Abilene weekly reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1888-1935, 1888-08-23
THE TIDE-LANDS.
Describing How Miss Vanderpool
Came to Her Own.

CGn6 10 d0r OWu.
Miss Vanderpool came down the steps of
her lodging house and stood looking about
her with an expression of discomfort on her
high-bred face. 1t was not very genteel
clearinghouse and it was not in a very
genteel quarter. The paint was of in
patches, and one of the faded green blinds
hung on a single hinge. The steps were
worn and the little front area was used as a
depository for wood and coal. There were
q pair Of dirty faces at the basement win
dows, and outside of the door Sairy Ann,
the Gorgeous eldest, watched her depart
with undisguised curiosity. Possibly she
knew that Miss Vanderpoors rent for her
single room, third story in the rear, was a
week overdue. She might have been sta.
toned there as q spy by the Gorgon, her
mother, to see that no recereant ledger
contrived to slip of, bag and baggage, with.
out formal parting. She need not give
herself any concern on Miss Vanderpoors
sccount, that lady reflected. Her piano, the
one article of value among her possessions,
was much too cumbrous to carry, and it was
NOR gagged up to its full value. Why was il
that people never exhibited any conscience
or honor about their music-teacher's bills,
erwomen's! Whywas it that she, respected
and admired as the rich Miss Vanderposl,
could find no market for her accomplish
ments now that she must earn her daily
breadi Why did every one take advantage
of her and cheat her, down to the pawn
broker who had lately taken the last piece
of jewelry saved from her financial wreck
She was faint and hungry, and a gnawing
m rat RI hop. pda har hat
she had lived on bread and water for six
weeks, and that she had been on short ra-
tons for the last few days. If she had been
a soldier, now, she could have withstood it
right vigorously, for there was martial blood
il her veins. But to suffer it for no heroic
reason, in nothing but the common way
The thought Inundated her, and she put il
aside.
She was walking down the street, lined
With low cottages, when she stopped before
one of the poorest and meanest, where a
stunted lilac, just budding in the front-yard
gave evidence of some little refinement on
the part of the occupants. But it was not
this that attracted Miss Vanderpoors atten-
ton. Floating from the door-knob she be-
held little piece of thin white crepe, tied
with narrow ribbon, the wan banner of sor-
row. This was the cottage where the two
little girls had looked out upon her, with
laughing faces, every day as she passed by.
Only yesterday they had flung her kisses
from the window. Now one was gone. The
shock bore down upon her with all tho sense
of personal loss.
She pushed the gate open and went up the
steps. A woman opened the door and led
her to darkened room. It was the custom
of the neighborhood to give free admission
70 vic Of n Tn bo ;to
coffin lay the younger of the two children
Beside it sat the father and mother, the
woman sobbing quietly, the father with his
arm about her, and in his lap the remaining
child who had cried herself to sleep in his
arms.
al am so sorry;' said Miss Vanderpool,
gently; lis there any thing can don'
The moment she spoke she regretted it.
The mother uncovered her face and looked
up piteously, then shrank from the strange
visitor
Nothing, nothing" she moaned, "unless
you could bring back my child"
There, there, Emily" said the man, pat
ting her kindly; Don't take on so. It's
hard on all of US. We've got to bear it
together"
Miss Vanderpoors eyes were wet as she
went silently out of the room and closed the
door behind her. It had been a mistake.
her coming They had plainly resented the
intrusion. II only she could have done
something for them, could have given them
some testimony of her sympathy. To lose a
little life that was part of your very own
must be hard but doubly hard when poverty
and want are attendant upon sorrow. The
room had been so bare. There was not
flower about the coffin. Miss Vanderpool
had been accustomed to see grief smothered
in costliest offerings, and this little creature
was going to her last rest without so much
as q flower in her little hands-the tiny
hands that had thrown kisses to her but
yesterday.
She wished that she could get some
flowers for that dead baby. 1t was April.
and there Was none in the CITY gardens, lust
recovering from the shock of q severe
Eastern winter. She had no money to buy
them from a florist. Up in the great house
on the bluff that had been her home there
was conservatory, and in it there was a
magnificent climbing rose that she had
planted herself. years gone b., and nurtured
into vigorous growth. Out of all the
riches that she had lost, at this moment she
wished only for one OF the large pointed
buds, with its petals half unfolded. shut in
little bower OF green leaves. But that
was out of the question. Not even for this
sacred purpose could she ask any farors
from the people in the house on the hill.
A little LATER and there would be plenty of
Wild flowers outside the town. The violets
always came first. Nay; it was already the
last OF April, and with the soft wind blowing
and the clear sunshine OF the past two weeks
the violets must be already out. She quick
cned her steps al the thought A little
brook ran through the town and cut a mar
row channel down the bluffs, on its wSy to
the sea- Near the foot of the bluffs there
was narrow bench of land stretching be-
tween the hills and the tide-lands, and there
beside the brook she had gathered early
spring violets since childhood. If she
walked quickly she could easily get there
and back again before the night had closed
down.
To reach the place she had to pass through
the business portion of the town. Walking
swiftly along, looking to neither right nor
left she was surprised to have some one &C
cost her:
Miss VsnderpoolP'
1t was John Ashton, whom she had not
seen since the day that she had found her
tstaer's name dishoporeS and herself beg