St. Paul daily globe., 1886-10-29
A WOMAN'S FAME.

room.
Clare Vaughn-Private Vaughn's wife,
and he was killed in the glorious old Sixth
held her pen still for moment over the
written sheet, and with her left hand
smoothed her little girls tumbled hair.
''Wait moment, pet, until Johnny
comeS," she said encouragngly.
Eyes, mamma, I'll wait. was the brave
reply and the lip put up grievingly, smiled
back into the mothers face, and then Winnie
went to the window and tried to make her
fingers keep pace with the rain drops run
ming down the pane.
Clare Vaughn wrote on rapidly, with a
nervous haste and energy. She was only
copying manuscript, and need not think at
all. 1t was this mechanical part or her
business that wearied her. She had time
to remember that the winter was coming.
and the children would need so many things
so many more than she had money TO
buy. 1t was an ever recurring problem
this struggle for bread. At last Clare'S
work was finished. With long sigh
of intense relief she shut the book that
served the purpose of portfolio and
lifted leaf Off the table that was her only
writing-deSk, Little Winnie's face was
pressed close against the windOw-pane, for
i4AO w NiAA9ib VI 1AAS AoAAig NoJ 0SSPSAS0 AeNSS
into gloom.
See. mamma" she cried at last, with
childish triumph. ''JOhny is coming under
an umbrella-somebody lets him-now he
is opening the gate. Oh, l love somebody
the kind gentleman with the umbrella"
Johnny Virginia did not come up the
stairs like other boys. lie had learned TO
walk quietly, as people walk who are in
earnest and have no time to waste. He
opened the door softly, not to disturb
mother" Children learn such things
when toll is the teacher.
Pm so glad mother finished early.
Aren't you Winnie?" he said. standing by
the fire with his arm over Winnie's shoul-
ders; 1.-The evenings seem so long when she
keeps on writing and writing!"
1T was so lOng-you don't know how
long. Johnny! And it's long every day,
and so still! Only mothers pen, in the
whole room, to make a noise. But it's
supper-time now," and Winnie'S sigh was
as full of relief as her mothers had been.
1t was such simple supper; only baked
apples and some slices of bread. No
kings supper was eaten with such relish.
After the three plates were washed
and put away in the closet
over the mantel, the mending baS-
ket found place on the table. Winnie's
little garments were carefully looked over
and made whole by the tired, patient fin
gers. 1t would be a rest, indeed, to fold
her hands for one evening. But little Win
ME, the pet and pride of the household.
must not be clothed in rags.
The children had so many little things to
say to each other; Winnie had seen a span
OF such nice, black horses go by that day;
and one of the scholars gave Johnny half
peach-half of a whole peachi And then
that wonderful walk under the umbrella!
1t was a pleasant time. that after-Supper
hour. Then Winnie's golden lashes dropped
heavily, and the children said ''Our
Father" at their mothers knees and nestled
down to sleep on the same pillow. After
that JOhnny'S jacket must be carefully
scanned; her boy must go among the
other children at school neatly clad. 1t
was growing near to midnight when Clare'S
aching eyes closed in sleep.
In the morning, when the sunshine
walked the children, breakfast was ready.
1t was only to replace the fragments on the
table, and Clara was sitting there writing
already. Daylight was cheaper than candle
lght-GOd'S daylight!-and no moment of
it was wasted in the pale widows room.
1t was October now; the apples could not
not hold out much longer and there would
be need of more bread. The warm moons
would be over soon, and there must be fire
kept through the day. 1t was cold now in
the mornings for Johnny's bare, brown
Feet.
1t was a desperate struggle. If their
need had been less Clare's energy would
have tagged, perhaps. Swimmers for life
do not Slacken their efforts even after they
feel that they are vain. Thus Clare'S
thoughts. under the whip and spur of ne
cessity, grew into bright, pleasant pages,
such as her life history might have been
under happier circumstances. Every
day there was the long walk to the
pOstoffice were lower out of the vii
lage-and Clare would not send her boy out
into the temptations laid in the streets
People at the windows saw her pass. and
wondered, at first, how she could find time
to walk every day. But after awhile it be-
came something of course. and nobody
wondered. That walk was worth every
thing to Clara Vaughn. 1t kept her
from growing white and worn. The
fresh air and sunlight is free to all Gods
children alike, and they have wonderful
influence In keeping US young and Wig
OrOuS. Shut in from the outdoor lowell
ness and the blessed ministry of light and
air, she might have been misanthrophic
and gloomy, but now her written thoughts
were full of buoyancy and faith in the ALL
Fathers love.
Clara Vaughn grew famous without
knowing it. She had not even wished for
fame. After awhile she became something
more than famous-she was almost rich.
Her long toll Tad brought its reward at last
fame and wealth. To another woman it
might have been a triumph. To her
it was bread enough for her two
children, warm garments and a win
ters fire. 1t was everything to be
rich; it was nothing to be famous. Some
times in the twilight she sits dreaming of a
nameleSs grave in Virginia. What is fame
to woman who remembers a far-away
grave that has widowed her life? What is
it worth to her that her name is house
hold word over the land, when the lips that
ever breathed it, tenderly and reverently,
are covered with grave-mold?
A woman's famel Poor ClaraI If she
had been happier she would never have
been famous. Other women, happy women,
who have dear homes guarded from care
and sorrow, never have time to think out
thoughts that appeal to human hearts, and
give them form in brave, cheerful words
Their lives are too full of sunshine; too full
of little daily joys to learn that true SYM
pathy with human life which gives power
to words to thrill and move human souls.
Poor Clare! She will not forget that there
are other toilers, patient earners of bread,
whose reward will come only in that other
life, where God shall wipe all tears from
their eyes," She will not forget. The heart
that is taught of suffering is we'll taught;
from bruised hearts ever flow tide of warm
sympathy into all other lives. There is a
blessedness beyond all other bliss; a place
that passeth understanding, and it co6eth
to us when our high built hopes have fallen
SO low that we can see clearly the Hand
that blasts our Eden only to lead us up
ward, where we shall find our beloved by
the river of life crowned with immortal
bloom.
And when we awake we shall be satis-
fed.
Enough to Make Him Tired.
Philadelphia Call.
stIameS 7 wish Won would ohon m O conon