The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1883-10-27
A SCAR ON THE FOREHEAD,
BY C. 8. A.

tne neartnStone plying her busy needle.
Her eyes were dim and sunken, her
cheeks thin and pale, her lips pinched
and purple and her slender figures so
shrivelled with the icy chill that was fast
palsying her that the plain gold ring on
her wedding finger and the thimble
that she held We're every now and then
dropping into her lap. Her delicate
form was shivering even under the
heavy shawl which she had thrown about
her shoulders, and she looked often with
a wistful glance at the little basket If
fuel that stood beside the fire place.
Another hour passed and the clock
struck one.
9" He must soon be here now" whis-
perea she, IN a alf-frightened tone.
6 will lay aside my work and make
things as cheerful as | can"
So she brushed the ashes from the
hearth, drew the Goals together, threw
on them handful of the carefully-saved
fuel and famed the faint flame till it
flashed high in the chimney. Then she
looked about the room to see If aught
could be mended; but the few ar icles it
held were all in their wonted place, and
everything as neat as the hands OF love
could make it. An arm chair was drawn
from corner close to the cracking fire,
and the dressing gown that hung upon
1t spread out anew and a pair of slip
pers were upon the fender The lamp
was trimmed afresh, the table busted
and beside it was placed knife almost
as bright as though the blade had been
silver instead of steel.
:" have done the best / can" said
the pale watcher, as again she sank into
her char. "On, If [ were only sure OF
one kind word, " she continued. 'Harkr'
She started up and listened. 1T is he
and how he Gangs the gate! | shall
have fearful time with him. :"
She FASTENED to the front door and
gently opened it.
A man staggered in, and, reeling this
way and that, reached finally the room
his gentle wife had made SO bright and
cheerful. But what was her reward? A
volley of oaths SO foul that 1t seemed as
If an army of fiends had spoken with one
voice. He cursed the piggardly fire,
though to make that she and her chill
dreu had been half frozen AL day: he
swore at the patched dressing gown,
though out of ner own thin wardrobe
she mad planned it, he raved at the
bread and meat, though her own lean
fingers had earned them both. And
when, angel-like and woman-like. too.
she gave him a smile for every frown,
an endearing epithet for every oath, and
would have wound her arms around him
to win him back to reason and himself
he raised bis heavy hand aud dealt her a
powerful blow; ave, he struck her till
every nerve quIyered with anguish, and
she, his wife and the mother OF his beau
teous childrenl And now, when she lay
PROSTATE before him, he raised himself
to kick her thence. A slight young
hand pushed off the booted foot, even as
1t was falling on the trembling woman,
and voice, agonized in its tones, ex-
claimed:
Forbear, my father, for, though,
your wife, she is yet my mother, and l
will save Der from your rage!
The eyes of the drunkard quailed a
moment before the upturned gaze of his
first born, so mournfully holy was the
look that beamed from his fearful face;
then fiendish glare burned in his own.
aud exclaiming:
You, too-must / level my whole
household ere | can find peace" he
seized the glistenIng knife and struck
his child.
Will he live?" moaned the poor
mother to the surgeon, when he had
bandaged the boys head. "He is very
pale and weak. ="
at is a CHASTITY and dangerous
wound" said the surgeon; "only the
eighth of an inch deeper and it would
have been fatal-yet with care he may
survive"
Mother, there was pathos in the
tone that drew her eyes earnestly to the
speaker, a STRIPPING of but II years
mother, | am going away"
"Away-and where, Ernest?" she in
CURED.
81 cannot say" he replied; "God
must direct my steps-but go from here
| must. The curse of the drunkard's
son is on me. None will regard me-
nooe even give me work. And more,
mother, if | stay here | must forget my
Bible, for how can | honor my father
When he so dishonors HIMSELF"
Very long did the boy talk and plead
ere he won the fearful consent; but she
gave it at length, aud, WITH little KNAPP
sack on his back. his mothers Bible IN
one pocket and her slender purse in the
other, Ernest went forth in the great
world to seek, not so much fortune or
fame, as that peace and Joy which a
drunken father would not give him in
his home.
Years passed away, and there came no |
tdlngs from Ernest, save that after the |
hrst one, and each quarter brought the |
mother a remittance, and each success |
slve quarter one of a higher figure. |
Welcome, too, were they all: for, but |
such generous AID, the workhOuse had |
CLAIMED her and her children; for down
ward, still downward, went her husband. |
ms absence no longer counted by hours,
but weeks and mouths.
In BUSTING city, many miles from
MS native town, a stranger one night
found him In a gutter, half.froZ4n.
starved, weary and sick. Like a good
Samaritan, he picked him up, and as be
was too weak to walk, placed him in a
conveyance and had him taken 70 his
own home. A warm bath. clean gar
ments, wholesome food and a soft bed
were freely offered hun, and passive as
child when worn and languid, he suf-
tered them to deal with him as they
chose and soon sank into & deep, re-
tresn'ug slumber
III was hour9er be awoke. and then
ne seemed as III a dream. The fiftny
gutter IT which be had lost his con-
sclpusuess was now exchanged for a
oowny bel, with pillows white and soft
as snow, with snow-white cOuuterpane
and dsmask haRg'ngs His rags had dis.
appeared, and IN their stead he saw him
sell robed IN fine linen. The dirt was
washed from his face and hands, his hair