The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1883-05-04

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never had a PRAYER answered in my life.
If have, I'd Jest like to know how.
You say, mebbe, they've been an
swered Jest the same, only in different
way from / asked for. If you call it
answerin' prayer to give one thing when
you ask for another, | don't. An I'd
ruther not believe thar was God than
to believe He'd do a thing like that.
That's jest contrary to what He said
about himself an the bread an the
stone in the New Testament. It's worse
to think He'd cheat anybody like that
than to think He amt anywhar, accord
in to my mind. No, Mr.. Pendleton, a
human bein' needs a little human evil
dence once in a while to keep up their
faith, an I amt never had any. I'll
| jest let you know how it's been leetle.
Here | am, an old woman, an me an
Jackson's lived here on this rock for
forty years. An thar's been things
I've wanted different, but amt never
had 'em-things that I've cried an
prayed to the Lord for big things an
little things-but / never got one. Eff
the Lord had give me one of the little
things, it seems to me that I might have
got a feeling that He was here.
Forty years ago, when Jackson an
me was jest married an set up house,
keepin' here, thar was an awful storm
one night, an my father an my brother
was out yonder in it. / staid on my
knees all night prayin' The next
mornin' their two darlin' bodies was
washed ashore. Ny brother had only
been married few months-the sweet
est, loyingest little thing she was. |
prayed to hev her spared. She died,
an left her little baby
"But you had him for your own, did
younotp" interrupted Mr. Pendleton,
desperately. "He has been a comfort
to you. God has displayed His love and
mercy in this case in sparing him to
you"
"Mr. Pendleton-and the rheumatic
hand went up again-"I amt never
asked to hev him spared to me; eff /
had it would hev been different. / amt
got through yet. Thar's been lots of
other things, big ones, that / might jest
as well not speak of, and little ones.
Look at the bridge! I'll ventur' to say
i YOU ol1OOh yOlL oilOCo WHICH y Ou
came over it, an wouldn't be sorry this
minute eff youwas safe back. Whenev-
er jackson goes over it my heart is still
an cold till he comes back, for fear he's
fell through. I've prayed to the Lord
about that. Then-you may think this
a little thing but thar is Jackson's gar
den. He set out q rose-bush in it fifteen
year ago. Well, it amt died. Thar
amt ever been a rose on it, though. An
it seems to me sometimes that if thar
should be jest one rose on that bush
that | should believe that the Lord had
been thar. You wouldn't think I'd been
silly enough to pray about that / hev.
It's fifteen year, an thar amt never
been a rose thar. No, Mr.. Pendleton,
it amt no use. You mean well, but it
lays with God, eff He's anywhar, to show
Himself in a way to me that / can get
hold on"
So the pretty, rosy-faced young min
lister would 60 away, picking his way
cautiously over the unstable bridge,
after somewhat nonplussed prayer,
which Mrs. Reed, incapacitated from
kneeling by her rheumatic knees, had
sat and listened to grimly.
The Bar Lighthouse was three miles
from Rye. A sandy, desolate road al
most as billowy as. the sea stretched
between. The only house in the whole
distance was little brown one Just at
the other side of the bridge. The Wea-
vers lived there, mother and daugh-
ter. They supported themselves bv
| e., ~.
Reeds nephew, William Barstow, had
been engaged to marry the daughter
Abby her name was; but q month age
he had brought a wife home from the
city. He had rented pretty little tene-
ment over in Rye, and gone to house
keeping. Abby Weaver had tied up a
few little notes and keepsakes in a neat
parcel, and put them away out of sight.
Then she went on with her work. She
was q plain, trustworthy-looking girl,
with no show about her, as different as
possible from the one herrecreant lover
had married She was pretty, with an
enhancing little air of style about every
thing she wore. Abby had seen her GO
by few times in jaunty velvet jacket
and Killed petticoat, with the fair round
face with its fringe of fluffy blonde hail
smiling up at her husband out of be.
witching little poke. Then she had
gone and looked at herself in her poor
glass, taking in the old black alpaca, the
plain common face with the dull hair
combed back from her forehead.
s'No WONDER" said she. FAN Tn
glad it's SO, for | don't think the
Lord can blame him.
Sarah Reed had found double tria
in the breaking off the engagement
In the first place, she had liked Abby
In the second place, this new matri
monial arrangement had taken the
darling of her heart from under her I'M
mediate supervision. If he had married
Abby Weaver, he would have livee
either in the lighthouse, as he had done
all his life, or in her mothers cottage
But nothing could suit his pretty city
lady but to live in Rye. The bare ide;
of the lighthouse terrified her.
Sarah Reeds frame of mind had no
improved since the marriage.
| One afternoon, few weeks after thu
. young couple had set up housekeeping
{ an unexpected deficiency insome house
: hold stores sent jackson Reed to Rye
where the nearest markets were. 1t wa.
the middle of the afternoon when Ii,
, went, and there was a storm coming.
, "Don't worry, Sarah, = his last words
were, San I'll be back by five to ligh
the lamp. 1t II be pretty near darl
enough for it then, reckon, eff it keep,
on this way, eff it is June. y
/ She sat at her window with her knit
, ting after he had gone, and watched thu
J storm roll up. She had taken fancy
, lately to landward window, the on,
with the poor little garden patch under
it, and the rose-bush which never bios
Z somed. The bush really looked won
derfully thrifty, considering its many
, drawbacks to growth. But it was in
sheltered corner, and had all the warmth
| and mildness that could be had in tn,
| bleak place. 1t was three feet high o.
SO, q hardy little Scotch rose. Their,
, certainly seemed no reason in nature
why it should not blossom, but blossom
, it never had. Mrs. Reed never looked
at it now for buds. She never ever
glanced at it to-day; she only looked on
, uneasily at the darkening sky, and kni
on her stocking. She was always knit
tino ctOcEinoc. IN fact IL wac all RI,