The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1877-09-06

ed the shop later than usual.
The yellow lamp was Aaring dismal
ly, aud Phil, boot ON his knee, was
hard at work. After the heaTcustomary
salutation, the girl was passing on'
when the cobbler's voice arrested her
4 say, your mothers ill, ain't she 2
he asked. nursing his knee, with both
arms. if af
'Yes, Mr.. Bradshaw, am sorry to
say she has been for some while ailipg.
She-she'-and the young voice trem-
bled with tears-sis very weak
'Then you must give her lots to eat.
responded Phil, staring out of the
window. sThe best thing for weak
people is a nice roast fowl and bot.
tic of wine. Why don't you give them
to her?'
i wish l was able, or even to pro-
vide her less expensive dainties; butt
but'-and the tears fell fast-I can
not
-sAh, that's the fault, you see, of hay-
ing no money. Good evening"
He resumed his work, and the girl,
scarcely cheered by this little episode,
went, with q heavy heart, upstairs.
Mrs. Morton was so i'll, she was ly-
ing on her bed. The candle was in
the room~and in the parlor CRATE burnt
few sparks of fire, over which was q
email saucepan. On the table was a
tea tray, and a portion of previous
days loaf. 1t was such depressing
welcome home after the weary, weary
day, that, with difficulty the poor girl
could control her emotion.
SIS that you, LauraT inquired the
widows feeble voice.
sYcs, mother
Come to me, my child
a Laura pressed her white hands to
her bosom, made an effort, and passed
into the bedroom. But the mothers
fret words beat down all her noble
souled heroic self-repression. 70 -.
Laura, dear. have you had better
success, to day!' -
The girl dropped on chair, aud
burying her face on the coverlet, burst
into a paroxysm Of weeping.
No. mother she sobbcd, by sterical-
ly. Its the same old. old story 1 can
get nothing. What shall we do9
feel heart.broken.' ~ -ISilt,
Laura, my dear child,' CALCULATED
The mother, fondly embracing her. slo
not you give wayI What. indeed, will
become of us then3 My brave, brave
girl, do not weep thus!
Pray let me, mother; shall be bet.
ter after it, -s.,..gs.,s
She, apparently, was right, for at the
end of few moments she looked uI
cslmer, her tears ceased. .l.
There she smiled : am better now
.Its good TO give. way at times, you
know. AT least, one can't help it, and
our lot is SO hard but we shall gel
used to it, s41
'Hardl 1t breaks my heart to con.
template it when think of you, Laura
What a different future did and youl
dear father intend you, love! But who
could imagine such villain as Jesse
Bancroft ever existed p
tAh, me-ah, me! to look round a,
this place, and remember the pleasant
homo which once was ours! Now We
are alone, with not single friend in
the world r1--s
Not one? Oh, yes, mother, believe
me. one!' cried the girl, quickly. 'Ht
-Dayton-will be true-trust me, hi
WILL
why then, Laura, has he not writ.
temp
Il do not know-I can not tell. ex.
claimed the daughter, piteously; 'bnt
oh, pray, pray, mother, do not take
that hope from me! Let me belieYe
in Dayton. 1t is my only support in
this bitter misery!
The widow, touched by the pleading
couptenance, was about to reply, when
interrupting herself, she said, Laura
hear some one in the parlor, Sc,
who it is, dear ao.I
The girl obeyed, and started at th,
wierd scene she beheld.
Seated before the CRATE, on q three
legged stool. was the cobler, yet il
leathern apron and cap. On his knees
was bellows. which he was wOrkil {
with consumate skill, evidently q mas
ter of the art, sending the Goals int.
bright blazes that threw flashes of lu
rid color over the quaint figure ant
the room. sus.
Upon hearing Laura, he turned, al
most with a snarl.
sHow do you expect to boil q sauce
pan with such fire as this 2 he growl
cd. Never was halter as mad as you
I'm certain. Now. look at that; ain
it picture 5a ri
Laura did look, aud saw that no
only were the Goals increased, but tha
they were not from their own store.
1T is quite cheering, she manages
to say, 'but-but fear, Mr.. Bradshaw
you have been robbing yourself
sRobbing myself?-me2 2-not bit
I'm a miser. Didn't you hear the boy
call me so-Phil, the miser r he snap
ped. III rob anybody sooner tina
myself. I'm a miser, and Pm prou
of it. Some men are called painte
and poet. Well I'm called cobbler an
miser.' III ash - r.
sReally I said Laura, little amuse'
little frightened, looking At the glow
ing Goals: Il should have scarcel
, thought so.' sto.
That shows your ignorance r
sponded Phil. Can't you see, by ca
culation, it's cheaper to keep up ol