The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1885-11-12

She went to her room, filled with shame
and remorse, and if ever three hours of
penitence created a new spirit, Margie
Barnard was made anew that bitter after
| noon.
Now began the strange experiences, like
nothing else, when illness that may be
death fills a house. The children were
sent away; the house was kept dark and
quiet; professional nurse came and took
charge; anxiety was on every face, and
things were unnatural and gloomy.
Margie found her animOsity melted and
gone, and the sufferer being constantly in
her thoughts she remembered, in spite of
herself, all her kindness, all her gentle
efforts TO add to her happiness, all her at
tempts to make the home bright and cheer
full, and opposed to every thought of her
she remembered her own hateful repulsiOn
of every effort, her own wicked pride
which had made her father unhappy, dis
obeyed her mothers last request, and
brought the only cloud over happy
| home.
At last she saw something she could do.
Meals were prepared in the kitchen and
taken up by the nurse, and Margie noticed
that they were most unattractively served
on common dishes, with no attempt at a
pleasing arrangement.
81 don't see how any one could relish
food sent up like that" was her comment
as she saw the tray come out untouched.
She set herself to reform that. She pre-
pared a tray, with a dainty embroidered
tea cloth as a cover, sugar in tiny silver
bowl instead of a cup, the invalid's indi-
vidual cup, and a decorated plate, SUBJ
stituted silver dessert knife for great
steel dinner knife, folded the most delicate
napkin she had in a fanciful way and
stuck it up in an egg-shell tumbler, and
last touch of all, placed tiny vase with
one half-opened rosebud in the center.
That day the food was tasted, and from
that time the trays that went into the
sick-room were daintily and tastefully
| arranged.
The invalid was doing well, and every
| hope was entertained that she would re-
| cover, but suddenly there was dangerous
relapse which no one could account for.
The doctor looked puzzled, and Margie,
| lowering around to hear what they said,
heard muttered remark about the care
lessness or stupidity of nurses, which led
her to infer that they blamed the woman
| in charge.
She walked directly into the room.
"Please tell me, DR.. Jarvis" she said
earnestly, "did l understand you that it is
| the fault of the nurse that this relapse has
| occurredS"
Now DR.. Jarvis had known Margie from
the cradle, and he looked at her for a mo-
ment.
81 don't say this nurse is not as careful
as any of her class, but of course no hired
person can have the interest and take the
care that friend would do. l think she
would be better for a little oversight"
doctor, do you think-could 1 be of any
use?" came tremblingly from her lips.
certainly, my dear! a great deal of use.
! If you only kept watch of the medicines,
and saw that orders were obeyed, you
would be of great use; you might save her
life"
Margie said no more, but hurried to her
room, put on a soft wrapper, and when the
| doctor returned he found her installed in
| tho sick-room.
Her step-mother, so wasted and CHASTITY,
did not know her, and Margie went freely
about the room, darkening a blind that
| admitted light In her face, smoothing the
bed clothes, bathing the burning face and
hands. DR.. Jarvis gave his orders about
medicine and treatment to her, and from
that moment she took charge.
The first time her father came in he
started at seeing her, but as she was at the
| moment engaged in attending to the pa
TENTS wants he said nothing, only looked
at her sharply to see her object.
Margle was not an experienced nurse,
but she was bright girl, and her awak-
| ened conscience and remorse made her
quick to observe and very watchful. This
close care was better than technical know
| ledge, under the circumstances, and the
| patient improved at once. The doctor
commended her on his next visit, and be-
| fore the end of a week announced the sick
woman out of danger, thanks to the watch
! full, intelligent care of Margie.
| She had talk with her father, too, and
when Margie was leaving the room that
| evening to eat her dinner, she met at the
door her father, who took her suddenly in
his arms and kissed her, saying, brokenly:
''My darling! Now you are like your
| blessed mother. Do not remember the
hard words l said the other day. was
| beside myself with pain"
so, papa!" cried Margie, with emotion
| equal to his own, you were right | de-
| served them. Do forgive me!'-and hur-
ried away to indulge in one more cry-this
| time of joy.
In the calm way in which the very i'll
| accept whatever is offered, the step-mother
had accepted Margie's ministrations. If
| at first recognition she was surprised, she
was too weak to say so, and before she
| could talk much she had seen that Margie
| was won.
Perhaps, too, she had reson to know
more of her character than was suspected,
for strange and overwhelming revela-
ton came to Margie little later.
She was able to sit up, and after Margie
had helped her into pretty wrapper, and
the nurse had drawn her easy chair up to
| the window that she might look out and
| see the coming of spring, in fragrant APP
pie blossoms that glorified a tree in the
yard, she asked Margie to take key from
her drawer, and get her something out of
| her desk.
The nurse had left the room, and Margie
opened the desk. There, lying open, as if
just signed and ready to fold, lay a letter,
such as she knew well. The handwriting
was familiar in every line; the name was
signed "Your Fairy Godmother."
She stood a moment, thuuderstruck, the
lid of the desk in her hand. In all her
conjectures as to the author of the letters,
she had never thought of her step-mother.
She looked around; she saw her discov-
cry was known. A great love and pity
and tenderness were in the face she had
nursed back to life; tears were in the eyes,
too, and the wasted arms opened earnest
ly.
80, my dear! ,cOn't you forgive me,
and love me:n trembled from her lips.
A great wave of feeling rolled over Mar
gie-pride, shame, remorse, pain, love,
respect, all in one great sweep.
She hesitated-she yielded. The cover
dropped, and she was on her knees beside
the friend-the step mother. She buried
her face in her lap, she sobbed and wept
and could not speak, while the gentle, thin
hands stroked her hair, and words broken
by tears fell from her lips.
''Do not feel so. my dearl-I hoped l
could make you love mel wanted it above
all things-I wanted to fill that vacant
mo.her-place to you'll want you for my
daughter"
"Can you ever-ever-forgive me?"
sobbed poor Margie. $50 mean-so I'M
grateful-so"-
do not say more, Margie," interrupted
the tender voice of her step mother, "don't
speak of the past-that is all over. Let us
begin again on higher basis. If have
won a daughters love, shall regret no
pain in the winning"
She had most completely won daugh-
ter's love. Margie gave to her who had
been the source of all her new pleasures