The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1871-08-24

said, as they FASTENED to congratulate him
upon my success.
"Well, john" when we had left them
and were on our way home, was not sat
isfied yet; desired that he should praise
me. ''Did do well?''
"Oh, very WE'LL" and though we were
out in the darkness was sure he smiled
on me. l felt it in his voice, but my vaui-
ty still crayed something more.
"Were you not surprised?'
"No; l always knew you could do any
thing you tried.'' 1t struck me that there
was an echo of sadness to his voice. How
could it be when l was wild with excite
ment and delight!
'Do praise me, John. Tell me that /
was pretty to look at, that l succeeded as
no other woman ever didr' And then !
astonished him by bursting into
tears. We were on the train
going home. The lamps over
our heads had fickered and gone out. /
hid my face on his shoulder and soJbed.
/ There was a taste as Of ashes to tie APP
/ pies | had Srasped.
lie soothed me. "AIy good girl, he
said. | remembered afterwards how,when
others turned my silly head with praise Of
praise Of my talents and success, | was to
lin ''AIy good girl who was trying to help
her husband" Faint praise, thought some
times. But knew afterwards that it was
the one anchor that held me, as it was the
one reminder of what had striyen to do.
Of course my home was no longer now
my world; no longer first in my thoughts
eyen | realized this with a pang some
/ I T I'm 10 10
! leaves of the ivy that had made our parlor
so bright through all the long winters 1t
! had run in kind Of revel over the win
dows. 1t had perched itself upon the top
/ OF the pictures, and thrust its shoots out
from every corner. 1t was dead now. l
/ had forgotten to tendit. made as though
| did not see him when he touched it, and
| wien he had left the house | tore it down.
/ | had no idea the room could seem so bare
as it did when the grasp Of the dead fin
gers was loosened.
| And vet no one could say that I neglect
| cd my home. 1t was well kept and order
/ IL. Nothing was gone but the charm OF
love, and that is-everything Suddenly,
too, | realized that Bennie was six years
| old. Almost q man, | told him. So | did
not hold him IN my arms, or tell him sto-
J
after Il while; but when | walked the floor
and read aloud, as did every day now, he
would steal away into corner with
some old toy held tight in his little hands,
and stare out at me with wondering al
most frightened eyes. 1t was John who
comfortcd him when he was hurt in these
days, into whose arms he crept when the
shadows fell at night, while I-oh, l won
! l. ,P = +I,n
".
"IIere is a round of engagements for
You" 1t was the bristly-haircd little man
presiding over that place Of destiny, the ly-
ccum bureau, who spoke. | had called at
the Office by request.
"Dut where p
ooh, West the best field for a novice.
1t Is a six weeks tour"
Six weeks | must think Of it. | must
talk 1t over with John.
The agent stood before q desk, sharpen
Ing a pencil. lie cut it carefully but
briskly 70 point while Ipulled at the glove
in my hand, and did not speak.
Sorry to hasten your decision," in that
rasping tone so confusing to women un-
used to the sudden combinations and hastv
conclusions of business-"but there is a
lady in the next room who viii take it if
you do not. You have only to sign your
name here" designating the spot with his
finger.
lis words whistlcd through my head
ike the wind. | was thinking my own
thoughts. The desire to give it all up, to
creep back into the old happy life, to be
hid from the world, rose strong in me.
There was no longer any necessity for my
H.,
him. Our troubles had flown away as
they came. My pride fought with this de
sire.
'Let me think of it a moment" He
shrugged his shoulders, but with Ger
tainly, madam" returned to his desk.
was weary from my long walk. was
trembling with nervous excitement. For an
instant everything in the room seemed
rushing by. | put out my hand and
clutched the window sill. | leaned my
head upon it and did not try to think.
Only to wait until the roar-did it come up
from the street ?--had ceased. When ev-
erytLing was stilled--even to my hcart-I
said 10 it, q We viii not go;" and then
there came thought of him who buildeth
a tower and counteth not Il cost-of him
who putteth his hand to the plow and look
eth back. | took up the pen and wrote
my name. Then l came out into the street
feeling as though had bound myself with
chains.
l almost hoped John would forbid my
going | almost hoped he would blame me
when ] told him what | had done. But he
did neither.
Il have thought of Bcnnie and Of YOU,
| said. But ! could not meet his eyes, for
mine would fill with tears. Try as l might
| could not blot out the picture of John
and Bennie here alone through all the long
winter eycnings--of the lack Of comfort,
the possible contingencies of sickness and
death
But no; I would not think Of it. I was
called to a higher sphere; | had answered
the voice. l had put my hand to the pIow
l would never look back
There is Dolly" | went on, in the cold,
hard tone Of attempted composure that
/ sounds so much like Indifference she
knows my ways. She is faithful, and six
weeks will soon pass.
| Oh, how endless and dark they stretched
out before me, even as / said the words
DO You really desire to 60 ?" There
was great pleading in Johns voice |
| hardened my heart against it,
Yes but the word struggled in my
throat.
Because you know you need not; and
and we shall miss you. Shall we not.
/ little man?' lie bent over Bennie, who
leaned against his knee.
She's gone away" affirmed Bonnie. in
that slow, solemn tone peculiar TO children,
/ and without looking at me.
Mo- said John, but we shall be very
] lonely il she does GO
9 She's gone away" reiterated the child,
and he was right.
/ The applause still rang in my ears. l
could hear the rustic and tread of the
crowd, the hum of voices as il retreated.
+ | had read in the theatre of Il Western city.
and now in the green-room awaited tie
/ carriage that was to take me back to the