Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1880-11-12
MY HELP.

~ AAAsA1A
Yes and my reproach. Let me tell you
about it.
1t was Johnny's second summer. We were
spending it at quiet little place upon the
seashore. Coming in, fresh and bright from
my bath, one day, 1 found my baby's nurse
in tears.
"what is it, Margaret2" asked anx-
iously.
Joey is sick, she replied "They don't
look for any danger but he's feyerish-like
and pining."
Joey was her own little boy, whom cruel
circumstances had forced her to leave with a
cousin, while she earned the wherewithal to
feed and cothe him.
Margaret had lived with me before her
marriage, and when her husband died she
came again, begging me to take her back for
the sake of the old times. 1T was hard to
leave little Joe." she said "but if she could
be with us, the best people in the whole
world to her." as she touchingly expressed it,
''it wouldn't be quite so heart breaking"
But we are going away" said /. 1--WE
are going more than thousand miles away.
If you come to us, you will have to live three
long months without seeing your baby's face
at ALL
You are coming back 2"
Certainly, in the fall"
II can bear it. Let me come"
Still hesitated. Think well of it, Mar
garrett" said l. "Johnny's nurse must not be
low-spirited or homesick. She must be will
ing to devote herself to him without pining
for what she has left behind like you and
I can trust you, but" here glanced at the
little fellow, sleeping so quietly in his crib,
and instinctively measured her powers Of en-
durance by my own-'Im afraid the trial
will be too much for you"
She W siipnt for IA momant then she said
simply, "But when it's for him do it, won't
that hold me up?"
studied her face. It WAS homely face,
but there was q look of steadfastness in the
gray eyes which reassured me. II think
that will hold you up said and it was de-
cided that Margaret should have her wish.
And now a month had passed since she had
had her first glimpse Of the fascinating, rest
less sea- She had been half afraid of it at
first, but by slow degrees it had won her over.
As yet she had seen nothing of its cruelty,
and every evidence of its strength only gave
her fresh delight. To watch its changing
features as she played with Johnny in the
sand was a much-enjoyed diversion, and her
daily bath was a treat Of which she wrote
glowing accounts to ''the ones at home"
Everything seemed to be going on so
smoothly, and we had all been so happy,
that the sight of Margnret's tears, upon the
day of which l had spoken, did not please
me.
"Oh, Joe will be all right in day or two,"
l said carelessly. go now, and take your
bath and I'll bring Johnny down to meet
you when he wakes"
She drew one hand hastily over her eyes,
jogging the crib gently with the other.
''If it's all the same to you" she began.
But it isn't all the same to me. / want
you to CO."
She went. When half an hour afterward
we joined her on the beach, she seemed
quite like herself again. 1t was only when
she put out her arms to little Johnny that
noticed the hungry look in her eyes. When
he laid his bright head upon her shoulder,
she seemed to forget the rest of US for a mo-
ment, and held it there with q nervous, trem-
bling hand.
That was all. Through the day, she was,
to all intents and purposes, her old, quiet,
capable self. l could not be blind, however,
to her anxious watching for news from
home" and, when a day or two later letter
came, saying that Joey was mending fast, we
all rejoiced and gave thanks together for a
! common benefsction.
'Ive been thinkin' all this while" said
Margaret, her plain face all aglow, ''If little
| Joe got well to buy him Just the handsomest
dress in Boston. Would it be too much Of q
trouble, when you go up, to get one like that
checkered stuff you got for babyP"
THAT checkered stuff" wss lovely plaid
which had purchased the week before.
Perhaps I can find you something pref
tier" answered quickly.
"But that's such splendid colors, and so
nice and dark! !"
promised her something very pretty, pri-
yately expressing afterward, to ''the best
man in the world, my resolve that it should
not be just like baby's.
''The child will be at the house so often"
said l. 1--WE should get sick to death of the
dresses Besides,"-
"You would never know them for the same
goods in a week." he answered oarelessly.
But declined to take the risk The next
time went VI" bought Margaret bright,
substantial plaid at less than half the cost of
mine, and was conveniently blind to her look
Of disappointment, and deaf to the subdued
| tone of her THANK you, ma'am."
But shortly afteTward both Joe and his
dress were forgotten, for my own darling was
taken i'll. Did you ever watch the smile fade
from baby's face, the light 60 out of the
laughing eye, the merry, roguish look change
to one of touching appeal, the restless head
settle itself wearily upon some loving shoul-
| derp Then you know the pitiful contrast be-
tween our baby as he was and as sickness
made him Afterward.
At first with the capriciousness of illness,
he longed for change. From my arms TO
Margaret's from hers to mine again, he went
necessarily. But, as he grew weaker, it was
her stronger arms which he preferred, her
broader shoulder upon which his tired little
| head rested. In my weakness, felt keen
pang of jealousy that this was so but illness
makes its own imperious rights, and babY's
| lightest wish was respected
Business had called ''the best man" home.
From my lively fellOw-boarders, kind and
sympathetic though they were, my sorrow
separated me. True, the whole household
in a measure shared it, for Johnny had been
pet with all but only Margaret could help
me with my burden, and that by bravely tax
| ing it upon her own shoulders.
What a strange time it was Indeed we
scarcely took note of time at all, the days ran
into the nights so. Anxiously we studied
the good old doctors face. And one morn
ing, when my baby seemed to have fallen in
TO a stupor,--
But l cannot write about that. In my
agony, was almost beside myself. 1 called
God cruel and unjust. clasped my darling
in my arms,-he had grown 80 light and thin
that i could tend him easier now, and told
Margaret to 60 and leave US alone. In the
| ferceness of my sorrow, could not bear the
sight of the mother whose boy had been
spared to her.
Let me pass over the next few days,-days
in which l liVed 30 much that l can never