The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1874-07-16


strangely unsteady,
what is thy name?' she asked.
The child fell back little, regarding
her almost distrustfully-the handsome
fate was so hard for baby to read.
will thee not tell me thy name?'P hills
repeated. See, here is a rose for thee
The dimpled hand crept out for the
flowers, and then the pretty bolGuess
come beck. TTTT W IT.
Jenny, said the child, 'Ooman did ia
gi' Jenny posyg
Phiilis stood up. rs
'Yes.'sh said, in tone cur Gus enough
to use in speaking to child; I gave thee
a posy. -
That was all. She did not stop to
caress the little creature. She passed on
with the rest of her flowers in her cold
hand, and left it peering through the
fence at her. This was the child-ths
child, and its blue eyes had stabbed
again the one ranking wound Of her life.
The little house had peve: seemed so
quiet as it did when she unlocked the
door and entered N; the stiffness of death
But Philis did not feel it. she laid her
| flo wers upon the table, Went to The fire,
stirred the Goals. and sat down. The
flame shot up, and, lighting up the room.
glowed upon her face, but had not glow
enough to flush its pallor.
1t is the child she said. Her child
has lived, while mine
Her lips closed, as if in stern resolve.
It was part of her creed to force herself TO
silence If she had suffered, she had not
reuellel by word or deed-she had not
rebelled, even #, in her severe struggle
TO be calm. she had learned to be cold
and hard as she was pure and just.
AS she sat before the fire in silence she
was battling with herself. II was hard to
understand. The stained, lost creatures
child had lived, perhaps. to face her
wretched mothers wretched fall and per
FLAPS, to fall and sin, and faunt and die;
with scarcely breathing space of limo
cent childhood to remember IN her misery.
Her own little one, who had seemed the
onlysbreath of pure air left In the world
about her. had been torn from her in the
hour of her greatest anguish. It was
hard to understand. And then her
thoughts went back to the face of the
child she had seen; such pretty creature
with it's innocent boldness and the sum-
mer blue eyes, which had so stung her. A
sudden thought flashed upon her made
her start before she had been thinking Of
it two minutes The blood mounted to her
cheeks.
May, nay!' she cried out, as if uncon-
trollably. Not that /; l could not do
that. It's eyes would mock me every
hour
Bat she had no sooner spoke so than
she turned pale again, knowing that it
was this thing she must do and no othe.
To such woman there could be only
right and wrong; end here, In an instant
the right flashed upon her, and LETT her
no escape. TIE small, bold hand pluck
ed at her again; But it plucked at her
heart. Yet it might have plucked at her
heart forever, if it had not been for this
sudden conviction. She had never done
a willing wrong in her life, and she had
never shirked the right. 1t was the thing
she must do, and no other.
She did not stay to ponder long. She
rose from her seat and went about her
household tasks. She prepared her usual
simple evening meal, and having partook
of It, set the room in order. It was her
way to be quiet and ordi,y, and nothing
could have made her otherwise. It was
quite dark when she had completed her
preparations for the morrow, but sine evl-
IDENTIFY intended going out. for she went
into the adjoining room and came out
again with shawl thrown over her head
and shoulders.
Then she opened the door, and looked out into
the night. @ 's'+"# t8@
she may refuse me- she said, In low thought
full voice: but must still make an effort. cam
not understand why it is and vet truly it seems
borne upon my mind, that If should not do this
thing. this son would be required of me . as--Is
And then she went out, closing the door after
her, She had not far to &c, only few rods into
another STREET.-THE the cottage where she had
seen the child this evening-Janet Ayres' child:
There was light burning in the room n. tho