Indian chieftain. [volume] (Vinita, Indian Territory [Okla.]) 1882-1902, 1888-05-03
EUHTCE GRAY,
CIERNOST AVE.
brooklyn.

walked on air that day. and toll
was pleasure. and whenit fell TO my
lot to write something about a collision
between an icc-cart and horse-car, in
which an old lady was killed. the mat
ter-of-iaet editor said to me: whats
the matter with you2 Take this con-
founded blank verse and make a stick
full Of common sense Of it, came
down out Of the clouds and did his bid
ding, and slept but little that night
after finding my pillow l'--
kissed my dear old mother with
unwonted tenderness that morning.
She was all l had in the world then,
and was all she had; my father hav-
ing died ten years before. leaving her
with a slender fortune. and myself and
an elder sister TO smooth rs best we
could her path down the declining
years of her life.
A little more than year before, my
sister had been taken with severe
cold. which ended in fatal attack Of
pneumonia, and she was lying by the
side Of our father in the shades of
Greenwood, and poor mother like
Rachael. "would not be coniforted. I"
When ! met Eunice that morning
she held out her hand, covered with
the same neatly darncd gloves. and
could not feel as If we were strangers.
told her so. and also what little of
history there was in my humdrum, I'M
eventful life, and asked her II she
would allow me 10 call at her home
that night aud finish my story.
She said; ii have but poor home
to show You. but II you will come, /
shall be glad to soc you"
How slow the hours passed that day,
and when the hour OF seven came,
rung the bell at a cottage door, which
she herself opened to me. She had
changed her street attire, and had re-
placed II by house dress Of some soft
gray material, and looked loyelier TO
me than ever.
She took me into the little rear par
lor, where. in reclining chair. sat. or
rather lay, a lady whose hair was
snowy white. and whose pinched face
and care-furrowed brow still held the
traces Of the beauty which once must
have made her Remarkably handsome
woman.
"Mother." said Euniee. 'lhis is Mr..
Grayson. the gentleman told you Of
a month ago, and said he woke up and
offered me his seat in the bridge car
after We got ever on the other side.
DO you remember, you almost laughed
over itP And told you when came
home tonight that he was coming to
see us. Do you remember?"
"Yes, Eunice, seem to remember;
but ] do not remember things MS we'll
as when your father was here. Was
there no letter to-dayP"
"No. mother, but there may be one
tomorrow We must be patient. you
know"
"Mr. Grayson. SIT where | can see
you plainly" said Eunice's mother.
She eagerly scanned my face for a
whole minute, which seemed an age.
aud then said: Yes, / think you
could be patient too. but could YOU
walt for letter for four years2" And
then the tears ran down the pinched,
wan face and the sobbing brought on
a cough which ended in flow Of bright
blood from the pale, thin lips.
Eunice took the pillows from under
her mothers head and while l offered
TO run for physician, she had poured
out some styptic already at hand. and
the hemorrhage was stayed. She fell
asleep soon after. and we sat silent
by her side for awhile. and uncon-
sciousiy had clasped our hands.
After a time, when her mother slept
soundly, we walked noiselessly into
the front room, aud almost In a whis-
per Eunice told me tho story OF her
own and her mothers life.
Until ttye years before. she, Ler
father and mother had lived quiet
happy life, her father being junior
partner In a grain and provision house
In Broad street. and from his share Of
the profits had bought the home where
they now lived, and had laid by for a
rainy day snug sum Of money in
bonds One day friend. whose tudg-
ment he thought infallible. came 70
him and nnfoldod a scheme whereiarge
profits were sure 10 ensue. but which
look more money than he alone could
command. Mr.. Robert Gray took all
hls savings except two thousand dol
lAre and embarked IN ,hs undertaking