The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1881-06-17

h0mfatlon inspired by her personal
charms. Among those who became
strongly attached to her was an old
woman known as Mother McNavit, who
lived in a hovel adjoining. She was
past 10, childless, friendless and desti-
tute. She earned meager livelihood
by the labor of her aged hands. Her
sharp tongue and uncannny behavior
had alienated general sympathy and at
tention, and she dwelt alone, hating the
world which had at last withdrawn what
little kindness it had ever shown to her.
But the poor old heart was not SO un-
feeling Us the world thought it. or as
| she herself wished it was. It had sim
ply been bruised and neglected till its
soreness made Il angry and defiant
toward ell that approached.
All but one. The beauty and gentle
ness of Annie had come upon it SO ten
derby that its sensitiveness and hostility
were disarmed, and it chung TO the child
with an unnatufal strength as the only
object It loved In all the desolate world.
| The forlorn creature had once had chill
dren of her own, but she had buried
them all. She fancied that Annie looked
like her daughter Hetty. II she had
lived, she said, her poor old mother
might not be 80 forsaken now; but the
sweet BARN could not nave been kinder
or dearer to her than was her Hetty-
Annie, God bless her for so she min
gled their two names together.
The devoted love of the helpless old
woman was returned by as warm an
affection on Annie's part. Her pity was
touched by the forsakenness and desti-
tuition she saw thefondness with which
she was caressed and idolized awoke the
deepest sympathies in her nature, while
the constant association Of her name
with that Of the dead daughter finally
impressed her with the feeling that she
stood in the same relation to the be-
reaved mother. With nature as sin
cere as Armies, to feel thus was to man.
fest her sense of filial love in every pos
sible way. So marked and unremitting
were her attentions to the object of this
strange affection that her parents and
more intimate acquaintance were won't
to address her sportively as Mother
McNavit's child. The epithet did not
offend her. Her love was too earnest
and respectful for her to be ashamed or
annoyed by any allusion to it whatever.
If the nickname produced any effect at
all upon her, it only strengthened the
tie that existed between her and the
desolate old woman.
At the date of this story the smallpox
was ravaging Edinburgh. The disease
was of an unusually violent type, and
the greatest CONSERVATION prevailed
throughout the city. One day Mother
McNavit was ailing. The frightened
neighbors summoned physician, who
told them she was stricken with the con-
tagion. They informed her that she
must be removed to the hospital. The
intelligence appeared to inspire her with
mortal terror. She begged and prayed
them to leave her where she was, but
they paid no heed to her supplications.
As last favor she asked that before she
was taken away they would let her see
her Hetty-Annie. When Annie was
told of this desire, in spite of her natural
timldity and the remonstrances of her
friends, she went to the friendless bed
side. The poor terrified old creature,
upon beholding her, exclaimed wildly:
"Oh, Hetty-Annie, daughter, if you
ever loved or pitied me, show it now
They're going to take me to the 'spital.
Don't let them Don't let them For
mercy's sake, don't let them !"
Wouldn't it be better for you,
mother?"
My God do you say that, too, Het-
ty-Annie? And all this while have
thought of you as my child. They've
all forsaken me, and you are going with
them. God will desert me next then
there can be no more disappointment"
"There, there, mother dear, don't
cry, " said Annie, fearlessly and tenderly
pressing her lips to the burning cheek
in her eagerness to console the poor old
woman I'm not going to forsake you.
I merely asked if the hospital was not
better place for you because they all
said so.
eyes, they all say it; and they all
think the grave would be still better
place for me. I'm willing to go to my
grave, but not from the spital not
from the 'spital I can die here alone
just as well, and it won't break my
heart as it would to be sent to the 'spital.
Oh, Hetty-Annie !" she cried, wildly
clasping her withered arms about the
girls neck, there is no one but you to
take my part; for sweet Jesus sake,
don't let them take me to the 'spital p
Annie quoted her with endearing
names and caresses, and laid her gently
back upon her pillow.
"You shall not go to the hospital,
mother; you shall not die here alone
you shall not die here at all if I can save
you"
Her manner was very, calm, but hel
features were deadly pale. She com.
menced quietly arranging the things in
the little room, as if she had taken
charge of it. Turning to a neighbor,
she said:
"I'm not going home again until
Mother McNavit is we'll. Please ask
mother to send me the things shall
need"
When expostulated with by her par
ents and friends, she only replied:
"Here is poor, terrified, friendless
huAIe0h OCA1SoS WIZ CAAASSo W u1S AId11u-
cally as her only hope and comfort on
earth. I could never be happy if I for
sock her in her agony"
When the influence of her pastor was
enlisted to point out to her the useless
ness of her sacrifice, she simply said:
81 do it for Christ Himself for He
teaches me in His word that inasmuch
as l do it unto the least of these do it
unto Him."
And so, innmoyable in her calm pur-
pose, she watched by the wretched bed
side; watched through the fever and
delirium, and all the horrors of the loath-
some disease watched till the danger
passed from the sufferers pillow, and
settled upon her own devoted head.
She lived through the terrible ordeal.
Health came slowly back to her; but
her beauty had gone, never to return.
A scared and repulsive face was all that
was left her. The polish of her brow
and the velvet of her cheek, that was
once so lovely to look upon, had been
laid as a sacrifice at the feet of the lonely
old woman.
"No, Tom; they had been laid up as
treasures in heaven, / said, as Tom put
~