The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1885-06-27

and jewelry, little gifts and pleasures,
will be beyond our means then. But If
you will be happier knowing your aunt
has home, will go myself to Chicago
and bring her here"
"Oh, Walter, how kind, how gener-
Gus you arel 1 viii never be able to
thank YOU"
"Then am to go, All right. I will
get leave of absence tomorrow. In
the meantime will telegraph your aunt
to meet me at the depot, If she has sent
any address,"
"The address is the lawyers who
arranged her legacy for her, and vino
did not live In the burnt district, Morse
& Hunter"
A few days later, as fast as steam
would carry Walter TO Chicago and back,
Elsie was waiting to welcome the trav-
elers. A telegram had informed her
that Walter had found Julia waiting at
the depot and by what train TO expect
him home. The only spare room In the
pretty little house at Harlem, where
Walter had brought his bride, was in
dainty order. Jennie, the servant, was
cooking the choicest supper Elsie could
devise, and the little wife herself, neatly
dressed, was running to the door every
minute watching for the carriage.
1t came at last, and Walter handed
out lady. Poor Elsie felt fairly sick,
as the guest, tottered rather than walked
into the room. She was white as ashes,
her hair, Elsie remembered black as
coal not one year before, streaked with
gray, and her eyes sunken as If with
long Hines. When the waterproof cloak
fell from her shoulders, her shabby dress
was most unlike Aunt Julia's habitual
neatness. But, the first shock Of sur
prise over, Elsie had no words too loving
to welcome her aunt, while soft tender
kisses fell fast upon the pale face.
"She is very tired, Elsie" Walter
whispered, seeing how vainly the white
lips tried to frame words. sect her to
rest, dear, as soon as you can"
So Elsie, tearfully loving, made her
aunt lie upon the lounge, and brought
her the most tempting of tea-trays, stop
ping the broken words of thanks by
kisses and caresses. Walter, too, by
hundred delicate attentions and few
spoken words made the guest feel that
she was most cordially and gladly well
coined.
In her own room Aunt Julia told Elsie
something Of the horrors that had aged
her more in one fortnight than in any
previous two years of her life. She had
slept upon the ground, in a drenching
rain for two nights, then in tent with
no change Of clothing, and the memory
of the fire terrors to haunt her. She had
begged the paper and the stamp to write
to Elsie. Then she told of Walters
tender care of her in the long journey,
when she, racked by pam, often could
not speak for hours, how like son he
had cared for her comfort 1t was a sad
story, and Elsie's tears fell fast.
"But now," she said, "you are at
home. have put underclothes and
loose wrappers in here, Auntie, until we
can have some dresses fitted. Let me
undress you now."
Gently and tenderly the shabby clothes
were removed, the weary feet bathed,
the gray-streaked hair smoothed, and
snowy linen put on for the night. Then,
utterly tired, Aunt Julia sank into the
bed, whispering:
Think, Elsie, have not been in a
bed for twelve nightsp'
But alas, she was not soon to leave it.
The haven of rest once gained, Aunt
Julia lay for many long weeks danger
ously i'll with rheumatic fever brought
on by exposure, while the tortured brain,
in widest deliriuin, raved of scenes that
chilled Elsie with horror.
All through the weary weeks Elsie
was nurse, while Walter supplied every
dellcacy that could be found to tempt
the invalid, patiently endured the dis
comforts Of house haunted by sickness,
and proved himself, Jennie declared,
"the nearest to an angel of any man
ever she seen."
Winter was nearly over before Aunt
Julia was able to leave her bed, crippled
for life. The rheumatism had so twisted
the joints of her hands, legs and feet,
that they were useless and most of the
time intensely painful. She fretted over
the prospect of being a burden upon
Walter and Elsie, with all the despair Of
a proud woman who had always main
tanned her own independence, and tear
fully begged to be sent to some charitable
asylum, where she would be only a
public expense. Elsie told Walter of
this wish, and he went to Aunt Julia's
room.
Taking the crippled, helpless hands in
his own, holding them very tenderly, he
said:
"Aunt Julia. Elsie has told me how
hard these little hands worked for her
for seventeen long years. love Elsie
so dearly that to grieve her is my great
est sorrow. Do you think could bear
to see her panied if her second mother
was sick and alone, nursed by hired
hands while we are able and willing to
give her love and carer Do not speak
again of leaving us. I have not seen
Elsie's face so sad as it is tonight since
you came 10 u.s."
''But, Walter, think. may live for
vears.n