Stephens City star. (Stephens City, Va.) 1881-1883, 1883-01-20

his clothes, and care all over his face.
He was smiling now, and swinging a
plump little turkey.
"Here, mamma" he called, "here is
a bit of birthday for YOU
20 Johnr' she cried. "How could
you? Poultry 80 dear. and l with
never a dress or boot"
Il did not buy it," he answered:
cold Huxley gave it to me-"
"a charity bird. Shame on you,
Johnl Shame on you, poor as we are,
for taking charity. will not cook, or
eat or have any hand in the disgrace
of itr'
"Throw it away, then," he answered,
cor give it to some one without your
cursed pride" And without another
word he went out into the wind and
rain.
Charity! charityl charity" how the
word rang through her brain! Not all
the sorrow, and poverty, and disap-
pointment of her married life had ever
humbled her like this one gift.
Old Huxley had once been would
be lover of hers, and on former birth
days had offered her many valuable
trinket. This horrible bird, which John
had shamed her by accepting, was am
pie revenge for many scornful refusals.
While her cheeks yet burned with
angry, shame, the door opened again.
Annie was matter-of-fact woman
living in poor quarter of large city;
but for a moment her mind gave
great leap back to the dim ages of
nursery lore. There in her little dingy
kitchen stood a woman, bent enough,
wrinkled enough, for veritable fairy
godmother. She wore a dress of silk
and lace; her face was as yellow as the
yellow gold that linked itself about her
skinny throat and held the bright stone
that flashed and sparkled all over her
claw-like fingers.
Before Annie in any wise recovered
from the surprise of her presence she
spoke in sharp, rasping uoice:
$50 you are Annie Brown, are you?
And well-looking woman. so one
looks only at your face. But what has
my sisters child to do with this filthy
room, this tumble-down house, this for
saken street, and all this misery you
seem part and parcel of? Take your
baby, Annie, and come with me. You
shall be a lady, child, as your mother
was before you, even if she did die in
the poorhouse, and !, hand-tied, 5000
miles away"
"But ,Tohn?" gasped Annie. when
surprise would let her speak.
"And what of John?" cried the
gold-witch sharply. Il offer you
home such as you never even dreamed
of, rich dresses, food, and jewels: has
your John given you such things?
Will he ever give them to you?'
"John is my husband, the father of
my baby, father of the two God gave
us and took again; cannot leave him,
you know
81 know nothing of the kind" cried
jhe gold-witch. "You are my niece,
my own sisters child; your John, who
ever he may be, is no kinsman of mine:
want nothing of him; you say two
If your children are dead: SO will the
bird one be in this reeking atmos-
1here; it is sutfocating me already.
on have no right to kill your child,
10 right to refuse him change such
IS he will never have again. AS for
vour John, you may send him a thou
and dollars tonight. He is man;
hey are all alike; he had rather have
he money than YOU
The last two arguments were strong
mes, and illness and poverty had made
Annie weak. There was more feeble
assistance, more golden promises, and
it last she yielded.
Strange and bewildered enough she
elt when the prancing horses stood
'efore the great uptown hotel where
walters stood on every
land.
Now rest" cried the gold-witch,
whose will and word seemed law unto
thers
So she rested. The bed was white
nd downy; there were laces and rib
IONS floating aroundit; but in spite of
he softness and whiteness, the child {
hat lay on her bosom wept and walled
With low, heart-breaking cry, and at )
asst the baby, who up to that day had
ever spoken any word Or tried to