The Red Cloud chief., 1876-06-22

and heavy failures firm after hrin gave
way and men went home idle. n my
urn came with the rest. And knel
down by my wife's bed, looked into her
ewes, and told her and asked her to for
give me for the wrong | had done IN
loving her.
Don't feel so badly, Shirley" she
whispered. moving her head on my
shoulder, II know / am a burden to
YOU. darling. but II can't wish it I'M
done; we are 80 happy still-we've got
each other. and baby and such a long
life vet. for all these little troubles to
pass away in, And il cant last long;
you'll get something better than what
YOU lost. Perhaps it will he the very
best thing for US, after all. that You
should lose this place and be- forced to
make a change"
Perhaps, It's all a chance | said
bitterly, land l must sit with my hands
tied, and yOu-Edna, they were right
I was a selfish brute to draw you down
to this"
She clasped her arms around my neck
and kissed me and stopped my mouth,
and We were silent for awhile and the
room grew dark in the twilight.
Shirley" she said softly at last,
would you let my father help youy'
"What do you mean!'
Mamma asked me q month ago if
you would leave New Orleans and take
a position i'm my uncle's house in New
York. l never told you, because-she
wanted Inc TO come home then, Shirley,
and let you 60 alone, and | couldn't"
"Go home!," | gathered her closer
the baby in her arms, too. Child, has
it come to that"
NO" she whispered softly. ut never
will. I'll go with you there, or any
where else on earth, Shirley"
us it too late to take the offer now: ="
I asked, starting up. why do you ask
if I'll let him help me. Edna? Better
that than taxing his aims. God knows,
and I've done that SO long. What is
this place? Child, I'd almost beg at the
street corners for you, if that was all"
"Will You go and see papa" she cried,
lighting up all owe her wasted little
face. Il don't know about it, only that
mamma said that there might be an
opening for you. and it would he much
better than your old place, and papa
would use his influence for you. Will
you go, Shirley"
"Yes, | will" l said, STOPPING down
to kiss her.
Something was dragging me back all
the withholding Inc fast to the bed
| side, within touch of her little hot hand
and hearing of my baby's sleepy soft
breath-but l didn't heed it. ! was des-
perate, and her eyes drove NE out into
the world. to struggle with it, and win
for her sake-and l went.
So the end of it was that letters went
back and forth, and in two weeks from
the day that | was discharged from my
| clerkship, / was engaged by the New
| York house, of which MI. Verdery's
brother was head, at a salary that would
keep Edna safe all the winter, far
| enough out of the reach of want or the
need of aims. Only-it was 4 desper-
ate mans resources, you knOw-she
must he in New Orleans while l was in
New York.
A winter at the North, they said.
| would kill her. and I must not dream of
taking her away until she was thor
Oughly well again.
This was the way it happened. They
were so glad to take her back; they had
forgiven" her so entirely and wanted
her so, and that they were SO fond of
little Shirley, l ought to have been will
ling and glad to leave them both in such
tender care. 1 was neither; but | knew
it was my duty to give her up and l did
it. l kissed her gOOd-by at the last and
dragged myself away from her arms.
that tried to hold me back even then,
and the last glimpse l had of my wife or
| child was a little slender figure at an
| open window, half buried in white. soft
wrappings, holding up a baby, who
laughed and sprang in her arms, and
whose little hand she tried to wave to me.
Then came the lonely winter at the
NOrth-the silent starvation Of my
heart through nights and days, the long
ing impatience. hope. 1t only lasted a
little while. / knew 1 should have her
in the spring in a home of our own that
l had planned already.
1t was in March when her letters,
which had come faithfully on their
stated days, failed suddenly. a week
went by without a message from New
Orleans; and when it came at last it
was written in another hand.
1t was a long letter, but l never read
it through, l only read three lines. That
told me that she was dead, that my
baby vas buried in her arms. The yell
low fever had broken out in the city, and
my two were the first to go; and her
parents had left New Orleans, and be-
fore their letter had reached me would
have sailed for England.
So / never saw the little white
wrapped figure and the laughing baby
any more.
1 saw either of their parents
again. 1t was better for us all, MI.
Verdery had said, that the intercourse
should cease with Edna's and the child's
death; and God knows l felt SO, too.
g I li1.od on in Nom Xorl- oloa,o and