The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1885-02-21
UNCLE TOMS LETTER.
BY ]. K. LUDLUM.

a late winter Gay, ana d nue one at
that. The earth was wrapped in q robe
of snow, while the clear, crisp air re-
sounded with the silvery tinkle-ting-
Jingle of the sleigh bells as many coZy
cutter dashed past Uncle Toms window.
and many a laugh-sweeter far than
the music of bells-foated softly into
the great solemn house where the master
reigned in solitary state, alone and
lonely.
Perhaps it was the music of those
bells; perhaps-who knows?-it may
have been the faint sound of youths
heartfelt laughter drifting, like far-off
waves on the dreamy shore of memory,
through the library window near which
he sat, that awakened old scenes of the
long ago-though, may be, not 80 very
long ago, for Uncle Tom was barely
forty-when he, too, enjoyed the music
of silver bells, the crisp mischievous
winter winds whirling past as he and
some bright-eyed lassie went dashing
over the snow behind a spirited horse,
tucked up to the chin in great furry
robes
Strange, that his companion at such
times some how always happened to be
the same little lass, with the big brown
eyes Overlooking with mirth and high
spirits; and curly nut brown hair that
would persist in straying from under
her cap, in most bewitching manner!
How anxious he was that she should be
well wrapped upl And her laughte r!
Aye, the sweetest bells could not rival
that, and do what he would he could
playmate-his schoolmate his more
than friend yet-and the lines deepened
around the stern mouth-they were
strangers nowl For years and years he
had heard no word, seen never a sign of
brown-haired Dot! She was married, of
curse, and why should be care?
Pest take the bellsl" he muttered,
rising to give the unoffending logs blaz-
ing away on the hearth a most energet-
ic poke with the great brass tongs.
What business have young fools to go
sleighing? Oh, you brazen bells! I'd
like to throw you all into the midst of
the sea-you understanding idiots!'
as clash of music rang ogt beneath
his window, and then died far III the
distance.
@If you please, sir" began voice at
his side; and he turned to see the house
keeper standing there with letter in
her hand, which she held toward him.
What is it?" Uncle Tom demanded
fercely, his eyebrows meeting in ter
rible frown. "A letter? who's it from
Ell? If it's begging letter you can
throw it to the dogs, or burn it up, but
don't venture to give it to mel" and he
looked fully equal to tossing her into
the fire if such thought but entered
his head.
Il don't know what it is, sir, but the
postman left It," answered the woman,
calmly, well knowing that the masters
"bark" was far worse than his "bite."
We'll, great Ce5arl Why don't you
give it to me, then, and not stand there
arguing for an hour? Tell James to
bring in more wood. It's cold as Hades
in this room" And without stopping
to consider the absurdity of this speech,
Uncle Thomas tore off the envelope and
walked to the window to read mis- IN
expected letter.
When he had finished his face was
mixture of anger and amazement, and
he turned the white missive over and
over again, picked up the envelope only
to find that it was all a mistake, for
there, IN a full round hand, was the ad-
dress-"J. 81. @. Cartwell, Publishers"
The letter was most pathetic, asking
the publishers if they would not accept
the story which she sent with the note.
as she was in sore need of the money
it should bring; and down at the end,
in rather a trembling fashion was writ
ten the pretty, homehke name-"Dora
Browning"
How on earth did such a mistake oc-
cur? His name wasn't Cartwel, and
most decidedly neither was he pub
fisher.
Uncle Tom pondered over it a long
time. Then he came to decision. He
was alone in the world, without rela-
tive to whom he would be expected to
turn for advice-who just as certainly
could not question his actions, so he
would do as he pleased.
A strange proceeding, truly, but
Uncle Tom sat down, wrote g short,
crisp letter, inclosed two-as crisp. per
haps not as Short bankDotes, placed
the whole in an envelope directed to
Miss Dora Browning, Greenfelds,
Pa and sent it off in the next mail.
Two days later a little lady with
wide brown eyes, and hair that would
insist on curling in mischievous rings
around her forehead, sat in front of a
slowly dying fire, her small, white
hands clasped together on her knee as
she watched the last fadlng embers in
the CRATE.
This same little woman was very
poor, and this dying fire was all she had
TO keep herself from freezing, that cold
winter day; but for ell that-the poor
room, her plain dress-one could not
fail to know that she was lady. Slow
ly the Goals died down, then, like last,
faint effort, tiny tongue OF flame shot
up and out, and at the same instant q
loud knock sounded on the outer door.
The lady arose and opened the door to
see the postman standing without in the
snow, and the faint lights of dying
day touched his strong, rugged face.
Pretty Dora Browning never remem-
bered that day, afterward, without
thinking of that face.) A letter for her
With cold, trembling fingers she took
1t, not forgetting to low her thanks to
the postman, who went away on his
rounds, hoping vaguely that the large
business-hke envelope contained good
news for the sad faced little woman.
Dora sat down quite weak and faint.
What did it bring her? Was her poor
little story really accepted or-oh, ter
r1ble and yet more natural fact-was it
mot available"
The slender tongue of flame on the
hearth flashed up brightly for a mo-
ment.
Dora opened the envelope, unfolded
the sheet of paper, and 10 most blessed
sight! there lay two crisp $40 bills The
hot, binding tears of thankfulness
rushed to her great brown eyes, and for
little while she could not see to read
the letter. Then, calming herself, she
went to the window 10 catch the fading
light, and read the few concise words.
Voc b. Hkg1-