Dodge City times. [volume] (Dodge City, Kan.) 1876-1892, 1883-12-20

the morrow. had money and a wife
and children. was warmly clad and
in the best of health. The bitter cold
was nothing to me. and those at home
had every comfort.
halted with the crowd before grand
show-window, and there, SO near that !
could have pulled her rags, was one
of my victims. She was a woman of
fifty, gaunt, pinched, ragged, and great
black eyes which had the look of some
hunted animal. l saw all this at a
glance and turned away. What was it
| to me whether she wore silk or rags?
Why should l care whether she was
penniless or had plenty? Was it my
business to ask whether she had food
and fire whether she was wife or
widow whether children waited for
her in some wretched room, or whether
she lived alone and had money boarded
up.
You wouldn't have asked. Not one
man in ten thousand would have cared.
! What is one poor old woman more or
less TO the crowds who surged up and
down the busy streets of busy city ?
was going home with presents for
all-with bright anticipations = with
gratitude in my heart that [ had some
one to love, when that woman met me
face to face. SnowHakes were falling
on the old shawl covering her head, and
the face which hunger had pinched was
pinched again with the cold. Her
great. fear-haunted eyes looked square
ly into mine as she held out her hand.
She did not speak. That bare arm
the skeleton fingers-the rags were
enough.
Then / committed a foul crime. l did
not strike her, nor brush her aside, nor
curse her. read her poverty and her
suffering in single glance, and
turned away and passed on. She was
a beggar. Perhaps she was drunkard
as well. How did know that she had
not been released from the work house
that very afternoon? If she was old and
poor and friendless her place was in the
poor-house.
l looked back over my shoulder and
there she stood, hand outstretched tow
ards me as if she were praying to God
to soften my heart and bring me back,
and had faith that he would answer her
prayer,
But [ did not halt: l felt stab, but
I conquered it, and said to my accusing
conscience: '.Be still! you might give
every dollar you possess to the poor,
and you would receive no thanks! T"
That night. when all the little stock
ings had been filled, and wife and l had
expressed our gratitude for the blessings
of life and the good health which had
been ours for years, slept to dream. /
dreamed of the gaunt woman who had
asked for aims. L dreamed of howell
in which there was neither food nor
fire nor lamp. l dreamed that fol-
lowed her home and heard means and
sobs and prayers as / listened at the
door. l tried to open it but it
would not yield. l tried to cry out that
had come to help her. but the words
would not come. | wanted to give her
money, and tell her that l had mis-
| Judged her and would help to make it a
happy Christmas by sending food and
fuel, but while l struggled to speak
| form stole past me into the wretched
abode and whispered:
1t is too late! p"
When the morning dawned I could
not rest. hurried out and walked the
streets, scanning every face and figure,
and hoping against hope that would
meet my victim. could not find her.
| Then left the streets and journeyed
through alleys where 1 had seen the
pale faces of the poor peering through
shattered panes. By and by 1 came to
4 time-beaten, misunderstanding howell
half buried under the snow. Frost COW
cred the paDes and snow had drifted
over the doorstep. 1 looked for smoke
from the chimney, but none came forth.
listened for sounds of human voices,
but listened in vain.
Then l felt myself a criminal, and
trembIed rs if the law had laid its hand
upon me. would have run away, but
some strange power prevented and
urged me nearer. l knocked at the
door. No answer. l tapped on the
window. All was silent.
Then opened the door and stepped
in. had committed murder, and like
other murdererS had been drawn back
to the scene by some strange fascina-
ton. In a chair-the only one in the
hovel-sat the woman who had held out
her hand to me. Her face was held in
ucI uitDuS. anu SIt 6CcluCu w ustNC
shriveled up. On the bed--on the rags
and straw covered with rags and
locked in each others arms, were the
children-a girl of nine and boy OF
twelve. On the wall near by were two
stockings-faded and ragged and worn,
but hung there for Santa Claus.
The stockings were empty. touched
the woman and called 'GOOd-mOrn
ing" but she did not move.
| bent over the children and shouted:
'.NIerry Christmasr' but they did not
awake.
They were dead! In my dream had
seen specter pass me and enter. 1t
was the specter of death. Hunger and
cold and sickness and despair had in
vited him in.
And where is my defense?
could have given, and l did not. One
single coin would have given them
bread that night. The hundredth part
of the contents of my purse would have
lighted and warmed and fed them and
placed tokens of mother love in the
ragged stockings.
That was my crime. 1t accuses me
by day and comes to me in my dreams
by nj ght. L give and give, but that
voice is ever whispering: sit is toe
later'
Che Euavv Him nv lIiS Dv.nEou Tnn