The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1874-12-26

with father s curse heaping mountains
Gu her head ?" said the girl, shrinking
still further from the light, and speak
ing slowly and painfully, as if the effort
hurt her.
! Ma, ma, lady. Not uncared for,
not unpitied," cried the old woman.
:" ran alter her myself till my twa feet
| bent under me, but [ couldna reach
her, slnsyne | was auld an she young
an light, an she almost flew. She
seemed daft, poor thing, vie the fear
and trouble
That night they brought the young
master hame. They brought him
hame, forbye he couldna come himself.
A railroad hurt, they said an they
laid him doom IN Elsie's bed an the
doctor bided here the leelong night;
but no use-he died afore morn"
And the old woman burst into bitter
sobbing and wailing.
My God Oh, my God /" moaned
the girl, looking up with glazed, tear
less eyes.
"Ah, mel -" continued Nurse Martha
wlping her wet face with her apron,
i" that was the hardest of a; for then /
knawed Elsie was game forever; an
! ueeu 50 SHE was.
Weel, we maun feel for the
troobled, an auld master carried a sair
heart ABBOTT vie him alter that. Puir
man he's dead an game moo; but afore
he died he repented him sorely |"
" Repented And what good did his
repentance do r. exclaimed the girl Wild
| ly, starting from her seat and hurriedly
pacing the room. Gould repentance
call back the hopes he blighted
Coutd repentance heal the hearts he
broke? Could repentance-hisr repent
ance-bring the dead to life .
The old woman started forward with
a quick cry, and, laying the sleeping
child down on chair, she caught the
girls dress with her trembling hands.
q" Miss Elsie ! Miss Elsie 1t is it
is | know We moo Sure an YOU re not
yourself to night, birdie, or We couldna
speel such uncanny words ABBOTT the
dead. Coon to auld Nursie, darling
to old Nurse, that alwa' lo'ed you
Ma, no, grille ,-girlie, you're not your
sell, or We wouldna bide a moment in
your heart an not forgive him."
Forgive him. Never never =
never!' cried Elsie, shaking off the
clinging fingers, and resuming her rapid
walk. ''He drove me from home He
cursed me-
But | was young, and pretty, and
graceful, and so | found paying work
at last. Such work | Ha, ha .-ha ha
Only to think of it, Nursiel Elsie
Cameron, the only daughter of a proud
Scotch father, singing and dancing be
hind the foOtlights in a crowded theatre
in New York City the queen, the
beauty, Ia petite little farie,
the new and brilliant star, the artistic
whose smiling face and tripping feet
were greeted with round after round OF
applause-such was [ at night. But in
the daytime, in my own little room, and
by Arthur's bedside, | was simply poor
Elsie, the miserable, broken hearted
woman, doomed so soon to be alone in
fthe world. Alb it was brave life, and
a happy lot, my loving and repentant
father sentenced me to But Arthur
never knew it. Dear Arthur it would
have broken his heart if he had He
thought [ was employed as a soprano
singer in the church choir, and [ never
undeceived him. Why should I?
Well, this dreadful lie went on. [
laughed. and sang, and danced the
nights away, while at home the hectic
on Arthur's face deepened, and the
racking cough grew worse and worse,
and his weak hands almost refused to
hold the pen with which he labored; for
he, too, had to work, sick and dying as
he was The poor have not even time
to die in peace
And SO one night | came home
brighter and more hopeful than usual
(for [ had just been paid, and they had
raised my salary. | came home and
found Arthur sitting in his easy-chair
with his eyes fixed on the door, waiting
for me. My darling My darling
waiting so quietly-so patiently Only
the body, not the soul; that was through
waiting forever
, Oh, God Even the last look, the
last kiss was denied me. For was | not
cursed?
Well, Nurse, it was all over then
| did not struggle after that, but just
Lay down and drifted with the tide, and
prayed to die. Then Nellie came, and
] had something else to live for, and so
[ tried once more. But my strength
was gone; and a great fear came upon
me that [ would leave her an orphan,
friendless and alone, to starve in the
streets of the city, and so [ brought her
here. VIII you take her, Nursie, and
teach her TO be good? I know father
willed his property to you and George,
so it must all belong to you now. |
leave her with YOU. Martha. [ shall
never trouble any one again.
g 1o mauna gaze DOT the night, Miss
Elsie y cried the nurse, stopping the
girl as she attempted to pass through
the door.
f'Oh but l must Martha - said Elsie,
laughing lightly, as she drew the faded
shawl tighter across her shoulders.
''Let me go, Nurse Martha Don't
hold me 50; you hurt me y
But Martha did not release her hold.
but instead, unclasped the cold hands
and drew the weary head down until it
rested on her shoulder. And there,
with loving words and tender caresses.
she stilled the unquiet spirit until the
wild stare passed away, and the hard
lines about the eyes and mouth relaxed
and softened. And through all the
Gve-ong night she talked of the loving
Jesus, of His gentleness and patient
suffering, His death, and His earnest
entreaty: "Come unto me all We that
are heavy ladenl" until step my step
the wanderer was led back to the fold
And there, in the gray cleaning, two
trembling hands were folded together
| in PRAYER and with bitter ppnitpnt sObS