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

est VI NiittuS bSolcSs Wsio iuoNin~ ~ w
counts. Her little books OF expenses
were piled neatly in front OF her, anu I'D
her hand was one larger than any OF the
others. and marked ON the cover 0har'ty
fund.-"
Two hundred dollars still Of Sophie's
moneys murmured Irene, as she rapidly
calculated the expenses upon the page
before her. "ShaH give that to the
asylum? Oh, Sophie, if only you would
come TO claim your Own!'
Tears were i'm the girls soft blue eyes
AS she closed the little book, and resting
her head upon her softly cushioned
chair. gave herself up to sad reverie. She
was twenty-five on the day just opened,
a blonde of winning beauty, an heiress,
and accustomed to 4 luxurious life. But
In her face was faithfully mirrOred sad
heart.
Love had come TO her and filed her
with its happiness, and yet the wearing
grief of her life ever overshadOwed even
loves sweetness. She was musing still.
when an elderly lady, after rapping at
the door, came To her side.
sTears. Irene 2" she said. reproachtully;
''what would Wilbur say If he knew how
often find you weeping?"
~He knows why tears come so often
TO my eyes," said Irene. To-day the
sorrow of eight long years seems closer
TO my hear: than ever before. am sure
Sophie is suffering deeply somewhere,
and am pOwerless TO aid her"
But want you TO aid some one for
me, to-day. 1 have found an object for
some OF your lavish generosity, lrenes'
WHO is it 2"
"A widow, with babe about ayear
ole. Both are ill with typhoid, and
wanting the very necessaries OF life,
Have you spare funds?"
1.-TWO hundred dollars unappropri-
ated."
"Unappropriated? Do you calculate
your gifts SD nicely 2"
ut is not my gift. Shall tell you
now, while dress to go with you, where
my charity fanG comes from 2
Yes. And tell me something OF the
sister whose loss you mourn so deeply.
Did she die long ago."
IL do not even know that she is dead.
We were orphans and twins, Sophie and
myself. and when we were ten years old
we came here, 10 be taken into our grand
fathers family. There was Ouly grand
father himself and Aunt Miriam, and we
were reasonably happy, though the dis
cipline YVES very strict. L have sald tnaC
we were twins, but although we looked
something alike, there was net between
us the usual strong resemblance OF sisters
so closely united. Sophie had brown
hair, was taller than am, and much
more independent i'm spirit. l WIS al
ways quiet in disposition, while she
loved gayeIy. l was willing to submit to
the restraints placed upon our every ac-
- - -. lou, 10
Aunt Miriam lived, she sOftened the rig
Orous rules of the household as much as
she dared, stood between us and our
graDdfather's anger at any girlish faults,
and allowed us some indulgencess but at
ter she died. grandtather's rigid discipline
became intOlerable to Sophie. Looking
back. do not wonder now at the con-
tinual outbreak that reused his anger.
We were required to dress with the ut
most simplicity, though our allowance
was liberal. A necktie, or flower in
our bonnets, was made the subject of
the harshest reproOf. We were allowed
no friends of our own age, and think
grandfather looked upon the encourage
ment of a lOyer as positive crime. We
were eighteen when Sophie ran away.
She left a note for me, telling me she had
saved some money out Of her allowance.
and was going to seek a place where she
could earn living. have never seen
her dear face since that day."
but did she Tot write to you?"
"Grandfather watched for the letters,
and burned them, unopened, before my
face. He threatened to disinherit me If l
held any communication with Sophie;
but would have followed her even then
if had known where to find her. After
writing again and again think she grew
discouraged, thought / did not care to
hear from her, or would not answer for
fear Of grandfather's anger. But could
never see even one line, and after time
the letters ceased to come"
'She may be dead"
think not. / think / should know if
Sophie died. But my story is not done.
Three years ago my grandfather died,
and left his entire property to me. There
was no condition in his will, and re-
solved to find Sophie and divide my
wealth with her. advertised; l Set de-
tectivcs to work; but have not found
her. In the meantime, for her sake, l
devote one cne-half Of my income
Sophie's half-to charitable purposes,
hoping some blessing may come to her
from this use of her fortune"
The older lady, Mrs. Smirhson, the flu
tare mother-in-law of the young heiress,
smiled indulgently, while i'm her heart
she thought Irene fanciful and romantic.
"Wilbur must make her take more
common-sense view of these Matters
she thought.
~Now am ready" Irene said. fasten.
ing her veil. "Can you tell me ANYTHING
more of this poor widow?"
One of the ladies of the benevolent as
ISOLATION came TO me about herr said
Mrs. Smithson. "She came from Omaha
last week, and was taken ill i'm small
tenement house where she took rooms.
do not think.she had been conscious
more than few hours at the first, bat
she paid one weeks board, and the land
lady kept her. Mrs. Omerton found her
out In visit to- the same house, and
came to me about her,
"Have you seen her?''
VI went yesterday afternoon. She is
in wretched attic room, cold and desc
late. and her clothing is Of the poorest
description. She gave her name as Esta-
brook"
There was more talk of desultory de-
scription, as the two ladies drove RAPIDLY
in Mrs. Smithson's carriage to the mar
row street where both We're we'll known
as visitors of the poor.
Mrs. Smithson was thinking of the
many comforts $500 would procure for
the sick woman. Irene was wondering
where Sophie was spending their birth.
day.
Was she prospecting or suffering /?
There was bat little hope in the mourn
ing sisters heart. Surely if Sophie was
happy some Of the crushing sorrow
would leave her. Something of sympa-
thy, sister love, twin love. would come
to comfort her. The carriage stopped at