Northern tribune. [volume] (Cheboygan, Mich.) 1875-1885, 1878-04-20

vegetables, and dirty children, to the las
house in the row, and. entering the wild
open door, ascended the dark, marrow
stairway to the sitting attic. 1t was
close. murky day in September, and tn
house was full of foul air.
A slovenly woman, with kindly face
met them at the door, and answered Mrs
Smithson's inquiries.
well, ma'am, shes not to say worse
but she's no better, and the baby's a!
bad as she can be. The doctor think!
| they'd better 90, ma'am, to hOspita
whefe they'll have better air, and some
one to wait OH them constantly. | dc
the best I can, but with the house full o.
dodgers, una fam, and tour little ones O
nv own, can't be here all the time"
"Willie r. moaned feeble voice inside
the room. "Oh, willie, come put your
hand on my head and make me well.'
''She calls Willie, ma'am, all the time
I'm thinking it is her husband she
means"
"Irene!"
Mrs. Smithson spoke the name in a
startled cry. for Irene's face was the color
of death, her lips rigidly closed, her eyes
tfxeal in a strange stare. With shuddei
the spasm passed, and she whispered:
"A pain in my heart. 1t is gone"
But her face was very pale as she en-
tered the little room, STOPPING to avoid a
blow from the sharply slanting root.
The sick woman tossing upon the mar
row bed, instinctively clasping the moan
ing babe in her arms, fixed her fever
lighted eyes upon the pale face with a
startled stare.
IL have come to see If you will let me
help to nurse you-and-and-'
The ashy whiteness gathered again
over lip and cheek, and conquering her
faintness by desperate effort, Irene
gasped:
Sophie! 1t is Sophie"
The name reached the feyer-locked
senses.
.Sophie, the sufferer murmured.
"Willie's Sophie! Nobody called me
Sophie till Willie came, because | ran
away from Irene. Little Irene. They
would not let her Write to me. so L mar
ried Willie and went to Omaha. Willie
Willie! Oh put your hand ON my head
Willie, and make me wellr'
"This will not do" whispered Mrs.
Sml hsen, taking Irene's trembling form
into her own motherly arms. You must
not give way like this. Think what there
is to do"
10 find her like this! To find her
only to lose her !" Irene sobbed.
The doctor thought she might be
moved to a hospital, so we may surely
take her home. You have no time to
cry now, Irene. We must think of how
to save the life that is so dear to YOU"
The kind words, the resolute tones con-
quered the dreadful agitation that shook
Irene, and she once more approached the
bed. The babe lay in a frightful stupOr,
with half open eyes, beyond all con-
seriousness ei suffering, but the mother
tossed and momed, talking deliriOusly.
1t wss mornings work 10 prepare for
the removal of the invalids 10 the luXuri-
Gus home awaiting them. Irene had to
90 to seek warm clothing and wraps. pill
lows and blankets, but before sunset, i'll
charge OF an experienced nurse, and un-
der the superintendent of skillful ply
sician, Sophie EstabrOOk was tenderly
carried 10 the home from which she had
fled years before.
For many days she lay battling for life
Keeping hope and fear evenly balanced
i'm the loving heart watching her. The
nurse was cOaXing back Lille into the babe
but Irene would let no one but herself
nurse Sophie. Day and night she was at
her post.
A fortnight of terrible suspense passed
and one bright October morning Sophie
Weakened conscious from n hong, deep
slumber. Irene was watching the wasted
face eagerly, when the large blue eyes
opened slowly.
..Irenel' said the invalid in faint
voice, lis it indeed Irener'
A tender kiss fell softly upon her face.
ut is irene. You are home, Sophie,
never to leave me again."
ibid my baby die ?" was the next faint
question.
No indeed. She is getting we'll"
''YOur namesake."
Il will bring her to YOU"
Very pale and very thin, certain, but
slowly recovering. the little one was
brought tor a caress.
You are too weak to do more than kiss
her now" Irene said, ''buS she has the
where we can both watch over her. Now
you must get well fast, and to do that
you must keep very quiet"
But. Irene will not grandfather turn
me OutH'
"Grandfather died three years ago.
The house is mine, and most surely l
will not turn you out"
Too weak to question further, Sophie
lay quietly content under her sisters ten
der caressing care. 1t was many long
days before she knew theihistory of those
years of separation, but when she was
strong enough to talk, Irene told her
that half her grandfather's fortune was
legally made over to her.
when you are quite we'll 1 shall be
married." Irene told Ter, "but while am
my own mistress shall make your rights
perfectly secure. have signed the nee
essary papers, and you are mistress of
the legacy that is yours by right from
our grandfathers estate"
The story Sophie told in answer had a
little that was not commonplace, but
Irene shed many bitter tears over it.
When she left the home whose restraint
so CALLED her, Sophie had found situa-
ton as mil)iner in the same city. She
had written again and again TO Irene,
till, understanding perfectly the probable
fate of her letters, she had become dis
and ceased to send them.
Six months later, the milliner who en-
ployed her moved to Chicago, and such
of her employees as were willing to 60
with her were offered liberal saleries to
do so. Writing farewell letter to Irene
Sophie accompanied the milliner, and in
Chicago married William Estabrook,
young merchant. Everything prospered
with them tor year or two, when the
great fire swept away all belonging to
them, and their first child died of expos
ure during the nights when they wander
ed homeless and starving On the open
country beyond the city. Then they had
started farther west to Omaha, and
was hoping to build up new home,
when he was stricken down with the ty-
nh ia1