The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1874-09-24
'TENTY SCRAN'.

a'AeAce hash porne tne OTulse, ana the stroke"
II think she's a-sinkin', Doctor"
sobbed old Aunt Rhody, the nurse, as
she came out of Mary Scranton's bed
room into the clean kitchen, where
Doctor Parker sat before the fire, 9
hand on either knee, staring at the
embers, and looking very grave.
Doctor Parker got up from the
creaky chair, and went into the bed
room. 1t was very small, very clean,
and two sticks of wood on the old iron
dogs burned away gradually, and
softened the cool April air.
Before this pretence of fire sat an
elderl y woman, with grave, set fea-
lures, an expression Of sense and firm
ness, but a keen dark eye that raised
question of her temper. Miss Lovina
Perkins was her style, being half:aunt
to the unpleasant-colored baby she
now tended, rolled up in a flannel
shawl, and permitted to be sutpid un-
disturbedly, since its mother was dy-
ing.
Dying, evidently; she had not been
conscious for several hours. Her ba-
by had not had les welcome; she
knew nothing, cared for nothing, felt
nothing but the chill of the blood that
stood still in her veins, and choking
of the heart that hardly beat.
Poor child! poor widow! Her head
lay on the pillow, white as the linen,
but of a different tint, that indescrib-
able pallor that you know and I know,
who haveseen it drawn over dear face,
"a tint that is best unknown, that
cannot be reproduced by pen or pen
Gil. Yet, for all its pallor, you saw
at once that this face was still young,
had been lovely, a true Nev-England
beauty, quaint aud trim and delicate
as the slaty-gray snow-bird, with ib
white breast, and soft, bright eyes,
that haunts the dusky fr-trees and
dazzling Hillside. slopes when no other
bird dare show itself,-a quiet, shy
creature, full of innocent trust and en-
durance, its chirp and low repetition
dearer than the gay song of lark or
robin, because wintry song.
But Mary Perkins had never been
called handsome in Deerfeld if they
said she was "a real pretty girl" it
only meant kindly and gentle, in the
Connecticut vernacular; and Tom
Scranton, the village joiner, was first
to find out that the delicate, oval face,
with its profuse brown hair, its mild
hazel eyes, and smiling mouth, was
'jest like pictur'." So Tom and
Mary duly fell in love, got married,
nobody objecting,-went West, and
eight months afterward Mary came
home with coffin. Tom had fallen
from ladder, been taken up and
brought home dead, and she had
travelled back five hundred miles to
bury him in Deerfeld, beside his
father and mother; for he was their
only son.
There were about a hundred dollars
left for Mary. She could not work
now, and she vent to board with her
halfsister, the Deerfeld tailoress.
Mary Scranton was only nineteen
but she did not want to live,-not
even for her baby's sake. All he,
sunshine and her strength went out Of
this world with Tom, and she had nc
energy to care to live without him.
She did not say SO to her sister,-fo1
Miss Why would have scolded her
! smartly,-nor did she tell Doctor
Parker; but she prayed about it, and
kept it in her heart all those silent
days that she sat sewing baby-clothes
and looking forward to an hour that
should even through = death-agony
take her to Tom. She thought the
baby would die, too, and then they
should, all be together for Mary
had positive temperament, without
hope, because without imagination
what she had possessed and lost eclips
ed with her all uncertainties of the
future and she thought seven timet
Of Tom where she once thought of he1
child, though she took pains to make
its garments ready, and knit its tiny
socks, and lay the numbering old era
die, that she had been rocked in, with
soft and warm wrapping, lest, indeed
the child should live longer than it
mother. So she sat in Miss 'Viny'
bedroom in an old rush-b bottomet
rocking-chair, sewing and sewing
day after day, the persistent will @nt
intent to die working out its own full
filling, her white lips growing NOR
and more bloodless, her transparen
check more wan, and the temples
from which her lustreless hair wa
carelessly knotted away, getting NOR
hollow and clear and sharp-angled.
And now she lay on the bed, on
hand under her cheek, the other pick
ing restlessly at the blanket, for COL
sciousness was Auttering back.
"Give me the brandy, Aun
Rhody," said Doctor Parker, softly.
He poured few drops into tn
spoon she brought, and held it t
Mary's lips. The potent fluid stun
. the nerves into life again, and quicl