The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1873-04-04

without leaving her own room. Mat
ters did not prosper with the family
Little Lena had the scarlet fever and
lay Tor long time at deaths door
and the work with which the mother
helped to fill the family purse was ne
cessarIly 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
affiIction fell upon the tailor-a felon
on his right thumb
There was an end to all, it seemed
to both. Nothing but the hospital and
the almshOuse before them. The rent
was quite unpaid at last, and the to-
I baccOnist was in a fury He called to
give him warning and a piece of his
mind On the morrow out he should
+ 90, neck and crop. The tailor said
nothing. The wife, woman-like, had
her word.
Where shall we go2" she asked.
I'VE haven't penny in the world"
1t is nothing to me where YOU 90, :"
said the landlord, so that | get YOU
out of my rooms l want them for
honest people"
We're unfortunate, but we never
mean to be dishonest" cried the wife
Then the husband in an angry word,
babe her hold her tongue.
It's all the same, " he said eve will
go tomorrow, and now you go, Mr..
Landlord"
Then they were left alone, bemOan-
ing their hard fate. There was abso-
lutelv nothing to eat in the house.
Sally looked at her empty flour bar
rel, at her wretched family, and then
burst into tears.
It's no use trying any longer" she
said. If the Lord would only take
Us. That's all l ask"
She put the children to bed and sat
down upon a chair drawn by force of
habit TO the hearth of an empty stove.
Her husband, between pain and anx-
ietv, was less sane than a mailman.
He paced the floor like a tiger. talk
inE to himself The bit of tallow can
die burnt low, the bitter wind ratified
the easement, the RAIN beat against it
I'VE 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, 1 hope" said
the wife
"Who is he ?" asked the tailor
God" said the woman. Maybe
He'll find a way to help US We have
not been very bad, Sam
Better to have starved before now. >
said the tailor We haven't any par
ticular right to expect miracles, that l
know OF. Hark what's that -
A knock, said the wife, and, trem-
bling lest her landlord should have re
turned, opened the door Without
stood the tall, gaunt figure Of the lod-
ger in the attic
Hes come for some bread, " thought
the woman, and amidst her own trou-
ble she grieved over the thought of re
fusing his appeal.
He made none, however. This is
what he said
Madame, awhile ago I took the lib
ertv of asking YOU for bread. Allow
me to return the loaf with thanks"
So he vanished. \ whole fresh loaf
lay in the woman's hand She carried
it in.
This is more than l expected" i" she
said. You see God is good"
She lifted the side of the candlestick
a little The light fared up.
Now, mother" cried achild'sv voice
from the bed, I'm hungry"
/ Sally broke it in two. Itparted with
singular ease. She gave a little cry
/ 1t had evidently been parted before
and joined together, and from the
heart a handful of crumbs had been
I scoOped and in it lay a little white
/ packet:
It's fairy-bread," cried Sally, re
membering some old country legend.
Look on it before the light goes
OUT said the tailor,
Sally obeyed. She opened the packet
and found two envelopes In the one
was this note:
/ MADAME Your loaf of bread saved my
+ life know you are in trouble, and yes
[ terday my luck turned. Today l am
worth fifty thousand dollars, having won a
lawsuit, that has been pending Tor years
+ Please accept the enclosure ana beheVe
( me your ever obliged, ATTIC LoDGER.
There was a five hundred dollar note
/ in the envelope, and when she saw it
she thought herself the happiest wo-
man in Christendom.
The gift was the saving OF the
family
! Sally had cast her bread upon the
waters to find it again in truth. And
when the tailor's hand was well again,
there was a patron for him who dress
ed in such a manner that Sam could
no longer doubt him 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 stops at the door in his carriage,
and lodges in the attic no longer; but
he never has forgotten, nor seems like