The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1875-07-08

there was conviction of robbery, although
Christine had not stolen the lace. She
affirmed, holly, ]" i never did itlI'
The shop-man merely said, I" Come to
the desk.
AS she prepared to obey, trembling,
confused and astonished, the pretty girl
In the corner, who wore pink bows IN her
hair, and who had grown deadly pale.
grasped her arm.
"Get your things and run away,
Christine, before the police catch you.
Quick !"
Christine had snatched the little red
hood, and fled In blind panic and fear,
until she fell at Gottieb's feet.
The old soldier now listened attentively
to the story.
ssShe came to me like Gretchen" he
said, with smile Mother Bates could
not understand.
In the night the snow fell. The gera-
MUM in the window, pride of all the
children, shrank from the frosty pane J;
the meagre fire died to a single coal.
The old woman had insisted upon giving
Gottlieb a spare pallet IN the corner !;
the children were huddled together on
her side Of the room Christine sat be-
fore the fire regarding her bruised wrist
piteously. At midnight Gottlieb rose,
and silently motioned the girl to,take his
place. She obeyed wonderingly, and
sank into dreamless sleep. In The cold
dawn Mother Bates discovered that the
man had tainted on the hearth.
Life may become infused with unex-
pacted interest, which stimulates fresh
exertion rather than hope. All through
the night Gottlieb Braun. thinking of
the lost Gretchen, gazed at the sleeping
child; and when darkness screened
soft cheek, rose-fr1shed, swept by silky
lashes, he listened to her quiet breath
ing, forming a new resolution, until eK-
haustion oYerpowered him in the pa
tient vigil. The advent of Christine
Carlen in his life was not such great
event, only Gottlieb's portion was such
a very little one. God sent this humble
man for you, Christine, slumbering
among the shadows, within reach Of
the talons of that great bird Of prey
want.
Gottlieb counted the days with bag
gard restlessness, a slow fever consum-
ING his veins, pain gnawing at the very
sources of life. While daylight lasted
he dragged himself about the streets in
search of food, at least, for Mother
Bates's little brood. When he returned
at night Christine was romping with the
children. The old woman, whose
wrinkled brown face, framed in black
hood, was landmark on the thorough
fare where she vended fruit, recklessly
dispensed apples at the evening meal,
observing Gottlieb sharply the while.
Little Molly, bright-eyed and saucy,
with ragged shawl pinned over her
head, was making money in the slush
and mire. Fear of the police kept
Christine from joining in street-sweep
ing. Sleep refused to visit Gottlieb's
weary senses. What visions came to
him in the night! On Tuesday morning
Mother Bates said
g You come to the dispensary, my
man."
"What's the use? It's all the old
wounds and the fever" Then he added,
with sudden tears in his eyes, "God
bless you, good woman, for taking us
in? Tomorrow I draw the pension. !"
Thus did he identify himself already
with the Swedish maiden.
Mother Bates scoffed loudly at senti-
ment, then paused at the foot of the
staircase to wipe her own eyes on her
bingham apron. Gottlieb was out all
day. When he came back he gave his
hostess a fifty-cent bill, with no other
explanation than that he obtained
"job in a warehouse despite his one
arm. Excitement robbed him of all APP
petite for food. He spent q second
night with wide eyes fixed on the cell
ing, counting the hours, delifium creep
| ing over his senses. If he could only
last until tomorrow He qOould last,
even if he crept to the goal ON hands and
knees. Desperate resolution made him
face the day desperate energy took
him, pallid and trembling, to his post,
and brought him back at dusk to sink
down. speeches. on Mother Bates pal
let. The fire of life only burned in the
sunken eyes. When Christine sat be
side the bed, he was quiet; when she
moved away, spasm of anxiety distort-
ed his features. Billy ran for the doc
tor; Molly hushed the other children !;
the baby hid his head in Mother Bates
lap. The doctor was out.
$50 I went for him." said Billy,
glancing curiously and half nervously at
the sick man.
The noise of the street reached this
quiet room only in distant nurmur. A
step was heard on the stair. Mother
Bates moved uneasily. Billy, failing to
find one kind of doctor, had chosen an
other, and the difference was not clear in
his own mind. Mother Bates had never
received city missionaries with favor,
and now one was at the door. Her creed
was a crooked yet self-helpful one.
" Every one must get along the best they
can, she said.
He was on the thresholds grave,
slender man, with dark, calm eyes. Ter
,;h1o indood IF he 1orovad q broiTan reed