The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1880-08-26
"Lazx. more likely. He's got pra-

"Lazy, more likely. He's got pre-
cious little staminy, though"
ran back to the field. where l found
Stephen still lying on the ground. He
took the water gratefully, and seemed
better at once.
I'm all right now" he said, cheer
fully. 1 was much relieved; and we
talked merrily of many things. said
not word Of AL my dreaming, but /
was thinking all the time of Stephen in
the new character had given him. 1t
was no effort of the imagination to
fancy Stephen gentleman; for there
was sweetness and dignity in his ma
ture that no uncouthness of dress or
speech could hide. Once out of the
clutches of Mrs. Deacon Witheridge,
what might he not become?
Mamma" asked at tea that night,
"what's 'staminy?"
".Staminy' ? What does the child
meanP'
"Why, Mrs. Witheridge said Stephen
hadn't any 'staminy,' =" [ explained.
"Oh, stamina'' said nv mother.
She meant that he hadn't a strong con-
stitution."
".Staminyr" cried my father.
"Well, the old lady has enough of it
herself. She and the Deacon are az
tough as old shoe-leather. They
"Andrewr' said my mother. re-
proachfully. "Before these childrenr'
"And they've no mercy on anybody.
They work that poor fellow early and
late, till it's wonder there's anything
left of him.
"Andrew, 1 wouldn't" began my
mother again.
"He's bright, smart little fellow,
too. He'd make something anywhere
but on Deacon Witheridge's farm. Get
him off that, and you might hear from
that boy. declare there are too many
folks in this world that have dropped
into the wrong place."
For some reason had no errand to
the Deacon's for a week after this. One
morning heard my mother and grand
mother talking in the dining room.
'Should you want to send her up
there, if he's so sick?" asked my
mother.
"No. l shouldn't send her on any
account" my grandmother answered.
"DOes she know he's sick?"
"No. l haven't liked to tell her.
You know she's taken great liking to
him.
"Well, he's nice boy. hope he'll
live. Always respectful and well-be-
haved."
Stephen was sick and they had not
told me. said nothing; but 1 instant
ly put on my hat and started for Deacon
Witheridge's. Mary Ann met at the
door with:
oval, Stephens ben terrible sick
sence you was up here. Guess he amt
quite so bad though, now. I'll go ask
Mrs. Witheridge Of you can come in and
see him.
"She came back in a moment, and
said:
"Yes, come along in. He's in the
back bedroom
Invent softly into the room and stole
up to the bed. Stephen lay there so
pale and wan and pitiful that could
hardly help crying. He heard me and
opened his eyes, and his face frightened
so that forgot to be sad.
"It's too bad you're sick, Stephen"
I said, rather timidly.
II guess l shall be all right pretty
His cheerful face comforted me, and
we talked till I quite forgot my anxiety.
At last there was pause; and we were
both silent for several minutes. There
was something different in Stephens
tone and look when he said, at length:
"Sonetimes dunno as I shall ever
get very rich"
1 looked up, quickly, to ask why; but
1 stopped:
II kinder think sometimes I amt
good for much here. Folks 'ud get
along well enough without me-"
I was bewildered, but still I said
nothing.
There was lots O. things wanted
to do, though. 1t seems kinder hard
that can't have time.''
I looked at him in vague distress.
The momentary pain that had crossed
his face was gone, and happy. beauti-
full look remained, that have long re-
membered.
"I'd like to have done something be-.
fore I had to 60. But there's plenty O.
folks left. It's all right. know that.
It's always all right"
With a great sob cried: "Oh! Ste.
phen, don't die! Don't die!" and
rushed out of the house.
A week after Stephen died, and
knew the first genuine sorrow of my
life. 1t was long before ceased to
feel sense of bitter grief and crushing
disappointment; but time has softened
the sharpness of my sorrow, and has
left me the memory of a sweetness and
trust and patience that have all my life
strengthened me in the divine doctrine
that it is ''all right" And though
there was, after all, no story to tell and
no book to write, believe that in the
best and truest sense my Stephen was
a hero.-Helen Dawes Broom, IN N. Y.
Independent.