The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1876-12-28

AldL UA0ssy0SGlUult, ~ Ilu Ol CRIMSON
rug, the 'sweep Of a'velvet curtain, and
q group ofloyely children playing with
1T IS against: my rules to give
money. 1dare say your story is true.
run away!''
*.No," said Gottlieb, simply.
Mr.. Gildwell pursed up his lips sour.
ly, and did not spare himself. At the
risk of having his guests discover him
without dress coat, he searched in a
ticket.
"Take that to the Poor Bureau. A
policeman will direct you. Now be
off,
Gottlieb turued away. Curious freak
of destiny AS Gottlieb, a poor Ger
man, was thus dismissed, the attache,
also German. was received with ex-
cessive urbanity in the house he con-
descended to honor. The trim servant,
Maria, ran out on the step after admit.
ting the visitors, fumbling in her
pocket for pennies. Gottlie5 had dis.
appeared.
Half all hour later he found the
bureau, having twice blundered and
missed his way. The place was closed
fer the night. He wandered on with
out purpose to the corner. The bit
ter wind had lulled; the sombre clouds,
gathering in denser masses overhead,
promised the first snow of the year,
Mr.. Gildwell, adjusting his napkin and
presiding over table glittering with
silver and gorgeous with flowers and
light. was observing:
''1f truflles are not indigenous in the
country, count, they may be cultivat-
ed.''
Gottlieb observed a church, massive
and dark, with a slender shaft tower
ing above the surrounding roofs. The
church meant cool darkness, silence,
purity, after the reeking streets, if
one could gain entrance. He tried the
door mechanically; it was locked.
What would you have !! We can not
keep our churches always open, even
should fainting soul perish by the
way.
Next he was caught in all eddy of
desperats humanity-the abject poor,
the sodden, brutal, poor, all seeking
the station-house, eager to receive
that last stamp Of degeneration on the
coinage of their own abasement, if
sleep might only bring forgetfulness
OF misery. Gottlieb shuddered and
drew back from the crowded entrance
of a building which seemed to exhale
a-painful familiarity with crime from
every stone. He could not throw him.
self into that stream of pollution
AfterWard he wandered on, without
purpose, past roWs of fine dwellings,
past hurrying people all intent on
reaching home. Sometimes he held
out his hand for aims, but it was done
so aWkwardly and hesitatingly that
few noticed the movement. The way
grew narrow and crooked !; he had
quilted the spacious thoroughfare un.
consciously, and now tall houses, time
stained and dilapidated, lined the
street. Gottlieb sat down on wooden
door. step to rest. Nobody disputed
his right of possession. Laborers came
and went work-women trudged along;
children played in the gutter.
Suddenly light form darted around
the corner, tripped, and fell almost at
Gottlieb's feet. Was it the CLEAN of
golden hair escaping from a little
scarlet hood, that made Gottlieb start
with the exclamation, "Gretchen g.
Color had dawned in his pale face he
knew his mistake even before the
young girl rose, nursing a bruised
wrist; Gretchen was in her grave.
The girl regarded him sullenly, almost
| wildly, and when he laid Il hand on
her arm she darted away again as if
fearing capture. Her rapid flight was
impeded by an old woman carrying a
basket of apples and oranges, which
were spilled by the shock of contact.
"Ain't yer ashamed now, an for an
old body too g said the woman, whose
name was Mother Bates. The girl
hesitated, then stopped to gather up
the fruit.
"Don't let her CO., implored Got.
tlieb.
The girl looked from one to tbs other
suspiciously.
"He wants me to be taken," she
cried, with a sob.
'You are like my Gretchen, and l
wish to help you," :" he replied, quietly.
Mother Bates planted her cane before
her energetically.
"Where are you going?' to Gottlieb.
Il don't know,'' YEARLY.
"Where are you going z" to the girl.
"Away from the police,'' with a
shudder and fearful glance around.
'C0me along, then.''
They followed the old woman, these
two waits, scarcely knowing whv, and
the young girl whispered to Gottlieb,
Il am Christine Carlen; I don't know
Gretchen. And what makes you so
pale -
Mother Bates lived at the top of a
tenement-house, and she conducted
her guests into a small room with
cheerful hospitality. Already were
five children gathered here, sharp
featured, shrill-voiced, and bearing
that aspect Of precocity peculiar to
boys and girls of the city streets.
They might have been trained in a
worse school, certainly, and the little
room made sort Of democracy, of
which Mother Bates was ruler, with
limited authority. The addition of
two strangers to their circle was taken
as a matter of course by these small
citizens Of the world only the baby
stared at Christine Carlen, attracted
by the beauty Of gold hair, blue eyes,