Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1885-12-10
The Sturp Teller.
HIS INSPIRATION.


Her father died before her birth, and the
pale young mother, baptizing the uncon-
scious baby-face with bitter tears, had NAM
ed her Hope.
Then she had taken up the hand-to-hand
struggle bravely-almost cheerfully, for lit
tie Hopes sake-as women of deep natures,
who have loved once, truly and we'll, are
apt to do. WV.
Notwithstanding" just at the side Of the
door, and above the red rose-tree Harry
had planted the very day he brought her
home to the "bird's-nest," as he called the
little one-story cottage. And after that the
headaches and backaches, because there was
no one to care-began in earnest
Seventeen years of struggle, of ingenious
turnings to make the most out of little,
and then the story Of her life ended-as
nearly as life-stories ever end for this life
of ours possesses q strange element, that is
not only to 90 on eternally into the great
unseen, but is also to leave behind upon the
earth an enduring influence either for good
or evil.
The heat of the summer had been intense.
Mrs. Whitney had overWorked, and there
had followed few days Of quiet, unalarm-
It was the early evening of a sultry, sum
mer day. The sun had set in flood OF
splendor, the birds had chirped their good
night, and the moonlight flooded the room
with the halo of pale glory.
Mother and daughter were alone, with
low heart-talks falling in between the tender
pauses that seemed filled with nameless
something that drew Hope closer to her
mother.
Mrs. Whitney had been lying with her
face turned towards the open window, where
the red roses nodded their sweet heavy
heads, when suddenly she stretched out her
thin white hands with a glad cry:
''Oh, Harry! Harry"
And Hope, kneeling beside the bed, awed
into silence by the smile as of great peace
that lay on the still face, knew that she was
motherless.
The three years that followed were hard
ones to Hope, but she possessed brave
bright spirit, and a courage that knew no
faltering.
For two years she had been teacher of the
village school, and, by careful economy had
made the debit and credit of her accounts
balance at the end of each year.
For months she had been laying by
little, now and then, for the purchase of a
winter cloak, until the dollars counted up
to twenty.
Do you think the getting Of a new cloak
an easy matter?
To her it was not But her old one was
worn, and had behind-the-times look that
annoyed her every time she put it on.
1t is natural for young girs-and old ones,
too-to like nice becoming clothing.
Hope, my little heroine, was only a brave,
sweet, natural girl, and like her all the
better because she did not care for the pref
bright flower to her throat or among the
waves of her brown hair, and because she
wanted a new cloak to show off her trim
graceful figure.
''Just the very thing, is it not?" asked
the polite merchant, as Hope viewed her
reflection in the full-length mirror, habited
in handsome warm cloak.
The girl smiled softly, while bright rose
flush touched her face.
She was about to say, 81 will take it,"
when her attention was arrested by the con-
versation of two plainly dressed women just
"Yes," one of them was saying, "they
are going to take Grandmother Harris to
the poor-house next week. You see, she's
down with the rheumatis same as last win
ter, and they think that's the best place
for her.'
"But think of it," the other retorted;
''there is hardly family in the village but
at some time or other has been glad of
Grandmother Harris help and sympathy
in the dark days of sickness and DEATH"
Il know, but it's the way of the world.
Old folks are like old horses; when their
day of usefulness is done the quicker they
are out of the way the better"
There was strange look in Hopes eyes
as she put aside the new cloak, and took up
the old one again. And firm lines began to
replace the smile about the corners of her
mouth.
ISbol T 6o IN tho cloak miss 2H
sNot to-day"
And, before he recovered from his sur
prise, Hope was out in the midst of the
fast-falling snow-hakes, going swiftly in the
direction of Grandmother Harris home, a
little, low, old-fashioned house, where the
old woman had lived for more than fifty
years. A simple, motherly woman, with
work hardened hands and tender heart,
who rejoiced with those who were glad,
and sorrowed with those who wept.
1t was nightfall when Hope entered her
little room.
Then the reaction came; her heroism van
ished.
Taking off her old cloak, she flung it across
the chair that stood near.
'Lie there, you shabby old thing; hate
you!" she exclaimed, bursting into per-
feet tempest of tears.
But the storm soon ended, better feelings
old garment as though it was some holy
thing, then went about the getting of her
supper with song upon her lips.
The Rev. Robert Dean had been settled
over his first parish about three months.
And though there had been some very
tempting bait thrown out by pious and am
bilious mammas with marriageable daugh-
tiers, and score of bright teyes-grey, brown,
black and blue-had looked shyly and sau-
cily, and hopefully, and tenderly into his
handsome, honest, infinitely expressive
ones, he had gone his way, modest, we'll
bred, unassumlng, and If one judged by his
appearance, untouched.
But that is all you can tell by appearance,
for RobertDean knew that if it chanced-as
it seldom did-thata a shy sweet t,appreciative
face was missing from its accustomed place
in the congregation, his inspiration was
missing also, and he seemed talking to emp
ty seats.
He learned the story of Hope Whitney's
life before he had been in Eldred a week,
for tongues are not slow of speech in such
small towns. And once he had heard Maud
Russell say to companion:
81 declare, Hope Whitney's old cloak is
a disgrace to our church. | should think,
that with her wages she might dress bet
ter.'
1t was Just at the close Of the morning
service, and, not waiting to hear more, he
passed to where Hope was standing, sur
rounded by bevy of children.
"Good morning. Miss Whitney," putting
out his hand. 81 have been looking toward
the school-house with longing eyes for a
number of weeks"
.lNor mood M lonpar look but Gomez