The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1883-04-05
The Little Samaritan.
BY \. KENT BROOKE.

| High School Of Ritletown, with an un-
| opened letter, just handed her by the
passing carrier i'll her hand. Miss Mary
Jane had her little peculiarities, hel
faults and her toibles, her likes and her
! dislikes, as what woman has not. or man
| either. for that matter? but Miss Mary
James one croWning dislike, which en-
| hit!elcd her whole soul. as much as it
was possible to embitter so sweet and
sunny soul, was her hatred for her
name The name Of Ham could not be
helped: it was the paternal patronymic
it belonged to the unfortunate son OF
Noah but why should her mother ag-
gravate the matter by adding the plebe-
ian Mary Jane ? There were hundreds
of feminine appelatives that We're quite
as inexpensive and that would have add
cd some grace to the inevitable Ham.
Without petitioning the general court.
Mary Jane had managed to tighten III a
small way her grievance. Her friends
called her Jennie. She signed her name,
in taultess chirography, as became a
Massachusetts school-ma am, NJ. Jennie
Ham: and she had faith that, in the
near future, some iautlcss young man
would endow her with a name far more
endurable than the one her father had
left her and which was all she had ever
received from him 1t was, therefore,
with sort of shudder that she read the
superscIiptior. which ran, in bold, bust
ness-like letters, across the envelope !:
Miss Mary Jane Ham. RtletoWn, Mass. >
The post mark, for once not blotted over,
was Chicago: the WIiter-Who? VI. Jen-
nie had no acquaintances in that famous
western city, and only by dint of hard
thinking did il occur to her that her
mothers eldest brother, John Rivers,
hyed there; bur he was reputed to be Of
immense wealth, and very likely he had
never heard OF her existence. She tore
open the envelope and read:
MY DEAR NIECE:
Il expect the reception of this letter will
cause YOU some surprise. and thc reading of it
more. am Your mothers eldest brother. " hen
| first came TO Chicago. used to correspond
with YOUR mother but, as the wears slipped
/ away. somehow our letters grcW more and
more infrcuucnt and finally ceased entirely.
Then your dear mother died. and. in the heat
of none getting, lost al traces of my eastern
relatives. Latterly, ] must confess from sell
fish motives, have been looking them up. |
am getting old My wife is dead. | have no
child. | need home. You must know that
business men frequently suffer great reverSeS.
| have written to each of my nephcws and
nicce> much as | have written to You. My let
ters have mostly remained unanswered; or. if
answered. furnished but cold comfort. Will
YOU take pity on an old man: | await your
answer with intense interest.
Your uncle, JOIN RIVERS"
NJ Jennie Slowly folded the letter, me
chemically replaced it in the envelope,
and, with preoccupied air. turned her
steps toward heI home. She had been
left an orphan at an early age, without a
relative to claim her, and had won her way
only by indeetigable industry and grit.
First. us a sewing girl going from house
to house, she had saved money enough to
fit herself for teaching she had toiled
night and day, and within the past twelve
months she had obtained a situation in
the RitietoWn High School, at a salary Of
seven hundred dollars per annum. She
liked dainty things; books and pictures,
soft, yielding carpets, and pretty furni-
tuIe She had woman's longing for
delicate laces and fine linens and crispy
silks and soft cashneres and. recently,
in a very small way. she had commenced
to revel in their possession. She had
! even, during the coming vacation, con
templated visit to the White Hills, and
over maps and in the dulcet pages Of
starr King, in imagination had t1oated
over the bright waters Of the Winnipiseo-
gee and drunk in the beauties of the
PemigeWasset, the SacO. and the Andro-
scoggin Valleys and here, in tie face Of
these long cherished anticipations. was a
| letter asking charity.
NJ. Jennie had tender heart. Her
struggles With poverty had left no cal
louses on it. Her mind went reluctantly
back to those Old, unpleasant days, and
then reverted to Uncle John. He had
been wealthy and now he had no home ;
he was old, his wife was dead, he was
her dead mothers brother, and he need
| ed some one to care for him. All well.
| Her life, 50 far, had been one long re-
preston Why not let it continue 50 to
the end? And, after all, is there not
| sometimes as much pleasure in the deni Il
| as i'll the qualification OF a wish?
| Long before she reached her home Jen-
ME had come to a decision. The little
| brown cottage must accommodate one
more. With friend OF her sewing days
she had rented little cottage Oh back
street, and thus satisfied the intense long
| ings of her heart for home. Her arrange
ments were soon completed, and the
next day the mail carried an answer to
| ncle John. ~, too" she wrote, 'have
! known what it is to have no home, and
| the one | have to offer to YOU may sadly
disappoint YOU but will try my best to
make it pleasant for you. Your room is
|
waits your coming
A week later an express wagon landed
an old man, with battered trunk, on
the doorstep Of the little brown cottage.
1t chanced to be ON Il Saturday, when
Jennie had no school duties, and the cor
dial words with which she welcomed I'm
Gle John were interrupted by a kiss on
the old mans cheek, which the latter did
not fail to repay. From under pair OF
bushy eyebrows there peered out two
keen, sagaciOus gray eyes, which took in
every look and movement Of the little
schOoma'am.
'NOu dear little Samaritan !" he cried.
"lou, Of all my relatives, alone consent
ed"
4 soft hand was placed over the old
mans mouth.
"Hush Uncle John," she said. "You
come as my honored guest, and you are
to make no Samaritan references to me-
Then she introduced him to her com
panion, showed him through the little
brown cottage, and with many a tug
and little cry, helped him carry the old,
battered trunk up the winding stairway.
This task accomplished, she proceeded
to store its contents in taultless order in
the bureau provided for the purpose.
$50 like your mother in her girlish
days." said Uncle John, interrupting her
in her work to indulge in one more good,
long look. "And what untold possessions
and pleasures do you deny yourself for
the sake Of giving an old man a home y
"Ah Uncle John" she answered, with
a merry laugh, "ny life has had so many
denlals that a few more or less are of lit