The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1881-06-02
LIVING 1T DOWN,

"Did your mother send you on such
an errand as that to me?''
Bernard Reed, lad about sixteen.
whose coarse, ill-fitting garments i'll ac-
corded with the frank, erect bearing.
apd proud, sensitive face, shrank from
the cold, stern eyes that were directed
toward him.
"No, sir. She did not know that |
was going to look for work.
Mr.. Burchard looked keenly at the
frank young lace.
81 used to know your mother some
years ago; did she never speak of me ?'
mot that [ remember of
A bitter sneer curled the thin lips.
"How strange! when we used to be
such good friends.''
Bernard looked puzzled, evidently
coming to the conclusion that this
strange man was displeased at his
mothers apparent forgetfulness of their
old friendship.
Il remember now hearing mother say
once, as you were riding by, that she
used to know you when you were poor
boy; that you were rich and prosperous
now, and she hoped happy"
'How very kind in her! Yes, / am
rich and prosperous. There has been
quite changei in our surroundings since
was. poor boy and she the daughter
of a millionaire. And so you came on
your own sponsibility
''1es, sir. | heard that YOU wanted
boy in your store, of about my age"
81 should want one long time be-
fore employed son of Albert Reed,
the defaulterr'
The blood suddenly receded from the
face of the horror struck listener, and
then, returning, crimsoned the temples.
1t is not truen'
Not many men could have gazed un-
moved into those wild, imploring eyes,
which seemed to entreat denial of a
charge so terrible, but Mr.. Burchard
went pitilessly on.
1T as true, as you will find. Albert
Reed, your father, was sent to the peni
tentiary, and but for an act of Execu-
tive c!emency, in the last month of his
llfe, would have died there. Didn't you
know this?''
mo. Nor do l know it now."
30 ask your mother, boy; she will
tell you that what | say is true''
Bernard hardly knew how he found
hlmselt out in the street amid the busy,
bustllng crowd of the great city. His
bran seemed on fire, and his heart,
that lately beat so high, like lead in his
bosom.
His father had died when he was a
mere child. but words and circumstan-
ces rushed upon his mind, to which he
mad paid little heed at the time, which
aroused fears and suspicious that nearly
maddened him.
In poor room, in the poorest part of
the city, sat Mrs. Reed, strainine her
urea eyes over some fine sewing. Lean
ING back IN her chair with a lorg weary
SIGH she glanced up at the clock. 1t
was considerably past the time for Ber-
hard to return from school. What
could detain him?
Then she remembered what he had
sald III the morning when he kissed her
goodbye:
You are working too hard, mother;
l must find something to do so as to
help YOU"
" nat good boy he was! How strong,
now brave and hopeful! With all the
sorrows and hardships which were slow
y weighing her down to the grave
she could not feel that her life was ut
left. ""'
AS Mrs. Reed thus unused, hurried,
unsteady footsteps were heard ascend
ing the stairs, so unlike those she was
especting that she rose, vague feeling
Vi alarm at her heart, as Bernard en-
ttereu' and advanced directly towards
" Mother, Mr.. Burchard saws that nv
ia'her Il was-but. no, | cannot name il.
+ I rather--mg father-could never be so
bad as thatr'
y fresslng her hand to her side, Mrs.
heed sank back in her chair.
ohe glance at his mothers pale face,
anu Bernard threw himself upon his
Ahees and buried his face in her lap
Mrs. Reed laid her trembling hand
upon that bowed head
= My poor boy!''
Bernard lifted his face, wet with
.earS' to those tender, compassionate
~, he was unjustly accused, mother?
IN; surely he was innocent?'
More tender and pitiiul grew the
My poor, poor boy!''
a a pang of compunction smote Ber-
son.a aa.u ; heart as he glanced at the pale,
face that bent over him.
Forglye me, mother; YOU have suf-
'efed much. know, now, what it is