Weekly Trinity journal., 1879-03-22

home. And, instead of growing stronger.
she only dropped more and more, like
flower in the first frost and the child
was as frail as she.
L don't like to tell the story of those
months. Other people were kind and
helped us, and was forced to take the
help, for the sake of those two creatures,
who needed more than could give them.
Her mother came every day, now, to
nurse my wife and fondle my child, and
bring them luxuries that l could not buy
such lIxuries as would have heen heap
ed before them in Edna's old forfeited
home. | worked night and day ut my
clerkshlp, bearing as best could, in ago
ny of heart and soul, the burden of utter
helplessness the torment of standing
aside empty handed, while others gave
to the woman and child who were all my
own. And then there came backer
day still, and even the little that l had
was snatched away.
There was Il season Of business losses
and heavy failures firms gave way, and
men went home idle, and my turn came
with the rest. Ard knel, down by my
wite's bed and looked into her eyes, and
told her and asked her to forgive me the
wrong had done in loving her.
Don't feel So bad Shirley" she whis.
pered, moving her head on my shoulder.
Il know | IN burden to you, darling,
but IL cant wish it undone we've
been so happy-we are happy still-we've
got each other and baby, and such long
life yet for all these little troubles to pass
away in ! And it can't last long you'll
get something better than what ycu lost.
Perhaps 1t will be the very best tn ing for
us, after all, that you should lo7o this
place, and so be forced to make II
change"
Perhaps ! It's all n chance" | said +,
bitterly, " and ! must sit with my hands
tied and wait, and you- Edna, they were
right. | was selfish brute to draw you
down to this"
She clssped her arms around my neck
and kissed me, aud stopped my mouth /;
and we were silent for awhile, and The
room grow dark in the twilight.
Shirley" she said, softly, at last,
"would you lot my father help you ?"
What do you mean ?''
Mamma asked me n month ago if
you would leave New Orleans and take
position in my uncle's house in New
York. | never told you, because-she
wanted me 10 come home, Shirley, and
let you 60 alone, and couldn't"
$50 home !" gathered her closer,
the baby in her arms, too. Child has
it come to this ?"
NO." sha whispered, softly. "It
never Will. I'll 60 with you thee, or
anywhere else on earth, Shirley"
" Is it too la,e to take the offer now ?"
| asked, starting up. why do you
ask if I'll let him help me, Edna? Bot
ter that than taking isalms, God knows,
and We done that long enough. What
is this place Child, I'd beg at the
street corners for you, if that was all"
VIII you go and see papa ?" she
cried, lighting up all over her wasted
face. don't know about it, only that
mamma said there nigh: be nm opening
for you, and it would bo so much better
than your old place, and papa would use
his influence for you. Win you go Shir-
ley ?"
" Yes, | will" said, STOPPING down
to kiss her.
Something was dragging me back all
the whiIe-holding me fast to the he'd
side, within touch of her little hot hand,
and hearing OF my babys sleepy soft
breath-but didn't heed it. | was des~
perate. and her eyes drove me out into
the world, to struggle with it, and win,
for her sake-and I went.
so the end Of it was that letters went
back and forth, and in two weeks from
the day that | was discharged Of my
clerkship, was engaged by the New
York house, Of which Mr.. Vorderay g
brother was head, ut salary that would
keep Edna safely all the Winter, far
enough out of the reach of want or the
need of aims. Only it was "A desperate
mans resource, you know-she must be
in New Orleans, while | wes in New
York.
1t was long before I could show her
that such parting WAS inevitable. In
| o1I h. I I.o1 .I.t g. l..
that she clung to mo to the last but |
had TO put her from me. Ever since our
boy was born she had been growing
weaker, and her lungs and chest were
delicate-sven dangerously so. Winter
at the North, they said, would kill her,
and | must not dream of taking her away
until she was thoroughly well again. /
must leave her behind and, since |
could not leave her alone and sick, she
must go to her fathers house.
That was the way 1t happened. They
were so glad to take her back they had
forgiven her so entirely and wanted her
so, and they were so fond of little shir,
ley, | ought to have been willing and
glad TO leave them both in such tender
care. was neither but | knew it was
my duty to give her up, and did it. !
kissed her good-by at the last, and drag.
ged myself away from her arms, shat
tried to hold me back even, then, and the
last glimpse had Of my wife and child
was a little slender figure at an open
window, half buried in white, soft wrap
pings holding TAP baby, who laughed
and sprang in her arms, and whose little
hand she tried to wave 10 ne.