Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1881-09-18


| Five years before Ellen Gale had been
happy wife. Her husband. young,
handsome and prosperous, was very
proud of his beautiful wife and their
two lovely children. Walter Gale was
the trusted, confidential clerk of large
commercial house. He was on the high
road to fortune, for his employers had
promised to make him partner of the
firm, when, one day, it was discovered
that two thousand dollars belonging to
the firm was missing. Circumstances
pointed. to Walter Gale, the trusted
clerk, as the criminal, and though
| there was not sufficient evidence to
convict him, he was dismissed from the
| establishment with a stain upon his
name. The night following his dis
charge Walter Gale left his home, leay-
| ing a note addressed to his wife, assur-
| ing her Of his innocence, and declaring
| his intention never TO come back to L.
again until he was able to replace the
money he was suspected of having
stolen. This trouble fell like thunder
bolt on the fond young wife and moth
er, who had never known care or sor-
row. She lived-she was obliged to
| live for her children, the youngest
baby of two years. She sold her jewell
~, Walters gifts, and most of her fur
niture, removed from her pretty cottage
to two rooms in tenement house, and
went to work sewing for the shops. She
heard no word, no tidings Of her hus-
band, but two years after his departure
his innocence was proved beyond a
doubt. The Junior partner Of the house
| in which Walter had been employed
| absconded with all the available funds
of the company. He was followed, cap
tured, and imprisoned for the crime
He committed suicide in prison, but be-
fore he died he performed one act OF
| Justice. He wrote confession declar-
! ing Walter Gales innocence of the
crime of which he was suspected, and
| admitted that he had been the real
criminal. The particulars of this mans
arrest, imprisonment, confession and
| suicide were published in the newspa-
pers far and near. Surely, if Walter
Gale were living they must have reach
| ed him. But three years had passed
since then and no tidings had been
| heard of him, and the inference was
| that he was dead. Mrs. Gale and her
family were known to be in great pow
| erty, still there were few who were
aware that they ever suffered from act
ual want, for Ellen was very proud-too
| proud to complain, much less to beg
Alas! for the poor and proud. And,
indeed, when she could obtain work,
her nimble fingers earned enough to
| nd al,
and clothing-just that and no more.
For the past month, however, it had
been impossible for her to obtain work,
| and tonight there is nothing in the
house but half loaf of bread, and half
a dozen potatoes, little meal and a
few handfuls of coal. And the next
day is Christmas day of plenty, and
happy family reunions, and happy chill
| dren.
Ellen Gale sits shivering in the cold,
bare room, while outside the wind
bowls, and the rain beats against the
windows. Her thoughts 60 back to the
past-to the merry Christmas times she
has spent in her fathers house, the dear
old farm house up among the hills of
New Hampshire. She thinks of those
who gathered around that festal board
father, mother, sisters and brothers.
They are all gone-all except one BROTH
er, who has removed to the far West.
| This memory recalls to her that happiest
Christmas of all, her wedding day, when
she stood up in the old fashioned parlor
of the same old farm house, with her
handsome young lover, and the words
were spoken by the gray-haired man of
| God, which made her his wife. Oh!
the happy days and years that followed.
How tender, how true, how noble he
was-that husband of hers. How he
had loved her. Then the children had
come. How proud he had been of them.
What future he had planned for them.
And now they were suffering from want,
from hunger and from cold. She rose
and walked to their bed side. There
they lay fast asleep, looking so fair, so
angelic, but, oh: SO thin and pale. No
Christmas toys and pleasures for them
no pleasant surprise in the morning
| to gladden. their hearts and make home
happy.
oh! God,' she cried, 4 cannot, oh! T
cannot endure that they should suffer,
my dear ones, his and mine. Oh! Wal
ter, Walter, come back to them, to me
Many and many time in the past
four years has that cry, ''Walter, come
back to me- been wrung from the
depths of her agonized heart. She had
well nigh despaired of that prayer ever
being answered. But as the sound of
her voice dies away upon the air, she
hears loud rap upon the door. She is
not afraid, as many women would have
been, for it is past ten o'clock. She
goes to the door and opens it. A man
stands before her enveloped in heavy
overcoat, buttoned up to the chin. He
is bearded and bronzed, and it is no
wonder she does not recognize him.
But he knows her, and taking a step
forward, says, "Nellie, my darling,''
| and folds her close to his heart. Her
| prayer had been answered at last.
That heart-warm embrace over, and af-
ter the father has imprinted kiss
on the face of each of his Sleep
ing children, he looks around the bare
room and says:
"Nellie, dear, are you very poor?"
81 have been out of work lately,
Walter, dear, and we have but little
food in the house, and but handful