New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1884-03-26

/ Div AOOhS upOu lHc lOfeIy Cul1u-ldCe
before her with a great tenderness in
her mother eyes-Which is yet q half a
terror. What if those baby lips should
never lisp her name again-what if
those dimplcd hands should never press
her face again in the long. lonely years
to come! And the sweet voice! Would
the old home ever be glad again with
out its ringing echoes? Not only her
own heart she knows will break, but
the old hearts too, that have grated
their happiness upon the tender, beau
tiful blossom.
But no! She drives the thought
way. Surely God will leave her this
this one wee flower that has blOomed
upon her cross. In her sleep the child
sobs her name, and Nora takes the
dainty golden head in her arms, kiss
ing the flushed cheeks and soothing tho
wee sufferer to sleep again. And with
the baby arms around her neck, she
sinks herself in q troubled, restless
! slumber.
Farmer Matthew, riding along the
country road that leads from the city
into tho lonely country beyond, is not
without slight fear, for the twilight
has fallen, and it grows darker every
moment. Still the white earth reflects
the fading light, and the stars seen
now and then through the cloud spaces
cast faint glimmer upon the glistcn-
ing road. Old Dobs knows the way
we'll, however, and he joys along pla-
cidly, scarcely needing The keen wind
as it sweeps across the snow drifts,
though it blinds him momentarily.
But Farmer Matthews is not alone.
BY his side sits u young physician
whose stalwart form does not shrink
from the cutting blast.
81 hardly thought you'd come, says
the old farmer. Il kinder hated to
ask you, you seemed to be enjoyin'
yourself so nightly; but Alice was so
sick, and the women folks-mother and
Nora-lost all faith in the old doctor,
comm to see you, anyhow
The old mans voice trembles little.
He is thinking of the frail little form
that has lain so helplessly on the pillow
for many, many days, and the little
voice whose music has been well-nigh
hushcd forever
''Of course I'd come" answers the
young man. '.How could you think I
wouldn't? Don't owe my life to you?
would be ungratcful, indeed, did
not remember the day when you took
me, q stray waif, into your heart and
home. 1t was long ago, but owe all
am and all have to day to you, and
what would / not do for you and
yours?''
"God bless you for the good will. my
boy, = the old man says; and then there
| is a silence between them, broken only
by the sound of the horses hoofs upon
the crisp white snow.
But as they turn bend in the road
the old man turns to his companion.
"We've q lonely patch of woods
ahead; keep your eyes and ears OPEN"
Eyes, l am prepared for it" The
young man takes Two glittering objects
from his pocket. II fancy any prowl-
ing rascals would not like to make the
acquaintance of these
| He replaces the revolvers safely in
their hiding place as old Dobs plunges
t bravely into the woods. A ghostly
place it is, with the tall trees holding
out long white arms and the weird
shadows falling across the winding
road.
clark! what's that?' The young
physician lays his hand on the old
mans arm. They both listen for a
moment, but only the signing of tho
wind comes through the forest.
Il surely heard moan," says tho
young man. cit could not have been
the wind"
Old Dobs suddenly pricks up his
ears and SHES violently to ono side of
the road,
.Hello!" cries the farmer. whats
the matter with Dobs?'
But the young man has already
sprung to the ground. There's some-
thing in the road" he says. s'Give me
the lantern quick. Surely it is a man
fallen into the snow drifts.'' He takes
q small vial from his pocket and forces
its contents down the mans throat:
then they lift him carefully into the
wagon.
'Drive as fast as you can," the young
man says. IF you are home within
the hour we may save him."
An hour later Nora Wade, watching
in the darkened chamber, is aroused
by the touch of friendly hand.
mora" he says softly.
''Oh, Joe, is ityou?" she cries. 'You
will save her, won't your" She looks
at him piteously, her every word sob.
81 will try" he says. Years ago in
their happy childhood he would have
laid down his life for Nora-what would
he not do for her child? All the later
love for his wife has not swept away
| the tenderness he feels toward the love
of his youth.
Through the long hours Of the night
he watches with her, noting every
change in the fair baby face upon the
! pillow, now and then stealing from the
room to attend his patient below, whom
he had left in Mrs. Matthew's charge.
| When the morning breaks and the
gray dawn of the new year steals across
the white fields he takes Nora's hand
in his. "Your child will iive,' he says.
Her eyes speak their gratitudc-her
lips are dumb.
leave her to your mother, he says,
''for little while, and come with me- !"
His words arc imperative and she
follows him in silence down the stairs
into the sitting-room below.
Upon the lounge Il man lies, his eyes
closed in s!umDer. The fair hair is toss
sed backward from a finely chiseled
face, but there is WEAKNESS upon it
that is sad to look upon.
With q sudden cry Nora falls beside
him. But ere the words upon her lips
are spoken she loses consciousness and
for hours knows no more. All the
weary nights of watching have flung
their burden upon her and she is pow
erless to rally.
] "You have killed her," the old man
says as the young physician lifts her in
his arms.
NO" he answers, Joy never kills. !"
The first weeks of the new year have
/ passed away. bringing with them gold
on tvNon nf 1,<a