The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-10-18

notl And you-you really believed in my
heartlessness-you know you did What right
had you to think me a pharisee{ For shame,
George Locke! | thought you knew me-
"In the nick of timer thought the man, fol
lowing helplessly as she moved to answer the
knock announcing the weary pilgrims coming.
And he was not the first man-nor yet the last
constrained to own that, as compared to the
nimble wiles of women, mems artfuiness is bnt
a clumsy and transparent effort.
And so it was that twenty-four hours later
Mary French, with diplomatic, deferential inter.
est. sat listening to the disclosure. on spiritual
ism, into which she had ~skillfully led her guest,
1t was not difficult to understand how all the
more mystical and %poetical phases of that doc
trine had taken hold in this gentle. unphilo-
sophie mind of antiQuated simplicity.
Il do not doubt that our dear ones return
she said; but we do not perceive them often,
for our senses are dulled by the worlds gross
usage. | have tried strenuOuslY to comply with
the conditions in order that l might receive the
materialized presence. l have sometimes
thought that if my daughter"
She stopped short with a little, FAINT cry. A
woman's form stood in a window fronting upon
the long front gallery-a figure graceful small,
of perfect mold, compassed about with hlmsy,
misty clouds of vaporous white, the little head
was banded round with bands of waving golden
hair the great blue eyes were full of mournful
resignment; the sweet. f~aultless lips were sad;
the whole face was the face of a suffering angel.
She held one lovely hand toward the twain
within the room, and the sweet, sad lip spoke:
"Mother-retuPnw
Then swiftly and silently the vision was
Jack Daniel did not tarry with the pseudo
news he bore. The mother had not spoken when
he came in. The details of his story had been
skilltully devised. Small poX had broken out In
F~lintville the week of the teachers advent there.
She had contracted the scourge, and d sudden
chill had driven it in with swift congestion.
Death had come very soon, and immediate in
terment had been needful. She had died with
her mothers name upon her lips. Watching the
mother carefully, the young man was going on
with tentative platitudeS of sympathy, and the
regrets of those who knew the dead girl. The
old lady covered her dim eyes with her hand;
her delicate lips wrung piteously.
You are very kind, she said, still with pre-
cision; 'but-will you leave me in solitude with
my sorrow! Dear young lady, will you come to
me later onl Tomorrow will leave you."
Without a word Mary French and Jack Daniel
went softly to the room where George Locke
was watching beside the Aylmer. She covered
like some stricken creature, still yelled by the
foamy masses of clinging tulle that had made
her appearance at the window ghost like. The
creole touched their hostess, bending down hui
mid eyes.
Say something TO her" he said ~pitifuliy. 81
think her mothers suffering hurts her less than
her position with you. She would not stay in
here with Daniel, but made him go and leave me
with her"
That argument was an unwise one. 1t was not
enough. then, that her old lover stood here,
with his face downcast In conscious shame for
his relation with this fallen creature. She must
ply her uefarious acts on some other man trad
ing on his chivalry. Mrs. French's face hard
ened as her heart grew hard again. The
crouching woman lifted her tear-stained visage
and came to stand before the other, with plead
ing written on every line of her bearing.
Il have no right to even thank you. she said,
and yet / would lay down my life for your
pleasure. Don't think l do not feel my shame;
| even recognize the mockery of being wrapped
in this she ha0t her Inns gratefully and peVpr-
entity TO the airy gauZe about her. 1t was Mary
French's bridal veil that she had brought out
hastily when their project had been found to
lack such an accessory. son, there is nothing
like a woman's kindness to a woman! The love
of man. at best, is only a selfish passion. In all
the greatest crises of a wOmans life she wants q
woman's ministering. l have been so long shut
out from that sweet consolation; oh, for my
very souls sake, speak to me and help mel
But Mrs. French stepped back and answered
coldly:
Il am sorry for your distress. L think your
unfortunate mother will be needing me. My
parlor is at your service, as anything you may
require to recover your composure. Mr.. Locke,
my hospitality is in your hands"
A fire at their corral disabled the stage com
pany's rolling stock, so that the outgoing coach
was not in readiness to leave until the lamps
lighted in the Continual saloon twinkled their
reflections in the malodorous pool above the
dam. The usual knot of loungers stood in wait
I ing as IL swung dFOunu 10 inc pOSIOlllC6 uuu6F
the cottonwoods. Young Daniel, standing de-
spondently near by, spoke to the driver.
"Wait, Jim, George Locke will bring another
passenger shortly
Jim put out his under lip, in jealousy of his
Importance.
That's all right. I know. Told me he'd see
the old lady down to the railroad. George is a
good fellow-for a rebel that wa"
The crowd took up the word. "Old lady"
Carries mother" 'Going back, 'Jack, how
did Locke settle that business2 He's kept it
mighty mum"
ASK him" said young Daniel, briefly.
''Seems's if its kind o. rough for Carrie to have
to play tonight hazarded one rugged prospect
or in overalls.
Rough nothing. Business Is business" said
a pert, young accountant,
wonder how the frmll like the lonesome
kind of tunes she's giving us tonight"
go slow on that. Here's Locke and the old
lady"
As the pair settled back in their seats, a steady
flow of wind set for some moments thither, and
that jim delayed, with whip in air, to catch the
old familiar strain:
Sing, then, and unto my soul it sha' seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream
Never hereafter TO wake or to weep
Rock me to sleep. mother. rock me to sleep.
Mrs. Piatt half rose from her place.
''That-oh, that voice sounds like my poor
dead daughters" And. as the coach lurched
away, she hid her face on George Locke's shout
der, with an outburst of tears that were the first
she had shed in her sad. sorrowful sojourn there.
Editor Dana's Crockery Craze.
Letter in Philadelphia Record.
met Mr.. Dana, of the Sun, in a bric-a -brac