The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1878-09-21
Bertie's Sunday FrOck.

He was walking up Macomb street,
peering in on the Italians, glancing into
open windows at junk-buyers, and now
and then entering alleys to inspect
rickety old vehicles standing in front
of barns.
"What am 1 looking for?'' he an
swered the policeman; I" well, it may
strike you as foolish, but I've been
searching around for whole month,
and | may have to keep it up for an
other. Pm looking. for a rag-buyer.
I'd know his rig if | should seeit again,
but l haven't the least idea where he
lives or when I'll find him.
Ibid he steal something from your"
"N-no,' was the hesitating reply.
"Want him arrested for anything?r
"N-nO."
The officer was wondering what the
cause could be when the man said:
81 feel a bit ashamed to tell YOU, but
perhaps you won't laugh at me. You
see l have old clothes on, and | don't
look as if had any cash to spare. I'm
only a poor, laboring man, renting a
cottage up by the reservoir, and though
I've only the old woman with me its
often that we barely have enough to
eat. When there's plenty of work one
of us is sure to fall sick, and when we
are in health the world goes dead
against us. 1t is sort of life and
death struggle with us, and sometimes
we sit in the darkness and wishYe
were dead and buried 'longside of our
little BERTHE, up in the poor folks share
of Elmwood. That little grave up there
is all that keeps us here-we cling to
life that we may keep flowers growing
there. I've stood on the wharf many a
time and felt like going to death at one
jump, but that grave rose up to warn
me back. On my way home at night,
pve feared, time after time, to find the
house deserted or corpse on the floor;
but that little grave has restrained my
wife the same as me-"
How old was she?" asked the Off
GER, his own heart aching little.
"Th-three years DID," replied the
man, "and she was the only child ever
coming to bless us. We had luck
enough before she died. l had work
day in and day out; my wife was sing
ing the whole day long, and when l
started for home at night the knowl-
edge that BERTHE would be watching for
me through the bars of the gate picked
up my feet faster than anything ever
has since.n
"Well?' queried the officer, as the
man paused.
"Well, she took sick and died. l
don't want to tell you more than that,
or Tll be breaking down right here in
the street, and people will wonder if l
have been drinking. 1t is three years
ago she died, but her voice rings in my
ears this hour the same as if | had left
her at home. It's the same with the
wife sir-a dozen times a day she runs to
the door, thinking she heard Berries
voice; and | never 90 in that she
doesn't look at me with reproach for
not having our dead darling on my
ARM
1--WE lost children" sighed the Off
GER, as he turned his head away.
"Then you know how the wife treas
ures up the little dresses, and stockings,
and hats and things. We put all those
things away after the funeral, and
though it almost broke our hearts to
set the bundle down and look it over,
we somehow had to do it every Sunday;
and there wasn't a thing which hadn't
been tear-wet before the first year
was gone. Those relics have been our
riches. We wouldn't exchange them
for the wealth of any man you
can name. One day about a month
ago rag-buyer came along. You may
think it funny, but even the poorest of
the poor sometimes have rags to sell.
Wife made up little bundle that day
enough to get tin cup, or something
of the kind-and in some way or other
Bertie's frock-our dead child Sunday
frock got mixed up with the rags and
papers and was sold and carried Off
My wife has done nothing but weep and
lament since that day, and I've looked
here and there and everywhere in hopes
to find the rag-man and get the pre-
cious relic back. 1t may seem little
thing to you, sir, but to us,.we remem-
Der the first time she wore it-how
proud she was-how we took her walk
ing-how much she looked like a rich
mans child. That dress had more
tear stains than all the other relics, and
though | haven't fifty dollars worth of
furniture in the house, I'd give every
stick of it and go into the street to find
Bertie's Sunday frock. l don't expect
to get it now. 1t has probably been
shipped to the paper-mill ere this, and
we have lost it forever
"pm sorry" said the policeman.
"And when l go home tonight"
whispered the man, "wife will be
standing at the gate, watching and hop
ing; and as far as she can see me she'll
tell by my face that the search has not
availed. l had rather lose a finger
than meet her white face and reproach-
full look. L wish we were both deadr'
And with weary step and hopeless
heart he dragged along, having such a
mission as neither hope nor despair nor
love brings to one in ten thousand
Detroit Free Press.