The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1878-01-02

burned, wayworn woman, dressed II
faded black, and on foot. She was hur
rying by, as if wishing to escape obser
walton, when a glance at the occupant o.
the little carriage seemed to root her tx
the spot.
"Good evening, ma'am, "said Joanna
civilly, seeing her stop, and supposine
that she might wish to inquire for some
shelter for the night.
Her salutation was returned In IS
slightly broken accent, but the stranger
making no further speech, Joanna hur'
ried on with her charge, leaving bel
standing on the road. They reached
home, where Miss Grey, giving Joanns
a reprimand for keeping Emily out sc
late, took the child, gave her her suppe,
of bread and milk in her own room, an6
put her to bed.
It was now quite dark; but Nicode'
mus came into the Kitchen saying,
"Dar's o oman at de gate"
, Joanna went to see. The full moor
had Just risen over the tall eastward
hills, and by it's light.she saw, standing
by the gate, the same strengthening
woman whom she had met near the vii
lage.
"What do you want9" she asked
sharply.
81 want to stay in a house all night
"Then, why don't you go to the vii
lage?"
"They won't take mel have nc
money!.
Joanna surveyed the $orlorn figure il
perplexed silence.
"Can't you give me q corner where ]
can rest J" asked the stranger, piteously'
CT will not trouble you for anything,
except a floor to sleep on" .
"My mistress never lodges strangers
said Joanna, "but come into the kit
chen-Iu see what I can do"
By the exercise Of some diplomacy IL
behalf of the "tramp," as Miss Grey
styled the traveller, Joanna succeeded in
gaining permission for her to sleep n @
pallet in the kitchen.
"Give her some supper, joanna
added the mistress. ".No doubt she is
half starved"
After the "tramp had had her supper,
and Joanna had prepared her bed on the
floor, she stood up by the fire, and look.
ing Joanna in the face with her large,
black eyes, said suddenly
Whose child is it you had with
you?"
"My mistress child"
"Not her own child ?"
"No:" and Joanna shut her lips
tightly, as if to prevent the escape OF
further information.
do you know whose child she is?"
"No."
"Did you find her at your door, one
Christmas morning."
Joanna nodded, looking up in surprise
and beginning to tremble with strange
agitation.
"Then T can tell you whose child she
is"
1--WE don't want to know" said
Joanna, shortly.
"But I wiU tell you, for you should
know that she is of honest birth"
Joanna folded her arms, and stood
waiting.
1.-TWO years ago." said the woman,
ct came to America with my mistress,
who was then Il youngs bride, having
married al American gentleman. She
was French, and so was I, but we had
been living IN England since her parents
died, when she was q child. My mis-
tress was ut school, educating herself
Tor a govelness; but her health gave way,
and She was obliged to give up her
studies. She had no relatives, and she
was quite poor, for she was sent to
school by ali old lady who had taken a
fancy to her, and had died leaving her a
sum to educate herself with. Well,
the gentleman had become acquainted
with her case, and he took care OF her,
and married her in q few weeks after
she left school. We came to this coun-
try about a year afterward. We lived at
a clearinghouse in New York. Soon
after We came over, the gentleman was
obliged to return to England to secure
some property which belonged to him
there. he was to be back us soon as the
trip could be made.
well, mistress waited as we'll as she
could, poor thing. She was quite alone
but for me. When the time he had set
for his return passed by, and he did not
come, she became quite i'll. I don't
know how long we waited-it seemed
like months, and she grew worse all the
time, till her baby was born. Then she
got another letter from her husband.
He had been delayed by business, but
would come in the next steamer, without
fail
"She was getting stronger fast, and
was looking for him hourly, when news
came that the vessel was lost at sea, and
his name was not among the few that
were saved. She only lived two days.
She begged me to take care OF her baby,
and died in my arms.
81 had q cousin living in Pennsyl-
vania; I had her address with me. ]
took the child and what money my mis-
tress bad left, and went to the place;
but she had moved West the people
said. :,
II was a stranger, and nobody would
employ me. I started on foot to the
seaport; for I thought if 1 could only
get back to my own country, I could
live and keep the child. I had still
enough money left me to pay my pas:
sage across. But I was obliged to spend
some of it, and by the time I reached
this village I was 80 tired and discour'
aged that I was ready for almost any
thing.
II passed this house in the afternoon
Of that dreary Christmas eve, and it
looked so quiet and peaceful that
thought, What a good shelter it might
be for the poor homeless baby!' After !
had passed down the hill and left the
village away on my right, I looked back
and saw the white house still looking
down on me from the hill, and it seemed
to draw me back. l walked on till night,
but found no place to stay, and then
made up my mind to some back.
ct reached the foot of the hill a little
after midnight, and walked back and
forth with the baby in my arms to keep
wanm, until near daylight. 1t soon