Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1880-03-05

not leave, and the baby has been grow
ing sick in the damp weather.
/ pour her out cup of strong tea, that
is sleeping on the range, but she sits
holding it in her hand, untasted, staring
at me with her mild, faded eyes.
"Oh, Amy, / am afraid to ask you,
but how is my motherP-have you seen
her?"
Yes, saw her last week at prayer
meeting -" and she looks like one who
has been struck with death, " was going
to say, but stopped, seeing Grace was
quivering all over with fear and expec-
fancy. I dared not tell her that her
mother was now sick in bed, and that
out of her life all hope had gone, with
the loss of her only child, or how my
heart had ached for the poor widow, out
OF whose faded face evenexpectancy had
vanished.
Come" said I, . The baby is warm
now, let us go and lay it in the bed; and
Charlie and are allalone, and you may
rest assured no oneshall know of your
being here.n
carry it to my own pink room as be-
ing the most retired, and it is with Joy. l
hear Charles steo on the stairs. lie
takes in the situation at a glance, and,
being practical Druggist, and better
nurse and doctor han our little town
affords, begins insanity to mix some
medicine for the little sufferer.
He is tenderer han any woman to-
ward anything littl or weak, OF needing
care; so for two days he does not go to
his Office, but watches with Grace and
me beside the dying child; but what can
mustard baths an6 drugs, and careful
nursing avail wheie damp basement
has undermined tie constitution of so
frail little blossonP On the third day
the little life goes out to complete its
being in another world. Poor Grace
will not believe th% the little child she
has cherished through such awful days
and nights of wantand distress is really
dead. She holds it in her arms all
night, and in the morning we dress it in
the dainty lace and linen robe of hap
pier baby yet to come, who, too, alas
may never need the pretty finery. And
Charlie digs little grave under the pear
tree, close to the sunny wall, where the
catchfly and sweet allyssum grow so
rank, and lays the little creature tend
erlv under the September leaves and
grasses.
Poor thing, it would have been so
pretty, had it had proper nourishment,
and air to breathe, with its delicate
features and pretty rings of soft hair.
Grace follows Us silently back to the
door, and pausing on the step, laws her
hand upon my arm, looks into my face
beseechingly, saying:
&C must go to mother now, if you will
do me one last favor, Amy, and go with
me-"
Charlie hurris off for a downtown
carto his office and Grace and l walk
down the quiet street toward her
mothers little cottage. None of the
people who meet US recognize in the
slender figure, clad in my new drab
walking suit with my gypsy turban and
long veil, the Grace WoQlson of q year
ago. tremble on rearing the house,
for see the windows are open wide,
and two OF three are Watching by bed
where Grace's mother lies breathing
family and moaning atintervals. | see
Grace fly up the gardel-walk and stop,
with clasped hands ambient head on the
threshold, and hear Ter mothers faint
voice saying to the woman who is fau-
nlHg Hef:
do not trouble yourself about me;
shall never be well agan, and nothing
can cure me now but d sight of my
daughters face"
! see Grace grope forward. Ihear her
calling, Mother, mothrm see those
two poor women in eaCh others arms,
and turn away blindedwith tears.
And Grace's mother did not die, but
seems entirely happy with her lost dar-
ling all to herself again once more, the
color coming slowly back into hel
whitened cheeks, and life getting back
into its old grooves. Hel return was 6
nine days wonder to our gossiping
town; but the little gave under the
pear-trees tel IS no tales, md though she
will never be exactly the same pretty
blooming Grace WoolDn again, ye
this aftermath of her life is something
to be thankful for, in its great conten
and peacefulness.-EnnaG N. BGyley.