The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1883-08-17


saw was in masculine hand. and
faint flush tinged her pale cheeks, L
turned away to look at a picture, while
she tore open the envelope. When I
turned back the flush had faded, and
left her paler than before, her lips were
quivering little, and her eyes had
dim, hopeless look, which moved me
sorely.
Cara, yor are not WE'LL" I cried.
Dear child, you must come with me.
you shall do exactly as you please. You
shall have room with north light and
be alone when you like, and no one
shall ask you a questian. We will make
excursions into the country, and you
shall sketch while | read, and
"But Cara stopped me with motion
of her hand. mo, no, she said, 4 can
not come. Do not make it hard for me
to refuse by urging me. must stay
here-there is no other place for me-
Her tone was decided that I felt il
would be useless to urge her further and
sadly and reluctantly I left her. That
night came the news of the severe ill,
ness of your mother, my only sister &C;
colnpanied by an entreaty that l would
60 to her. Of course / went by the first
train next morning, leaving only note
for Cara, to explain my sudden depart
ure.
''It was ting first of August when l had
left the city, but September had come
and well nigh gone before your moth
er's health was sufficiently established
to enable me to leave her.
II saw your friend, Cara Hastings, to-
day." said one of the ia mily, as we
gathered around the table for the first
meal after my return. I am afraid the
poor girl is in bad way. She was al.
ways fragile, but now she is shadowy.
She has settled cough and hectic
color. She looked very pretty. but I
should be sorry to see any dear friend
ofmine looking pretty in just the same
wayl"
~ need not say that the next morn
ing found me on my way to Cara studio
1t was all true. knew it as soon as l
looked in her face. She threw herself
into my arms with a little cry of delight,
which changed into spasln ofcoughing,
and I felt the slight form pant and
culver in my arms.
"Cara! dear child, what have you been
doing to YOURSELF" cried in dismay.
"Cara smiled her own bright, cheerful
smile.
81 have had very hard summer"
she said, "but / shall soon be strong
again. Now that it is all over can tell
you about it, but at one time I really
thought that should nver live to do SO,
'sIt was not a romantic story, for there
was no love in it, and no tragedy, save
as plainly foresaw, looking in my poor
Cara's face.
II suppose was rather extravasant
in the spring. said Cara, for i need a
NTJy <t,y Il \, lI -.
money of Maud KS lessons would keep
me ali summer. Mand and her mother
left town rather suddenly in June and |
did not know where they had gone. I
sent my bill to the house, however, not
doubling that it would be paid at once.
waited month, and in the meantime
my funds ran very low, and I found
that the strictest economy was necessary.
Do what | would, however, the money
melted away like water and at last in
despair, l resolved to write to DIR. x.
1t was hard thing to do, but I did it,
merely telling him that had sent in my
bill to Mrs. x. at such date and having
heard nothing from her feared that it
had not been forwarded. 1t seemed to
me that life and death hung upon the
answer, yet I did not really doubt that
he would send the money at once. His
answer came one day while you were
with me-"
II remember" said, briefly.
There was no money. enclosed, as l
ly informed me that the. bills of 1aud's
lessons and schooling were always set
tied by Mrs. X; that the bill had been
duly forwarded to her, and that, no
doubt, she would settle, it promptly
upon her return i'll September. And +
had Just sixty cents in the Werldp''
My poor Cara? l cried, "What did
you do?''
DO? What was there to do?' said
Cara. Fortunately my rent was paid
for three months in advance, SO that /
was sure Of shelter, at least. For the
rest, lived for month upon that sixty
cents. Of course could not afford to
buy fuel, so bread and water constituted
my entire diet. Two rolls day not very
satisfactory, but it was all could afford.
Two cents a day will not set very lux
urious table. Hungry? l think / was
not so much hungry as weak. The
worst of all was that I could not paint.
! had not the strength to stand before
the easel, and my hand shook so that /
sometimes it really seemed that my
mind wandered. Dear, you must not
feel SO badly aboutit. 1t is all over now.'' y
For l was crying silently at the
thought of all she had suffered through
that horrible summer, and still more at
the thought it was not lover, that, alas!
it had just began.
"Oh, Cara! why would you not come
to me when l begged your l sobbed at
last.
'Dear, could not" said Cara gently
~ should have felt like beggar. /
could not tell you of nv straits, and I
could not go and live upon you, know
ing that I was actually pauper, 1
should have felt ashamed even before
your servants. If you will ask me for a
visit now that have money enough to-
make me independent, I will come; but
at that time | could not-I tried, but, in
deed I could not"
Ask her? of course 1 asked her,
knowing well 1t was the last thing 1
should ever do for her. That months
starvation had done its work, and the
weakened system fell an easy victim to
the. hereditary foe which might else
have been bafHed. When Cara left our
house at last it was with hands meekly
folded upon her breast, with the sight
less eyes yelled by their long dark LASH
es, and the smile of the triumphant re-
deemed upon her pallid lips"
Aunt Grace's lips were quivering and
her eyes dim with teaas as she finished
her story. Rose had dropped her work
and sat with her eyes fixed upon her
aunt's face.
"How did DR.. X. feel when he heard
of it?" she asked, at last.
He never knew it," said Aunt Grace.
"When I take up the religious or sec
ular papers and read the burning and
eloquent words in which he pie led the
cause Of some benevolent object, / won
der what he would say if he knew the
true story of little Cara Hastings"
But he ought to know it," said Rose,
Indignantly. n