The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1885-12-25
HIS MOTHERS PORTRAIT.

HIS MOTHERS PORTRAIT.
1t was a gloomy, half lighted attic
room in a tenement house, q room
where the smoke from the smouldor-
ing fire cur!ed in odd fantastic wreaths
in the angles of the sloping ceiling,
and mice gnawed steaAhily at the
baseboards.
Not pleasant place TO die in, and
perhaps it was just as well that poor
PhGbe Wells, in her restless delirum,
fancied herself back once more among
the velvet grass and apple blossoms of
the sweeL-scented orchard at homo.
Meanwhile child of four years old,
with his round face besmeared with
dirt, and his tlaxen curls tightly mat
ted together with neglect, sat coiled
up in window seat, playing with a
headless wooden horse and singing
softly to himself. For the afternoon
what did little Charlie know OF death?
tSure, it's wandcrin' she is" said
one OF the women who were sitting
in the room; land enough to tire the
patience of the blessed sa nts them
selves, sitting here. There's the bit
of letter she began to write and
hadn't strength to finish. What shall
we do with it?"
Burn it, shortly returns wrinkled
old hag, who was already busy in
turning over the slender store of linen
in the worn hair trunk to find some
thing fitting for shroud ;''it's no use
to anybody now, an she can't spake
reasonable to tell us where it's TO go.
Yes, yes, honey, l know" as Phoebe
stretched out her attenuated hands
with a wistful cry of, "Cbarl!e my
boy-you'll take Charlie home"
'Sure, an it's that we WILL" said
the old woman, chnckling. We've
got nothin' else to do, my fine lady,
an lots O. money to spare, excursio IL
ing round the country! Lie still
that's dcar!!"
But still she cried, "Charlie-
Charlie! and the younger woman lifted
the little creature, still clinging to his
wooden horse, on to the bed. Charlie
opened his blue eyes wonderingly and
began to cry.
mamma, what makes you look SO
stranger
She drew him close down to her
with shuddering sigh, his cheek
against hers, his tangled curls ming
ling with her dishevelled black tresses.
"Oh, my baby, l can not go and
leave you'll can not! L.
The death rattle in her throat inter-
ruped all further attempts at speech.
There were one or two incoherent
murmuring sounds-that was all
and SO poor Phoebe Wells died.
They took little Charlie away bewil-
dered and terrified, and dispatched
some one for the "pauper's coffin, u
which was TO enfold the poor crea-
tures last remains.
"She's got no friends" said Mrs.
Dennis, "an' it's but fair, afther all
the trouble we've had. Nora Macarty,
We should divide the little she's left. :"
"lt's me ought to have the bits O.
clothes an things said Nora jeal-
ously. You never came a-nlgh her
till the last two days"
'Well, an it's no more than fair,
Nora DEAR" said the Irishwoman
smoothly; "an' you goin' to be mar
Eried in month. You kape the
ISclothes, an welcome, and I'll have the
bit of boy; he's just the child l want
for beggin', since they took poor lit.
tie Barney O'Toole away, worse luck
to 'em! Come along, child, an stop
that cryin', or it'll be the worse for
yez. Did ye want taste O Mother
Dennis strapP Then hould yer
Charlie followed his rough guide,
frightened into a trembling silence.
Poor little creature! it was well that
he was not old enough to realize the
terrible Yae d,not fate now 1p 1pening before him:
young" said Mrs. Dennis triumphant-
iy; "but he's the best litter in all the
children! See there. Mike Dooley,
two hankcechers an snuff box, let
alone the two apples from the ped
| dler's stand, an an ash-box half full
of illigant paper-rags Give him a
drop O yer beer, Mike, an We shall
have baked potaties an pigs trotters
for your supper, darlint?"
This was one of Charles lucky
days. Sometimes he came home. blue
with cold, penniless, and without
booty of any kind; and then Mrs. Den
mis- was rs liberal in the use of the
strap, and what she called ..the rough
side of her tongue" as she was in hel
system of rewards. Altogether,
Charles life was one of vicisSitudes.
"Tll run away when I'm big
enoughr' resolved the little six year.
old hero, many a night as he lay or
his straw pallet, with half-a dozen
other puny wretches as miserable as
himself, watching the peaceful stars
shining through the rafters over
head.
"Mrs. Dennis says my mamma.
name was Bridget Laiigan, but il
wasn't; it was Phoebe! She told me
so once; and l had wooden horse tc
| play with, and used to say my pray.
ers at night. can't remember en-
now; and Pat keelen says they're al
trash-hnd-and
So little Charlie dropped off tc
sleep, as forlorn a little wretch a.
night brooded over with her peaceful
protecting wings of starry darkness
But Charlie did not run away. Jr
the first place. there was nowhere [,
run to. and Charlie was sufficient of &
conservative to remain quietly wher
he was sure of shelter and daily
bread TO eat; not always that. howev.
er, unless Mrs. Dennis happened to be
in tolcrably good hurnor; and then,
| child as he was, he felt himself to be q
sort of pariah in the outer world, his
H