but he was nearer, holier now-thp
little child whom God had intrusted TO my
care while Its mother dwelt with the an
gels. If | could only do by him as She
would have done,
1t was such kingdom-that old house !
had laid aside my sceptre, but | had put
on crown. The street had crowded close
against the door. The world could look in
at the windows. But behind It, shut in bv
crumbling wall, was an old garden, with
crooked paths borderel by box that reach
ed almost to my waist; with a couple of
mls-shapen apple trees that had somehow
ouisrown the limits of all apple trees, until
they brooded over the whole place. They
. bore glorious promise of blossoms in early
summer, and latera scant fruition, speckcd
and sweet to the taste. Over the wall and
csambering upon the houses on one side.
w0odbine and dainty clematis ran wild.
and under the shadow of the same old
wall bloomcd narcissus and sweet old-fash-
ionc3 piuks
And 1t was mine, all mine my home,
where John and / would live, please God,
tpr long, happy years. Where we would
die. W hen he had gone away to his work,
and Bennie was building wonderful fairy
castles upon the floor, | used to walk the
/ length of the low sunny rooms, repeating
the words TO myself. Once, Dolly-ny
. one maid came upon ne suddenly as
paced the upper rooms.
:" Have you lost anything, ma a'am?"
No, Dolly, no. | said. u have f5tasd
! It. And So / had.
sewed or read or taught little Bennit
when | had arranged the affairs of m;
/ HlhSdom: sitting in a low chair by the win.
/ doW. Sometimes the people hurrying by
J glanced IN. / wondered If they knew