The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1878-10-30

woman. "Why, law me, I'm SO sorry I
And Isuppose you can't get a job2 Law |
why, do take it. 1 amt got nothing
else. You see, we're pretty poor our
selVes-and-- There-oh, law!'
She was trembling; she did not know
why. She was thinking to herself, '1ts
like play. 1t makes me want to cry"
There he stood, the warm. bread she
had given him in his hands, tearing bits
from it and eating it. He backed away,
still eating. He came back and stretched
his hands toward her. .' ".
81 didn't say thank you" he, said.
"Thank you - thank you;" and went
away, '..
Sally sat down, trembling still. 10 be
out of job, to be hungry, were no rare.
things and no tragic things in her ex-
perience; but this man had stirred her
soul, somehow - frightend her, she
said.
'1hadn't any business to give away a
loaf of bread" said Sally; 81 ought to
have cut some; but there, now,I couldn't
help it," ..
Then Sally went to bed, and slept and
dreamed of the hollow-cheeked, falnished
lodger of the attic.
There was more bread the next day
and am not sure but that the tailor's
wife made an extra loaf, in expectation
Of another call from her neighbor; but
he did not come, and in the course Of
time, Sally had enough to think about
without leaving her own floor.
Matters did not prosper with the fa1ni-
ly. Little Lena had the scarlet-fever,
and lay for long while at deaths door,
and the work with which the mother
helped to fill the family purse was nee
essarily neglected, and her customers
grew angry and left her. Then the baby
died. Poor little baby! The mother
wept bitterly. The father also longed to
weep, although children were expen-
sive luxuries in that poor household.
Finally, the last affliction fell upon
the tailor "a whitlow on his right
thum'
There was an end of it all, it seemed to
both. Nothing but the hospital and the
workhouse lay before them. The rent
quite unpaid at last; and the tobacco
mist was in fury. He came to give
them warning along with piece of his
mind. On the morrow, out they should
go, neck and crop. The tailor said moth
ing. The wife, woman-like, had her
word.
"Where shall we gop' she asked. ave
haven't penny i'll the world"
"Its nothing to me where you co.
said the landlord, $50 that you get out of
my rooms. want them for honester peo-
ple."
"We're unfortunate, but we never
meant to be dishonest" cried the wife.
Then her husband, with an angry word
bade her hold her tongue.
'1t's all the same,7 he said. "We'll 60
to morrow. And now you go, Mr.. Land.
lord"
Then they were left alone, bemoaning
their hard fate. There was absolutely
nothing to eat in the house.
Sally looked at her empty flour barrel
and at her wretched family, and burst
into tears,
"Its no use trying any longer" she
said. "1f the Lord would only take us
That's all ask"
She put the children to bed and sal
down upon chair, drawn by force Of
habit to the hearth Of her empty stove
Her husband, between pain and anxiety
was less a sane than mad man. He
paced the floor like tiger, talking tt
himself. The bit of tallow candle burn
low; the bitter wind ratified the case
ment; the rain beat against it.
We shall be out in all that tomorrow,
said the man. "We1l have no place t.
hide our heads. We've not got a frient
In the world
"We've got one friend, hope" sale
the wife.
"Who is he" asked the tailor.
"God,' said the woman. "day be, Hell
find way to help us. We haven't beef
very bad, Sam"
"Better than us have starved befor
now,' said the tailor. "We haven't an!
particular right to expect miracles, that
knowof. Hark what's that2'
"A knock" said his wife, and tremblin;
lest her landlord should have returned
opened the door.
Without stood the tall, gaunt figur
of the lodger in the attic.
"He's come for more bread" though
the woman; and amidst her own trouble
she grieved over the thought Of refusin!
his appeal.
| Ha mnda mona howaver