The pioneer express. [volume] (Pembina, Dakota [N.D.]) 1883-1928, 1883-04-27
"PAPA'S OLD PET. /"

Itseems to vanish In night. &
60 So ai'3i
"PAPA'S OLD PET" (.
i BY KATE WINDSOR.
The parlors ola private residence n
the suburbs of Newton; time, 8 O'Clock.
Two gentlemen, evidently friends, are
seated before the open CRATE, in which q
coal fire is burning brightly. Ever and
anon they lean forward in their easy
chairs and extend their hands, as if ia
grasp more of the generous warmth
which is already penetrating to every
corner of the cozy apartment.
Both are well-to-do merchants of the
quaint New England town in which they
were born, and where they have resided
all their lives. On the table by their
side stands decanter, we'll filled with
IA. e old port, and an open box con.
tanning choice cigars.
Come, I'll, mani" says the host to his
guest, 81 don't envy the poor beggars
Who pass by such tipple us this. It will
warm you up and give you new lease
of life"
The invitation is promptly accepted,
and the action is repeated again and
again. Soon their tongues are ioosened,
and the conversation becomes quite ami
mated. Brilliant sallies of wit and peals
of contagious laughter followed each
other in quick succession, until the hour
hand on the parlor clock points the hour
of IL, and Richard Grant, the guest OF
the evening, rises hastily from his seat.
"By Jove, Percival, how time fliesl"
he says, II had no idea it was 80 late,
and l promised Mary to be home by 10
o'clock"
married life" replied the bachelor host,
laughingly' you are too convivial'
Grant, for benedict"
''We'll talk about that another time"
responded Mr.. Grant, smiling. Per-
haps the advantages more than counter
balance the disadvantages. Anyhow,
am satisfied, Percival, and 80 you would
be if you had as good a wife as mine."
friends hand, wishes him goodnight"
Ethel, the 5 year-old daughter of Mr.,
Grant, is dying. Already her wan little
face bears spiritual look, and her
mother can no longer hide from herself
the fact that death is near.
The little one has but one cry, IT want
papan and as Mrs. Grant hears it her
heart, is sad indeed. Mr.. Grant is o
good husband and indulgent father, but
he is not what the world call q domesti-
Gated man. He knows that his child
"papa's old pet" as he is wont to call
hers on the verge of eternity. Yet
so strong is his inclination for company
that he cannot leave his. friend until
midnigh hit.
So Ethel calls for papa in vain. Her
mother sits by the bedside with an agoni-
zed look OH her features and the hot
tears coursing swiftly down her cheeks.
Bring Tecdy' mama dear"
Already the voice is becoming more
feeble and tremulous. No time is to be
lost, and Teddy, the baby, is held be-
fore her.
A ray of light eliminates her face as
she looks lovingly on her little play
mate.
'tDear Teddyw
Suddenly, very suddenly, there comes
change.
ooh, mamma, it is so dark-so dark!'
Mrs. Grant bends over, presses her
,wn lips to the child's, and with
mighty effort to restrain her grief,
mys:.
Patience, my darling! The light is
coming"
ooh, mamma, nurse Ethel"
The mother cannot resist the appeal.
She lifts child, pillow and clothing to
her lap, and awaits the end. She has
not long to wait. The little face assumes
! wax-like hue. Evidently the white
winged messenger is near.
"By, mamma! By papa!"
A bBeathless silence reigns in the
room. Other mothers are present, and
they weep silently.
Ethel sleep-papa-kiss"
And Ethel sleeps-sleeps the sleep
that knows no waking. Her pure spirit
has gone to God who gave it, and mamma
and Teddy will see her here nevermore.
T. -
"What, up still, Mary? Why did you
wait for me?" Mr.. Grant inquiries, q
touch of impatienre in his voice.
Hush, Ricbard! There are others
in the house, and trouble has come to
u.s."
It is O'Clock, and Mr.. Grant has just
returned, flushed with wine, and in ex-
uberant. spirits. The impress of sorrow
is on his wife's features, and there is
Ruch O strange light in her eyes that he
pauses to look at herr"
What 90 you mean, Mary"
""Oh, Richard, we have lost 'papa's
ole. petr' And Mrs Grant, unable longer
to restrain her grief, filings herself in
her husbands arms and weeps pi:ifully.
Gently disengaging himself he hastens
to the chamber.
Yes, it is quite true. There before
him lies the earthly shell-all that is left
to him Of his little darling, He is quite
sober now. Then comes his wife to Join
him, and tell him ali that has taker place.
eff you had but been here, Richard"
she says, plaintively, ''it would not been
so hard to bear. Why did you not
come?o
"Well, my dear, met Peicival, and
he invited me home. We had q glass or
two of wine, and conversing together
the time slipped away"
"Have YOU never thought, Richard,
how it must be for me sit here hour af-
ter hour, listening for the footsteps that
seldom comes till morning?"
mo. Mary, I have not thought much;
about it, or perhaps I should not have
neglected you"
lit is natural that you should like the
companionsi,ip of your friends; but it is
more natural that l and the children
should have your fist attention. The
dear child whom God has taken from us
has often cried herself to sleep calling
for you"
"Say no more now, Mary. cannot
bear it. We are sorely stricken, and
must help each other to bear our sor-
row."
:, The house seemed to be deserted, al