The Newtown bee., 1879-05-13

J She brought them all to me. I would rather have them than the whole cloth :. l was afraid of the responsibility when l handled it. liked to take the old things and feel my way to the good that might be got out of them by the good that was left in them. And YOU and Miss Cumnor said it was witchcraft- the pretty suits I could get out of old goods. l liked to do it, Roxie; it was my genius, you know. And it isn't so hard for me to make out now, dear, though you think my life has been so badly cut up.
 You never fairly understood the diff. feIence between us. How could you? For you always spoke your mind out plain, and 1 never could tell you much in words, was so cowardly and so afraid of making you impatient I wanted to tell you long ago how it was about Robert and me, but couldn't. I knew all the time how .disgusted you must be with me ,and yet couldn't speak, not even that night when you warned me. But now you have come back and are so kind,. and sit there crying for me, I want to tell you how it was.
 You know I had scarcely ever spoken to Robert while he was waiting on you, or spoken to you about him. But noticed him great deal. I had great sympathy with you both in your happi- ness. Evenings when we came from the shop and he joined you, 1 used to drop behind and watch you as you walked along. I was proud of you; I thought you were so well-matched, both so tall and handsome and full of life Robert talked the most, but it was you who led him, and settled plans and opinions be- tween you.
 And when the cloud came that didn't understand at first, and I saw your face getting more stern and moody every day, 1 was as much pained and troubled, Roxie, as if had been your mother. I was most sorry for you at first, but little by little, as gathered the truth, I became even more sorry for him. You said you would not marry an unsteady man, even if he were Robert. I knew it pained you to push him of, but you were right and firm to do it, and you wentyour way strong and safe afterward. But he! he had not only lost you, but he was in danger of losing all. I could not help being most sorry for him. never questioned. but that you were right, but l could not get over the pity of it. It seemed such an unspeakable mi hat I,-,rr and shopeful should be let go into bad ways. My heart aehed to think of it.
 For all the sorrowfnl feeling I carried In my hears, for him. | never thought it would fall to me to do anything for him. You know he hoped you would relent, and he used to haunt our way with that haggard face he wore in the first days after you parted from him. You would never turn your head to give him one look. You were right, and yet it used to turn me faint almost with pity and regret to see you pass him SO. One night you took to going home through the by-streets so that you need not see him again, and you would not let me go with you.
 That night Robert came up and spoke to me. He said he felt would be sorry fol him. His talk was all about you, Roxie. He seemed to find comfort in praising you. He thought there was never such a strong. beautiful woman in the world as you, never another that he could so love and lean upon. At first I felt so strange with him I could only listen to him and answer him a little, enough to show I cared. But when he began to say that you had taken the wrong way with him, that you had taken away the spring of his energy in trying to overcome his fault, that he had nothing now to try for-nothing to look forward to-then found tongue to talk to him. Why don't you win her back?" I said. You can do it. It's only to be manly and upright as you were meant to be. If you would not drink again, Robert, and would keep away from bad companions, she would see the change in you soon! She's very clear-sighted, and in her heart I'm sure she loves you. Why don't you try to win her hack?n Y
 I spoke so fast and earnestly, he look ed at me in surprise. But I did not care, l was so sorry for him; went on talk ing; I said more than I could repeat. All that was in my heart about him came out. and I could not say it without tears. From looking surprised he began to be moved and sobered He said he did not know any human being cared so much for his salvation as seemed to. He said I put new courage into him, and that he meant to try again. When I thought it all over at home that night I wondered that I should have said so much to him. But it made me happy to have done it, and happy to think he would now win you back and that the pain and hardness between you would be ended, and things would be as I thought God meant them to be.
 You know that from that time Robert fell into the habit of joining me every night. He did take a real earnest start toward better life. I could feel sure of it, and presently wanted to see it. asked you one night to go home our way. You refused; and then told you plainly I wanted you to see Robert-that thought he had changed. You looked sharply at me then, and remember what you said:
 He will never change except as the weathercock does. He's weak; it's in grained And you said that for your. self you'd not be such a fool as to see him again.
 Presumptuous to judge him SOP No, dear Roxie; that was your light and you saw it clearly You were not wrong because I was led by a different way. But could not help seeing that you were losing your tenderness for him, md | t,.ca11l,lod nl<,,1t it that I