Northwest enterprise. [volume] (Anacortes, Wash. Ter.) 1882-1887, 1884-02-09

frail, sickly creature. 1t emed to him that
she never wished to eat, and only did so to
please him. He cut her food into small bits
and entlced her to take it by pretending to
cry. Her hold on existence was like that of
some air plant; every principle of life con-
tanned i'm the coarser elements was so much
death to her.
'Tm nightly afeard of losin' hit," John
often said to the widow. But he did not lose
her, as we shall see.
One night Sary Jane sat in the open door
and watched for him. 1t was dark in the
cabin, and dismal wind soughed mourn
fully through the forest trees that grew up to
the very caves. Had she been older she
might have been frightened or lonely; but
she was neither. She was simply intent on
seeing her dear friend. 1t was getting very
late. Sary Jane would relax her interest and
lose herself momentarily in sleep; then she
would rescue her faculties to look out most
earnestly for few moments longer. Pres
emily she heard rustlng among the grass,
and leaning forward cried eagerly, Don't
Don"
"Yes, honey" answered faint voice.
Then there was the silence of expectation;
an expectation not realized; for the baby
voice spoke again out of the deep hush of
listening "Dons Don"
And still no answer. Sobs began to
tear their way from the long
waiting baby bosom, which swelled into a
touching cry, mingled with "Mammyl
Mammyl"
The mother woke up and tried to take the
child from the door, which only increased
her screams. Then, somehow or other, she
knew that John was out there and could not
come in. She lit candle, aroused the larger
boys and went out to where the poor fellow
was lying in pool of his own blood riddled
with buckshot.
They got him in the house and on the bed.
They checked the flow of blood from his
many wounds. He still breathed though he
was partly unconscious. In the morning
doctor came, said there was no hope and
went away. About noon John opened his
eyes and looked around. The widow placed
Sary Jane close up where he could see her.
He put his arm around her with difficulty;
then he looked from fare to face; many
neighbors were there. He tried to speak; it
was evident he had something to say to
Deacon Wilson; but not until the heat of the
day had passed and the cool twilight had
come could he muster strength.
"What's your pinion on the situation,
deaconi' he asked.
The deacon said he hoped he would get
we'll.
"No;" said John, "this lays me out. But
from your STANDPOINT now, what do you
'spose my chances over there is worthi I'm
not skeered, but I'd like your idees."
"What is it about the - the stealin'.
Johnl' ~.rs,...,s,.ss ..a.-.,. .s,~-
"Stealin'f' said John; ~ want stealin'.
Why, look at this famerly; not q bit o. meat in
the house. / was blaeged to hev it. I'd q
heap ruther be where am than in the tracks
of the man that shot mei-heap ruther.
Think I'd kill Teller critter for takin' the
Lords substance to feed such helpless things
as thisr He pressed the baby closer to
him. "Why, I'd be meaner than the devil
not to do it. Spose don't know take my
life in my hands when l start ont after night
to get grubi Course know the resk. But
what do you reckon the lord 'ud say to me
il neglected my duty by 'em. Feed my
lambs; thems His words; Feed my lambs
That's all right, deacon; my ways the Lord
won't go agin' but It hurts sne now to think
never was a prayin' man. don't know
nothin' about savin' grace and it pears like
/ monght atloxed 4he. dean Rsdeemer hAttaS
than did. / can't believe as eny on us 70 goin'
to be eyerlastin'ly lost believe even them
pore cretures that boards up meat In houses
can eat, and more clothes than they can war,
and more money than they can spend will
hev another chance after this life and will
eventually repent and get forgiveness. But I
tell you, deacon, want to go to heaven direct
want to see the Lord, / want Him to
pint some one in my place to take keer Of
these helpless ones. could'tdie IL knowed
this little child would be left in want"
"You lack savin' grace, John," said the
deacon. "You must pray for forgiveness;
the Lord can pardon the vilest sinner that
ever lived, through the power Of prayer"
"But, deacon, amt no sins to forgive. l
amt afear'd to face the Lord; why, bless His
lovin' soul, He was a man Of sorrers, Just
like me, and he's not goin' to shet His heart
agin me- Idon't need to humble myself be-
fore Him. Him and mes had a mighty close
understandin' for yers and yers. Visit the
widders in their afiiiction,' says He, 'ani take
keer Of the orphans. Feed my lambs sez He,
and done it."
"Works without faith" says the deacon,
sare barren. Saving grace comes Of prayer
and faith"
II amt never prayed none. said John, and
it's too late now"
He turned his face away and fell asleep
The watchers thought he would die about
midnight, but he slept quietly and painlessly.
and in the morning took some refreshment.
He fingered three days, occasionally opening
his eyes and speaking to Sary Jane, who sat
perched close up to him the greater part Of
the time. She had her shoes and red stock
ings there with her. Almost the last word
he spoke was to call attention to her. 'She's
mighty pale and peeked lookin'" !" he said.
"Bring me some grub and led me feed her"
They brought him some chicken cut in
small bits. "Take bite, honey" he said.
She shook her head.
"John'll cry Of you don't" He put his
poor, bloodless hand over his eyes
She looked at him with show of anxiety
and opened her mouth like a bird. But she
could not swallow the food ut chokes me
sroat," she said. Indeed, the little throat was
swelling with long repressed sobs. Her pa
tient soul could hold out no longer against
the grief and anxiety that beset her.
Don't cry, honey" said John; "cuddle
down to pore old John, and let's both 60 to
sleep. Mebby we'll wake up feelin' bettern
1t was late in the evening when the two
fell asleep. They rested so quietly that the
watchers, worn out and tired, dropped into
easy positions and ddozed. Just at the break of
Cay, one-a neighbor-went to them. The
baby lay across Johns arm slantingwise, and
his hand clasped one Of her slender ankles.
The hand was ash-colored, and it was cold as
clay. 1t had communicated its chill and its
pallor to the little leg in its grasp
'Take her away, quick, I" said the widow,
reaching the bedside.