The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1888-08-17
IHE PLAGUE OF HER LIFE.


many winter. and its old faded sign
creaked dolefully in every passing breeze.
1t was in quiet country hamlet shut
In from the busy world by green hills,
many miles from any railroad, and re-
tanning all the primitive ways Of half
century ago.
The men had congregated. as was their
usual custom, to sip some of Landlord
Aiken's cider, tell few stories, and re-
tail stale jokes
Suddenly tall, stalwart man. with a
peddler's pack on his shoulders, and lead
ing by the hand little girl, emerged
from cross-road and approached the
group. The man and his pack were
700 common sight in those days TO at
tract attention, but the child clinging 10
his hand fascinated their gaze.
She was girl OF ten years, small for
her age, with bright elflsh face. black
hair and eyes, the latter large AID bril-
liant. Her skin was brown from expos
ure to the sun, her dress old and faded,
and her feet bare, but small and shapely.
Good evening, friends - said the ped
dler, depositing his pack on the piazza,
and taking off his straw hat to wipe his
heated brow
"Have You come fart" asked the land
lord, pushing forward a couple Of chairs
The stranger took one and seated the
little girl in the other, and threw his arm
protectiEEly around her as be answered:
From s., three days since. Its
fully twenty miles, but nay little compan-
ion - not oyer-strong for such a journey"
rs it your little girl." asked one OF the
men.
''No; I have neither chick nor child. 1
am taking her TO her friends. Can you
tell me where Squire Wagner livesf"
He lives over there in the graveyard" ;"
replied the landlord, pointing TO a grassy
enclosure on the hillside opposite
''ls there any of the family liv;ngs"
"One-Miss Dorothy, who lives mp in
the old farmhouse yonder The rest are
all dead, unless il be Fred, the youngest,
wild harun- scarun fellow, who went
Of years ago"
This is his little girl; he IS dead.'' said
the peddler.
when did he diet''
I've not time 20 tell you now,'' said
the newcomer, as he felt the child start
at tie question What sort Of woman
IS Miss Dorothy"
''Oh, n sort of crab-apple species, you
know. Had a disappointment in carly
lie that dried up all her sweetness - said
one man.
1.-The farmers hereabouts get her to
look into their cider barrels to make vine
gar responded another, and laugh
went round.
The peddler looked troubled.
.'Wil she DC kind 10 the little girlg" he
rske1.
"Oh, yes: she wouldn't hurt a worm,
and she'll get plenty TO eat. She isn't
stingy, but she isn't one OF the soft. low
ing kind, - rcRerly put In a man who had
net before taken a part il the conyersa-
tion. .,-----y.-->--
We'll. I guess we may as well be going.
sir" said the peddler, rising. Can L
leave my pack IN your care, Landlord, till
j come back,'
An ALTERNATIVES answer being given, he
took the child's hand and set ont for the
low farmhouse a half mile distant, whose
western windows were all agloT with the
rays Of the setting sun.
As they neared il, the little girl looked
eagerly around to sea what her new home
wss like. Some ducks aud geese at play
in I clear book caused her to clap her
hands.
Tasy entered neat yard, and passed
mp 4 na rTovy stone walk that led around
the house. the girl looking with evident
satisfaction ut the beds OF bright flowers
on either side.
open 0ONE gave lntUl iht Wow al II
tidy kitchen. where a couple of women
were arranging = bOuntiful repast. and
two hired men were performing their ab-
lutions at a spout in the rear. The ped
dler ksocked softly.
lis My, Wagner iu?''
Eyes. What do you wantt'
And the elder woman stepped to the
door Sko was tall, and very energetic in
har movements
''I've brought you little girl tor com
rany, maam.''
ME, brought me little girl for COM
pany7 What do you mean, sir? I've no
time for joking"
Bat perhaps you have time to greet
your brother Fred's little orphan child"
Miss Dorothy staggered against the door
post.
"Freds" she gasped. He is
Dead, and has sent his little girl to
you."
For a moment the lady seemed over
whelned. hut recovering herself, turned
To rhe child.
what j. your name," she asked.
/ ''Gipsy. ma am"
! "WhataR outlandish namei Betsey, did
:you ever hear the like;"
| Never exclaimed the msid-of-ali-
work, advancing with uplifted hands.
My papa called me so, and oh, he's
dead.' And breaking from me detaining
hand of her friend, she dashed down into
the orchard, and in moment was en-
sconced in \ large apple tree mp among
the thick branches, much to the conster-
nation OF compile of robins, who had
settled down to housekeeping close to the
little girls perch.
The mother bird, as she brooded over
the fou.' little eggs, peeped over the side
of the nest apprehensively, while her
mate, on n t~ig close by, cooked his head
on one side to watch the intruder, but
never n chirp or rustic of feathers betol-
ensd their presence
did l everr' exclaimed Betsey, as the
trio watched the flight and the nimble
spring into the tree.
"Oh, dear, she'll be the plague of my
life" rlurmured Miss Dorothy.
She'll he a comfort and n blessing 10
you, ma am, If you've onlya mind TO have
! it so. She has a loving little heart. Only
TO think how she waited upon her father
soothing and tending him TO the last like
a womanr'
He then told the lady how he met hei
brother at lowly cottage, where his
strength had failed, as he was trying Il
| make his way home to his friends; but n,
was in the last stages of consumption
| and died in two days. He entrusted hi,
child and few papers to the care Of th'
kind-heartcd peddlcr, who now drew the
latter from his pocket and handed then
TO the lady, who was weeping quietly.
Hethen went down through theorchar'
-, 49,, 100 49, ~. ''--i~ ~-irl was.
"Ccme, Gypsy, your aunt is gong I
love and care for you, and you must lov
her."
The girl, who had sobbed for few mC
ments violently. now spranG down wit
a bright face. He led her back TO th
house.
Her name IS Gertrude, ma'am, but ht
father called her Gypsy. hope you wi
be n mother TO her."
I'm take good care of her" said AuI
! Dorothy, rs she bent down and kissed Il