The pioneer express. [volume] (Pembina, Dakota [N.D.]) 1883-1928, 1885-02-06

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If q bird sang near the house, she would
drop her work and run eagerly to the
window as If she heard her own name
called. II she were sent down town ON
an errand, she was unaccountably long
in returning; and, finally, one afternoon
when she took little Ned for his accrs.
toned airing she was gone for hours,
wandering away across the fields, and
bringing him home at dusk iyiad back
fast asleep in his carriage, with 1 wreath
OF violets like q halo round his golden
head, and more clutched tightly in his
chubby hands.
She received my surprised reproof in
sullen silence. and I waited in vain for
some account Of her absence:
She grew more and more strange and
restless every day, fretting and chatting
over her light tasks like some Gagged
animal, until finally, questioned fer;
"Helenore, J" said l kindly, "what ID
it that ails yod9 Tell me, and I will
try to help you"
At first she frowned darkly and would
not answer, but when I laid nv hand
gently and coaxingly upon her heads-
l had noticed she loved to have me do
so-she yielded and her tongue was
loosed.
ooh, madam, do not be angry!" she
cried. 1--WE have gypsy blood in us,
mine moder do say-and oh, would be
going"-stretcling out her arms toward
the distant fields with swift and elo-
quent gesture Of longing. "Oh, lot me
90! must Goi'
was both shocked and disappointed,
and told her so, and tried to reason
with her.
"Where would you go?" t asked.
There are no gypsies near that you
could join, and you would soon starve
and die alone; and, besides, how con
you leave poor baby and me? Do YOU
not love us, Helenore?"
"Oh, I do, dol" she cried, passion.
ately, throwing herself down upon the
floor; "and do not try to hear the
call, I put mine fingers on my ears,
but hear them just tho same!..
WHO calls you, Helenore?" I asked
All things QUITO doors; the birds
and hoes and winds. They call mo, al.
ways, always: they say, 'Helenore, Hell.
enore, come! and 1 must go!" she
crietl, springing to her feet and looking
wildly around.
feared she was losing her mind, and
was much alarmed about her; we tried
to divert and amuse her in every DOS.
sible way, and for few days she really
seemed to be more quiet,
But one morning we missed her. The
afternoon previous, a hand organ-grind.
er and woman, evidently his wife, en-.
tered our grounds. Helenore went out
to hear them play; and we noticed that
she stood conversing with them some
time afterward.
They had been hanging about the
neighborhood for several days. and some
how We felt sure that she had gone will,
them, Our suspicians were confirmed
by farmer living mile or SO above us
who said he met them just at dusk, as
he was returning home from the city-a
man and woman and our Helenore. He
sold he recognized Helenore at once.
and spoke to her, bnt she made no an
swer.
We learned furthermore from her
mother that an organ grinder and his
wife-old acquaintances of the family
had been in the vicinity for a week
past, and had put up night or two at
her house; and she donbted not that
they were the same persons we had in
mind. She made light of her daughters
disappearance, saying, with Q shrug of
her fat shoulders, that ''she would he
back soon enough" !" and seeming to think
that in any case we were well rid of her.
But we missed her and we mourned
her, and 1 did not try to fill her place.
My Every latest" as Jack still called
her, seemed to have proved sad fail
ure.
.
I was lingering in my rose garden in
the twilight of warm September day,
hanging fondly over bed of pet Nv.
brlds-latest and sweetest of roses
when l suddenly missed little Ned from
my side, and looking around for him, I
spied him swinging on the front gate. I
started to 60 toward him, and at that
moment the figure of woman spranQ
up, as it were out of the ground near
him, and at the same moment I heard a
glad cry from Ned: "Helenore! Hell
enore!"
1t was our Helenore! She caught
him to her breast and flew, swift as the
wind across the lawn to meet me, and.
dropping on her knees, with one arm
still around the bewildered child. she
clung to me desperately, sobbing and
groaning; but not one word did she
speak.
begged her to rise, but she would
not; SO l sat down there on the damp
grass, and, taking her head in nv lap.
soothed her with the old touch Of the
hand she loved so we'll.
At last she hcaved long tremuIous
sigh and lifted her face to mine.
II can not ask you to forgive" :" she
murmured humbly; "that would be too
good for Helenore; but I come to see
you once more, and to tell you what il
so heavy here"-pressing her hand on
her heart-"and then to die"
I led her into the house and drew
from her the history of her experience
since she left us in the spring.
"Were the people with whom you
went away kind to you?" asked.
"Kind!" she cried fierccly. "Oh. thew
We're indeed most cruel! True, they
did never hurt me like mine moder. but
they have made me so to suffer that I
wish not now to live any more"
"But you liked it at first, did YOU
not-the fields and woods and the mu-
sic?"
eyes; I like we'll to wander and to be
free; but I learned soon that only chill
dren and birds and squirrels are truly
free-not woman with o heart here and
here"-touching her forehead and lay
ing her hand on her heart.
1 wondered at her words, but I un-
derstood them later.
"For a'few days we had happy time,
and they were good to me, but then
trouble came. could not dance when
was tired, and I could not learn to
sing their songs-and they laughed at
my own poor songs; so they began to
speak only bad words to me and TO care
not if 1 starved and suffered.
eve were far away-I know not
Where-when we came to LARGE woods