The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1881-03-18

|
bcrcd when The clock struck 2 that she
had left her beds unmade and the parlor
undustcd. She ran home rs fast as her
feet could carry her, but fortunately Mrs.
Benson was absent at her sons, and
knew nothing of the stolen visit.
II was not Ruths last visit to the
study by any means Before month
had passed she had learned to look upon
this strange old man and his grim sister
as her best friends on earth, and they
grew to love the golden haired child and
to watch for her coming.
One day, about n year after Ruth had
first met Mr.. Moss, Mrs Benson found
her one morning bending over piece OF
paper on which she was drawing faces
with lead pencil. The water for the
washing of the dishes stood on the table
growing cold, the flies were swarming
over bread which had been carelessly left
uncovered, and Ruth was 50 much alb
sorbed that she did not even hear Mrs
Benson's step or know she was near, un-
til the piece of paper was caught from
her hands and singing blow descended
on her left ear.
"You good fornothing little piece!
cried Mrs. Benson, who was thoroughly
angry. $50 this is the way you spend
your time, is it? Who taught you to
draw, Id like to know? The next thing
you'll be asking me to buy you piano
or Il guitar. | suppose you have an
idea that | mean to leave you my prop
erty. Well, you'd best know first as
last that l shan't leave you a cent, so
you've no call to get into idle ways
You'll have to work all the days of
your life. What money I've got mean
to leave to my son James, and not pen
ny to any one else. You'll please not
forget, Miss, that you're charity child
took you out of charity away from
that asylum, and you ought to be CRATE
ful for it, instead of spending your time
over such nonsense as this tearing the
paper she held into a dozen pieces
"Now, go back to your work, and keep
it in mind that you've nothing to expect
from me when I die, or while | live, eth
er. I'll clothe you and feed you till
you're IS, as the contract says, but after
that you'll look out for yourself"
Ruth shook and shuddered under this
rude blast. Her gray eyes full Of unshed
tears, and her sensitive lips quivered, but
she said nothing. One by one she wash
ed and dried the dishes, and it was only
when they were all put away that she
stole time to cry. Then she ran into
the big, bare room in the wing. and
throwing herself on her hard bed, burst
into flood of tears
Time went on, and Ruth was seven
teen. A tall, straight, slender girl, with
wealth of golden hair, and complex
ion so beautiful that even James, Mrs.
Benson's rough son, noticed and spoke
Of it, though he was married and had
three children and little thought for
beauty in anything.
He lived three miles from his mother,
on a fine farm of his own, and he was
in very fair circumstances, too. But he
coveted his mothers property, and threw
out many Il hint that he would prefer not
to wait for it until her death, and
thought one roof large enough to shelter
them all. But Mrs. Benson refused to
deed him an acre of land, or give him a
cent of her money.
"You shall have it all when | am
dead, James" she would say, 'but while
| live I'll take care of tim q good
manager, and the farm grows more val
liable with every year.
But one night the labor of years was
reduced to nothing, and Mrs. Benson
found herself homeless and almost pen
niless. A fire, the origin of which was
never known, destroyed her handsome
house, and burned to the ground every
outbuilding on the farm. Horses and
cattle were in the stables, but all perish
ed, and worse than all else, Mrs. Benson,
in endeavoring to save her private desk
from the flames, was so terribly burned
that for weeks she lay helpless at her
sons house, requiring as much care as
an infant.
On Ruth's shoulders fell the burden of
nursing her mistress, and well did she
perform her task. No daughter could
have been better to the sick woman than
was she, and she felt sufficiently reward
ed when the doctor told her that Mrs.
Benson owed her life to the careful nurs-
ing she had received,
The prudent woman had never had
any faith in banks. The hoardings OF
years of toll had been kept in her private
desk, and in spite of her efforts to save
it, the desk had been burned, with every
thing else in the house. All that re
mained to Mrs. Benson now was the
farm, and she had not penny in tho
world.
But her sorrows were not to end here
No sooner than she was pronounced out
of danger than her son told her very
| plainly that she must find another
home.
Il have my wife and children to sup
port, he said, "and you'll have to lool
out for yourself"
But. James" cried Mrs. Benson, il
amazement and grief, show can l hell
myself! My hands are crippled-prob
ably it will be years before can us'
them again, and You know you used t.
beg me to come and live with you, anC
said often that one roof was big enough
for us all.
"Donl lei argue lhe matter, sad lh
undutiful son. "What | said once ant
what say now have no connection.
only know that the sooner you and you
bound girl find another home the bette
| I'll be pleased"
Ruth was not present at this inter
view,and when she came in from a wal
was surprised to find her mistress in th
deepest despair.
"What's the matter?" she asked, kinc
y smoothing the tumbled gray hair fror
the wrinkled forehead. "Can help yo
Mrs Benson?'
"No, no." almost shrieked the poe
woman, you'll be ungrateful like tn
rest. I've kept you out of charity fo
seven years, but you'll desert me now q
my own flesh and blood,
And then she told Ruth what her so
had said.
: Ruth's checks flushed Indignantly 4