The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1888-05-16

der fortune. and myself and an older sis
ter to smooth as best we could her path
down the declining years of her life.
A little mole than year before, my
sister had been taken with a severe cold,
which ended in fatal attack of pneu-
monia, and she was lying by the side of
our father in the shades of Greenwood.
and poor mother, like Rachael, "would
not be comforted."
When I met Eunice that morning she
held out her hand, covered with the
same neatly darned gloves, and 1 could
not feel as if we were strangers. l told
her so, and also what little Of history
there was in my humdrum. uneventful
life, and asked her if she would allow me
to call at her home that nigh. and finish
my story.
She said: 81 have but poor home
to show you, but if you will come lshall
be g ad to see YOU"
How slow the hours passed that day,
and when the hour of came, rang the
bell at cottage door, which she herself
opened to me. She had changed her
street attire and had replaced it by a
house dress of some soft gray material,
and looked lovelier to me than ever.
She took me into the little rear parlor,
where, in reclining chair, sat, or rather
lay, a lady whose hair was snowy white,
and whosh pinched face and care.fur-
rowed brow still held the traces of the
beauty which cnce must have made her
a remarkably handsome woman:
Mother" said Eunice, ''this is MIR.
Grayson, the gentleman l told you OF a
month ago, and said he woke up and Of
fcred me his seat in the bridge car after
we cot over on the other side. Do you
remember. you almost laughed over it2
And told you when I came home to-
night that he was coming to see US. DO
you remember"
"Yes, Eunice, seem to remember;
but do not remember things as we'll as
when your father was here. Was there
no letter to days"
"No, mother; but there may be one
tomorrow. We must be patient, you
know"
"AIr. Grayson, sit where can see you
plainly" said Eunice's mother.
She eagerly scanned my face for a
whole minute, which seemed an age,
and then said. "Yes, l think you could
be patient too, but could you wait for a
letter for four years9"
And then the tears IAN down the
pinched, wan face, and the sobbing
brought on cough which ended in
flow Of bright blood from the pale, thin
lips.
Eunice took the pillows from under
her mothers head, and while I offered to
run for a physician, she had poured out
some styptic already at hand, and the
bemorrhage was stayed. She fell asleep
soon after, and We sat silent by her side
for a while. and unconscously had
clasped our hands.
After time, when her mother slept
soundly, we walked noiseless.y into the
front room and almost in whisper
Eunice told me the story of her own and
her mothers life.
Until five years before she, her father
and mother had lived quiet, happy life,
her father being junior partner in 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 rainy day snug some of
money in bonds. One day friend,
whose judgment he thought infallible,
came to him and unfoldcd scheme where
large profits were sure to ensue, but
which took more money than he alone
could command. Mr.. Robert Gray took
all his savings except $4,000 and en-
barked in the undertaking. Then a
further sum was required, and rather
than take his little remaining hoard, he
indorsed his friends notes with his firms
name, which was a violation of hs
copartnership agreement. The pro-
iect failed, and Mr. Gray, after
writing a broken hearted letter to his
wife. exp aiming ali the circumstances,
and another to his firm. in which he !
stated that he would in time ma ke good
the loss he had caused them, had left
the CITY, and from that day no word
had been heard from him. His firm re.
fused to take from Mrs. Gray the little
money that she had, or even accept from
her the deeds of her homestead, which
stood in her name, and said they were
willing to wait Mr.. Gray's own time for |
settlement. In all these years no word |
had come fro n her father. They had |
lived rs economic ally as they could, had |
let the upper floor of the cottage to a
tenant, and still they had to encroach |
on their small boarding. The mothers
health was broken, and she became q
confirmed invalid, which added another
drain. Eunice, who was but sixteen at
the time of her fathers flight, saw but |
one way out Of the difficulty. She must
90 to work. Through her own ex-
ertions she secured work in the book
bindery where she now was, and was
earning fair wages, and there her story
ended
When left her that night I told her:
'T always want to be your friend, and
if 1 can be of any service in any way,
and do not see it myself, you will, I
know, point it out to me-" And then
we said our first "good night"
Early next morning I told my mother
the entire story of our acquaintance and
begged her to call on Mrs. Gray and see
if anything could be done to relieve her
in any way, which she promised to do.
Eunice had told me when we Parted at
light that she might be late in going
over, but I could call the next evening
if would, to see how her mother was,
so did not wait at the bridge and took
lonely ride.
When l reached home that night I
found a note from mother asking me to
come at once to Mrs. Gray's. I arrived
there only to find my worst fears real
lied. The poor woman had had return
of the hemorrhage shortly after my
mothers arrival, the physician had been