Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1873-04-19

/ ulu nOb COME, anu III the COURSE Ol blIl6
Sally had enough to think of without
leaving her own room. Matters did
not prosper with the family. Little
Lena had the scarlet fever and lay for a
long time at deaths door, and the work
with which the mother helped to fill the
family purse was necessarily neglected,
and her customers grew angry and left
her.
Then the baby died. Poor little baby!
The mother wept bitterly. The
father also longed to weep, although
children were expensive luxuries in that
poor household. Finally the last af-
Fiction fell upon the tailor-a felon on
his right thumb.
There was an end to it all, it seemed
to both. Nothing but the hospital and
the almshouse before them. The rent
was quite unpaid at last, and the tobac-
conist was in fury He called to give
him warning aud piece of his mind.
On the morrow out he should go, neck
and crop. The tailor said nothing.
The wife, woman-ike, had her word.
"Where shall we go ?" size asked.
"We haven't penny in the world.
"It is nothing to me where you go"
said the landlord, $50 that get you out
of my rooms. 1 want them for honest
people"
"We're unfortunate, but we never
mean to be dishonest cried the wife.
Then her husband, in an angry word,
babe her hold her tongue
cts all the same" he said; eve
we will go tomorrow. And now you
go, Mr.. Landlord"
Then they were left alone, bemoaning
their hard fate. There was absolutely
nothing to eat in the house.
Sally looked at her empty flour bar
rel, at her wretched family, and then
burst into tears.
cts no use trying any longer" she
said. eff the Lord would only take
us. That's all [ ask"
She put the children to bed and sat
down NJ on chair drawn by force of
habit to the hearth of an empty stove.
Her husband, between pain and
anxiety, was less sane than madman.
He paced the floor like a tiger, talk
ing to himself. The bit of tallow can
die burned low, the bitter wind ratified
the easement, the rain beat against it.
"We shall be out in all that to-mor-
row." said the man. "We've not a
friend in the world"
We've got one friend, I hope" said
the wife.
"Who is he ?" asked the tailor.
Good" said the woman. "Maybe
He'll find way to help us. We haven't
been very bad, Sam"
h. l,o.ro o4oprroJ L ooro,o nov,
said the tailor. "We haven't any par
ticular right to expect miracles, that l
know of. Hark What's that ?"
GA knock" said his wife, and, trem-
bling lest her landlord should have re-
turned, opened the door. Without
stood the tall gaunt figure of the lodger
in the attic.
He's come forsome bread, :" thought
, the woman, and amidst her own trouble
she grieved over the thought of re-
, fusing his appeal.
2 He made none, however. This is
l what he said:
r Madame, a while ago I took the
4 liberty of asking you for bread. Allow
. me to return the loaf with thanks"
So he vanished. A whole fresh loaf
lay in the woman's hand. She carried
it in.
! "This is more than I expected" she
l said. "You see God is good"
She lifted the side of the candlestick
l a little. The light fared up.
, "Now, mother" cried a child's voice
from the bed, "I'm hungry"
4 Sally broke it in two. It parted with
r singular ease. She gave a little cry.
1t had evidently been parted before
and joined together, and from the heart
s a handful of crumbs had been scooped
t and in it lay little white packet.
g cts fairy-bread, "cried Sally, remem.
a boring some old country legend.
Look on it before the light goes
e out, " said the tailor.
? Sally obeyed. She opened the packet
and found two envelopes. In the one
e was this note-
: MADAME Your loaf of bread saved my life
! know you are in trouble, and yesterday my
t luck turned. To-day am worth S50, ,000 hav.
S ing won law suit that has been pending fol
e years. Please accept the enclosure, and believe
me your ever obliged. ATTIC LoDGER.
e There was a $500 note in the envel
t ope, and when she saw it she thought
Y herself the happiest woman in Christen'
3 dom.
The gift was the saving of the family
$ Sally had cast her bread upon the
l waters to find it again in very truth
And when the tailor's hand was vel
t again, there was a patron for him who
, dressed in such amanner that Sam could
no longer doubt him a gentleman. The
attic lodger wears the finest broadcloth
now, and the tobacconist bows low as
he meets him on his way out, or sells
him choice Havanas over the counter.
He sleeps at the door in his carriage
and lodges in the attic no longer; but
he never forgot the loaf of bread given
him by the tailor's wife when he was
, starving.