Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1878-02-27

lOI lie, dliu L IlldkS III uOuDt IL ull2llt
be far better for some other folk than
the dainty trash they're set upon
women-folk leastways."
The blood came into Rebecca's calm
lace, but there was no veXatiOn in her
answer "Thee'd never set aside an
old friend like that, neighbour" she said.
"Nay, nay; [ recommend thee try the
loaf. It's spoken we'll of, is my sweet
bread, the country round. Thee will
not shorten thy days much by just one
trial, and if thee likes it not I'll never
trouble thee again"
Even the imperturbable face of old
Ware shows a slight smile at this min
Cling of acerbity and sweetness, but he
makes no demonstration.
g am on my way to see old Betsey,'
says Rebecca, quietly extending her
hand and placing the loaf on the gate
rather one of the Lords poor, | think,
for she doesn't belong to this township.
Poor old Betsey?"
One might have imagined that old
Ware gave sort of start ust now, as if
an invisible electric shock had struck
him. He was rot used to hearing SYM
pathetic talk Of any kind. 1t tried his
nerves, probably.
zone of the wretched Migrants that
are pauperizing the community, wan
dering hither and yon," growled limo
thy.
"Ay, ay, neighbour" says Rebec ca,
softly and wistfully; "a hard time they
have of it, poor things And this many
year has she been a wanderer and a
vagabond on the face of the earth, has
poor old Betsey" She takes the white
covered loaf absently with her large
shapely hand, looks up and down the
road with thoughtful gray eye, signs
softly, and goes her way, leaving loaf
and napkin Gaping the gate post. And
there You might have seen 1t at night
fall, if you had CHANGED that way; for
hadn't Timothy told the woman he
didn't want it? and was he the man to
demean himself by removing it after
that? And your specializing on the sim
gular stubbornness of the human heart
would not have been lessened had you
caught sight of him, by the Pickering
candle in his upper window, sitting there
motlonless with an eye on the gate be-
low. Perhaps he expected Rebecca
| back after her gift. LIDO not know.
She's one of the town poor. is old
Betsey," said Rebecca, meekly, and had
said it meekly year after year, striving
to allure the vagrant old woman into
feeling at home on the charity list of the
good towns-folk, and to rest her aching
old bones in the town poor-house. But
| old Betsey was not to be trapped.
If one must be poor and ragged, at
least let one have plenty of fresh-,air
leisure. says old Betsey. To be pau
per and a drudge both is a little too
| much. And to be preached to and
prayed over and hedged in right and
left, and to scrub work-house floors and
scour work-house knives, all for a bit of
bread-bah ! that is all unbearable,
says old Betsy, struggling her bony
shoulders under her ragged shawl, and
setting out warily on her everlasting
tramp. She is an incorrigible vagrant,
utterly irrechimable. Perhaps Rebecca
thinks a half-hedged thought like this
when she finds her prey has escaped
her and is fairly on the road again.
On the road again, untamable, rag
ged, hungry, and free She walks at a
rapid, uneven pace, her thin shawl flut-
tering in the wind, her untidy slippers
Tapping at her heels. 1t grows dusk
as she steals along; the road is dreary
with cloud and shadow, and with a
knocking moon that CLEANS out now
and then, lodging viciously after this
gray old ghost of woman fitting be-
low. There is a white object there
ahead of her-some thing tall and queer,
with round white head. The vagrant
swerves minute out of her way, sur
veying it furtively Then she puts
forth her clawlike hand and clutches
greedily Rebeccas sweet, dainty loaf.
Aha what good providence is here!
All! can it be that Fate should come,
| for once In way, with sweetness and
luxury in her hand for an old pauper.
and night and darkness to devour it in
Bewildered with pleasure, old Betsy
hugs the dainty under her faded shawl
There is crash then, as if the heav-
ems were falling; a shout that curdles
her thievish blood; a rough hand is laid
upon her with vise-like grasp. Law
and justice seems to have come down
bodily upon the marauder; but it is
only old Ware, who has been watching
from his window His hand is raised to
strike the thief-the thief has vagrant
and vagabond written all over her; in
her vulpine eyes, her long blue nose,
her skinny, clawlike hand. The woman
shrinks back, covering, against the gate
post, with a wheezy cough; the old
shawl falls away from her face. Out
comes the moon, and sails along with
sinister ray pointing right down on the
shivering, crouching figure and on the
countenance that for one instant up
turns toward the assailant.
My God p cries Timothy And that
is all. His hand falls at his side, he
turns and walks back to the house, leay-
ing the wretch to her plumber.
The wretch is mere animal, after
ala hunted animal, it is true, with all
the greed and cunning of such. She
makes her way somewhere with her
prize-it doesn't much matter where.
But there comes up storm at midnight,
L -