The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1881-04-22

| burdens from her shoulders.
I laughed bitterly. I knew well what
such sharing would be when Ruth had a
husband, and perhaps children, to take
| her time and her love from me. But /
was not harsh. I did not turn this
sutton from my house, and bid him never
speak to Ruth again, much as / longed
to do it. / worked more cautiously. I
let him go from me to Ruth and when
he left her and she came to me, all rosy
bushes, to tell me, with dropping lids
and moist eyes, of her new happiness, I
worked upon her love and hef. sense of
duty till she believed herself a monster
of ungrateful wickedness to think of leav-
ing me or taking any divided duty upon
| her hands.
I wept. asked her if she could face her
dead mother after deserving her helpless
father. I pointed out to her the unceas-
ing round Of wifely duty that would keep
| her from my side, and proved to her that
the duties of wife and child must clash,
if undertaken under such circumstances
as were proposed.
The loving, tender heart yielded to me
and John was tearfully dismissed.
| Through the warm autumn months, when
the corn ripened and was garnered-
when our crops were blessed and the lit
tie bank fund was increased by the price
Of the farm produce-Ruth grew very
quiet and subdued. She was not sad,
having always CHEEKY word and pleas
ant smile for me; but the pretty rose tint
left her round cheeks, and / no longer
heard her singing at her work. When /
read the best pages in my books to her,
[ would see her eyes fixed dreainily on
some far-away thought, her work lying
| idle, till she woke with start at my
fretful questions.
For I grew fretful and trying in those
days. wanted her to give Up woman's
dearest hopes and sweetest affections,
and be the same sunshiny Ruth she was
before my hand tore away her love
dreams. I wanted her to put away all
the loving tender ties of wifehood and
motherhood, and pass her life In devo-
ton at the armchair Of paralyzed old
man. And when she complied, with
gentle, touching submission, then I
wanted her to be the bright, happy girl,
who had resigned nothing, and who
could nurse sweet girlish fancies, with
John for a, hero An unreasonable old
tyrant, wasn't II
The winter came in early that year,
and before Christmas everything was
frozen up tight, and the cold was intense.
We piled up coal in the stoves, listed
doors and windows-that is, Ruth did
the work, and I enjoyed the result; but
there came one cold day-one Friday
| WI, ~ caa1ooa6 11c4.x
could conquer the cold. Children
froze on the way to school that day, and
were found, stiff and stark, leaning
against the fences. Food froze on the
tables. Ask anybody in Maine If they
remember that black Friday, and see Il
some mothers eyes will not fill as they
think Of the little scarlet-hooded figures
brought to their doors, white and rigid,
that had lifted rosy, round cheeks for a
kiss only few hours before.
On this cold Friday, Ruth hurried
through her work in the morning, max.
ing my room the warmest place in the
house, covering my armchair with soft
woolens, and moving it near the stove.
/ would have it face the window, for my
| glimpse of outdoor life was too precious
to resign; but I was not, as usual, near
it, for Ruth said there might be q
draught.
When all was done indoors, I saw from
my chair Ruth, with scarlet cloak and
hood thrown over her, going to the we'll
with an empty bucket. She ssepped
along quickly over the hard, frozen
ground, and I was admiring the trim
little feet and the dainty figure, when
saw her slide to the two steps that were
above the well walls and fall. She had
slipped. and she lay doubled up between
the two wooden steps and the rough sides
of thewell, as if she could not rise. Two
| or three times her hands clutched the
lower step, and she raised herself half
way up, only to fall back again, as if her
limbs would not support her.
And I could only look on, powerless to
move to aid her. Oh, the agony of it!
To know she was hurt, unable to rise,
and I helpless as a log. I screamed and
called for help. Silas was somewhere, I
could not tell where, and [ called loudly
| for him. 1 could see, after time, that
Ruth, after her frantic struggles, was
growing drowsy with the death sleep of
cold. The scarlet hood dropped more
and more, till it rested against the we'll
side, and the blue-veined lids closed over
her eyes. The sight called from me
such cry of agony as I thought must
be heard for miles.
1t was heard. A moment later John
Hayes, painting and eager-eyed, burst
open my door.
"What is it?" he cried. ST heard you
calling on the road"
'Ruth! Ruth" [ screamed. "She is
freezing to death by the we'll.
He stopped to hear no more. Out up
on the hard, slippery ground, down the
steps with swift, rapid strides, and
then | saw him stoop and lift the little
scarlet cloahed figure in his strong arms
and come swiftly back, bending his face
down over the senseless one on his arm.
while hot tears rained down his brown
cheeks. He put her on lounge near
my chair, and then dashed out for snow.
Rub her, rub herr' he said. 81 am
going for doctor and for my mother. F."
Before it seemed possible he could
have crossed the lots to his home, his
mother was with me, and lifted Ruth
away from the fire to the bed. The doc
tor came, and the two worked till my
heart sank with utter hopelessness be-
fore the blue eyes opened again, or the
breath futtered through the pale lips
But it did at last, and John joined me
in fervent ''Thank God"
But Ruth had broken her leg, and we
knew she must lie helpless for many
weeks before she could be our own active
bright girl again. 1t was an appalling
truth for me to face, but she was not
dead, not lying frozen against the rough
well curb, and couldnot but feel thank
fulness far. far above the pain Of know
ing her suffering was trying TO settle
it all in my mind; to understand the
doctors words, while Mrs. Hayes and the
doctor lifted Ruth to her own room, that
opened into mine. They were away
long time, and John sat beside me. hold
ing my hand in his, and comforting me
as if I had not taken the very hope of
his life from him.
Don't grieve So" he said, gently.
"She will i've"
"Thanks to YOU" I said. "Oh, John,
if she gets well, she is yours. Give her
your strong arm for life. John. instead