Wessington Springs herald. (Wessington Springs, Aurora County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1891, 1883-08-04

And, in the end, my faith discerns
Their modes OF being vary;
Mans palace to the dust returns,
Life-tO the cemetery.
The city of the silent host
Shall wake from dusts detection,
And captive Death his empty boast
Hush on the Resurrection!
William C.. Richards, in Youths Companion.
MIR. GRUBBY'S OLD POCKET.BOOK.
One warm day in June, when the sky
was all covered with flying black clouds,
and the distant hills half hidden by a
thick veil of gray mist, Hope Hunter
scampered along a wide country road
that ran between the s%chool-house in
the village of Burbank and her home,
which was about a mile distant.
Hope was in a desperate hurry to
wore her new blue dress, and her
mother had said, as she fastened the
last button:
sNow, Hope, this dress looks very
nicely, and it took me q long while to
make it. So try not to spoil it in n
day, as you did your last"
Hope looked anNiously at the frown-
ing sky as she flew along, her school
bag swinging on her arm and her hat
pushed far back on her head. She had
almost reached the garden gate, when
her foot caught in a projecting root of
an oak tree in the road, and she fell
full length upon the ground, strewing
the contents of her bag in all directions.
The tears stood in Hopes eyes as she
collected the scattered articles and
crammed them hastily back in the bag.
They were all safe, but the beautiful
penknife her father had given her as a
birthday gift, and that She could find
nowhere. A steep bank covered with
long grass and weeds sloped away from
the road near the tree over whose roots
Hope had just now fallen. AS the
knife was not upon the road, it must
have slipped over this bank. So Hope
scrambled upon the gnarlcd roots and
peeped down.
Yes, there it was, shining brightly
among the grass and leaves. She
jumped down, snatched it up, and was
shout to spring back to the road, when
her eye fell upon an old leather pocket
book lying close to where she had found
her knife, and half hidden under a large
stone. Hope picked it up, and, climb
ing back to the road, u%nbuckled the
broad strap with which it was fastened,
and looked in. 1t was filled with pa
pers neatly folded and crowded together
90 closely that the pocket-book bulged
in all directions.
II thought it couldn't have any
money in it," said Hope; i looked too
old and greasy. Some one must have
thrown it away. Oh. how nice and
thick!' she exclaimed, as the paper
rlstled between her fngers-sjust the
think to make pin-wheels Of"
At this moment a large drop Of rain
1dl from a cloud and splashed down
upon Hopes lose. She flung the pocket
book hastily on the ground, thrust the
papers into her bag, and hurriedly
down the path to the house. The rain
tell briskly as she flung open the hall
door and ran painting into the front
room, where her mother sat reading a
letter.
.'Did the rain catch my little girl?"
said mamma, as Hope lifted up her
mouth for a kiss.
''Oh, no, 1 ran too fast" answered
Hope, laughing. II a so fast that l
triPped we the scrubby roots of that
old tree on the road"
"Did you hurt YOURSELF" inquired
her mother, %anxiously.
"Not much"
"Those roots must be cut off," said
mamma, going to the window and look
ing out. "Only yesterday 1 saw old
Nj. Grubby stumble headlong across
the road. He might have killed him
self"
Mamma, there's that nice sailor man
who gave me the little ship" said Hope,
suddenly, pointing out of the window to
young man who was Just then cross
ing the road-.sMrs. Barns son, YOU
know"
"Dear! dear! the root has tripped
him up, too,' cried Mrs. Hunter.
"He is not hurt, mamma. See! he
jumped up as lightly as a bird. L won
der what he is looking at in his hand?
oh, Isee now-it's the old pocket
book"
"What pocket-book, Hope?' inquired
her mother.
Il found an old pocket-book on the
bank, but it was so greasy that 1 threw
it away"
@'Hope, the postman brought a letter
for youths morning from your cousin
Amy" said Mrs. Hunter, turning away
from the window, and forgetting all
about the pocket-book.
"Did Amy write allherself?" inquired
Hope, wonderingly..
II think So" answered her mother,
with a smile.
"Please read it to me mamma; 1 can't
read writing very we'll"
This is what Amy writes" said Mrs.
Hunter, holding the letter SO that Hope
could see it distinctly, and pointing to
each word with q needle:
'1onAB CoUs1E HoPH-I an. coming home
AAf1Eday. 1h&yee QeH doll an1 doll cayriaEa.