Mower County transcript. [volume] (Lansing, Minn.) 1868-1915, 1885-02-18
UNCLE TOMS LETTER.
BY J. K. LUDLUM.

BY J. K. LUDLUM.
A late winters day, and q fine one at
that. The earth was wrapped in a robe
OF snow, while the clear, crisp air re-
sounded with the silvery tinkle-ting-
Jingle of the sleigh bells as many q coy
cutter dashed past Uncle TOMS window,
and many laugh-sweeter far than
the music Of bells-doated 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 whiring past as he and
some bright.eyed lassie went dashing
over the snow behind spirited horse,
tucked up to the chin in great furry
robes!
Strange, that his companion at such
times somehow 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 Taught or!
Aye, the sweetest bells could not rival
that, and do what he would he could
never quite forget it'll His dear little
playmate schoolmate his more
than friend yct-and the lines deepened
around the stern mouth-they were
strangers nowl For years and years he
had heard no word, seen never q sign of
btown-haired Dot! She was married, of
curse, and why should he care?
pest take the bellsi" he muttered,
rising to give the unoffending logs blaz-
ing away on the hearth most energet-
10 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 hollow-sounding idiots I"
az clash OF music rang ont beneath
his window, and then died far in the
distance.
IF you please, sir" began q voice at
Ills 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
aercely, his eyebrows meeting in ter
rible frown. "A letter? who's it from
oh? 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 a thought but entered
his head.
II don't know what it is, sir, but tho
postman left it" answered the woman,
calmly, we'll knowing that tho masters
~bark" was far worse than his "bite."
well, great Cssarl 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 rooml" And without stopping
to consider the absurdity of this speech,
Uncle Thomas tore of the envelope and
walked to the window to read mis- un-
expected letter.
When he had finished his face was q
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 q mistake, for
there, in full round hand, was the ad-
dress-"J. &. @. Oartwell, Publishers"
The letter was most pathetic, asking
the publishers if they would not accept
the story which she sent with the note,
rs she was in sore need of the money
it should bring; and down at the end,
in rather trembling fashion was writ
ten the pretty, homelike name-"Dora
Browning"
How on earth did such q mistake &C.
cur? His name wasn't Oartwell, and
most decidedly neither was he pub.
Usher.
Uncle Tom pondered over it long
time. Then he came to decision. He
was alone in the world, without rels-
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 short,
crisp letter, inolosed two-as crisp, per-
haps not as "short" banknotes, placed
the whole in an envelope directed to
miss Dora Browning, Greenfelds,
Pa" and sent it of in the next mail.
Two days later little lady with
-s1o hunxur, ovoo or1 ho:~ %hok xrou1l
insist on curling in mischievous rings
around her forehead, sat in front of .
slowly dying fire, her small, white
hands clasped together on her knee rs
ahe watched the last fading 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 all that-the poor
room, her plain dress-one could not
fail to know that she was lady. Slow
~ the Goals died down, then, like last
faint effort, tiny tongue of fame 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
it, not forgetting to Sow her thanks to
the postman, who went away on bus
rounds, hoping vaguely that the large
business-ike envelope contained good
news for the sad-faced little woman.
Dora sat down quite weak and faint.
What did it bring herr Was her poor
little story really accepted or-oh, ter
rihla and vat unopo u.frral fan& -. -