The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1877-12-26
LITTLE BETH.
BY PEARL RIVERS.

I
to be glad and merry with the children.
But it was on this day, many years
ago, that little Beth died, and the mem
DRY of the baby girl twines itself among
the ivy and holly that wreathe my othel
| Christmas memories so closely that if
should untwine the tender little vine, the
whole beautiful shining garland would fall
to pieces, and berry and leaf be lost.
All to how many of US would the
walls of our life be bare Of Christmai
pictures if the sweet face of little child
did not smile down on US under its wreath
of Christmas ivys And yet little Beth
was no more to me than every soft, fair
faced dimpled baby that will coo and
cuddle up to our bosoms is to every
notherly, affectionate girl; and the
mother of little Beth was only the wife
of one of myafather's raflsmen, a plain
piny woods woman with no grace or ac-
complishment beyond keeping a tidy
house, cooking a good meal for Steve
when he came off the logs, and loving
baby Beth with that unselfish love that
makes every true mother a beautiful
woman in the hottest sense of the word.
Steve was hard man as the word goes
among men. A hard worker. hard
fighter, hard husband, and alas for the
mother of little Beth, hard drinker too,
at times. But he loved his baby, and
although he was often cross and surly
and sometimes brutally abusive to his
patient wife, he was never too drunk to
fondle the little girl.
"Beth is my little pitcher-plant and
she holds all the joy of my life" he said
to me one day as he tossed the child over
his head, caught her in hislong arms and
pressed his lips TO her mouth as though
he would drink her up in one big gulr.
But the child did not return his love.
She was delicate, timid little thing, and
the fathers rough ways and loud voice
frightened her, and she would scream as
if in pain and reach out her pretty arms
to her mother or me with look Of terror
in her blue eyes that would have broken
the heart of any other father; but Steve
did not seem to mind it.
"You women folks have spoilt her." he
would say as he handed her over to US
with patient smile" "but never mind,
she will love me better when she gets big
enough to help me float the RATS"
All little Beth, was your fear of the
hard, rough hand prophetic
1t was Christmas Eve, and how happy
| was! My heart was as merry as
cricket and lighter than the thistle down.
Christmas gifts for each one of the happy
household were hid away under lock and
key, and among them dainty dress and
two little white knitted stockings for my
baby Beth.
But little Beth was sick; had been sick
all the week before, and l had made
many visits between my Christmas plans
for amusement to the little sufferer and
her lonely mother.
Steve was busy on the logs, for the
river was very high that week, and twice
the heavy RATS that came rushing down
with the roaring current had snapped the
big log-chains of the boom below the
mills and gone plunging to the lake.
Cool heads and strong hands were needed
uISnC ana uay, anu never Dcro~e -
Steve so we'll deserved the name of "hard
worker"
"Girls," said my father at the supper
table that night, gancing at me over his
cup of tea, ''this has been a hard day
with the log men, but the RATS have been
made secure for the night, and Steve
went home an hour ago drunken than L
have ever seen him. Perhaps some of
you had better run over and lCOk after his
wife"
There was to be music and a dance in
the parlor after supper-merry games
with the children, and love-making with
q handsome cousin over the glowing en-
bers of the big wood fire after the guests
L. II. hoI
dreaming of Santa Claus. But love for
little Beth was stronger than love for the
handsome cousin" and in less than ten
minutes time l stood knocking at the
door of Steve's humble house. My
knock was answered by a faint "cOme
in, that sounded more like sob than a
woman's voice. | opened the door and
there before the fire sat the poor mother
with her pale face bowed over the paler
face of the baby on her lap.
One glance at the child, one touch on
its little cold cheek, told me, young as [
was, what the tenderest and most skillful
mother is so slow to know-told me that
little Beth was dying.
"Where's Steve ?" / asked, throwing
aside my shawl and beginning to chafe
the little waxen hands.
"Hush hush !" whispered the woman,
raising her eyes to mine with a look of
anger and terror she is in
there" pointing to the adjoining room,
dead drunk and fast asleep. Don't
wake him, for Gods sake"
''But little Beth is dying, Betsy, and
Steve must be called" answered.
"Dying Oh, Miss Pearl, don't tell
me that my baby is dying. She is all l
have in the world to love me. Dying,
my baby dying My God land he
struck her with his fst-struck her there
on her pretty white cheek. Oh, my baby,
my poor little murdered baby"
"You are beside yourself, Betsy; Steve
would never strike his own child, and he
must be called. The child"
She stopped me with look that had
never seen in a woman's eyes before, and
1 pray God l may never see again.
eff he touches my baby again l will
kill him if have to cut his throat while
he is 'sleepP'
s'Betsy !"
eyes, kill him, dead, dead, dead, as
dead he lies drunk in that bed"
BETSY !"
Don't look at me In that soft way,
Miss Pearl, don't tell We what you always
do. that ne is my husband and must for
give him. My husband Great God,
and he has killed his own child. Ny
baby my baby oh, my poor little muir
dered baby |"
The terrible eyes softened, dropped,
and with gush of tears fell on the face
of the dying child, and clasping it to her
bosom and pausiug between her words
now and then to kiss and caress the little
cheek that bore the mark of the fathers
cruelty. the DOOR woman told me- the