The Delaware ledger. (Newark, Del.) 1879-19??, 1888-02-11
IN MY DARKEST HOUR,
BY PATIENCE sTApLEToN,

| had worked so long in the dry
goods store of Jones & Jones that |
when, Christmas morning, l got a
letter saying that my services were
no longer required nearly tainted |
away. know | am not quick or
attractive. ! am q small, sacred
looking woman of forty, and l have
worked so hard all my life that
look much older. lost my little
savings in the failure of bank, and
since then | have had no ambition
to look well or to be cheerful. When
! went back to my third-story room
for | ran down at the postman's
knock, thinking some of my kin
dred might have remembered me
/ had faint feeling of pleasureable
excitement. The firm had remem-
bered me, | thought, when | saw
their letter head, and sent me re-
membrancc. 81 have lived too
long" | said, when | read their let
ter. ! could not think of another
sentence, and the words haunted
me.
My landlady was kind, but she
was poor, and her rent was high, and
| must give up my little room that
from the long occupancy | had
grown to look upon as II home. l
| stood in the door and looked about
meat the worn carpet, the shabby
furniture, the little old rocking chair
that my few visitors used to say had
quaint likeness to myself, the
stove where l had cooked my frugal
breakfast and supper so many years,
my bird twittering in his cage over
my geraniums in the sunny window
the plants all in blossom now and
so beautiful-my few books and pic
lures and the gray cat purring by
the fire. ! saw my trunk in its
chintz cover, and | wondered when
| must pack it and where it would
go. had borne up well, but now
| sat down on the floor and wept
bitterly.
"Kin come in, Miss Jane ?"
| jumped to my feet in shame.
The child must not see me crying
= on Chistmas day opened the
f door and there stood Betty, the or
) phan granddaughter of my landlady
betty Prim,' the dodgers called
, her. She was a palelit thing, with
big gray eyes and old-fashioned long
D curls that one never sees on child
, rem nowadays. She was lame from
a fall in babyhood and walked with
Il crutch. She never seemed to note
her misfortune, but, like my canary
was full of song and sunshine.
"Granma says if you don't want
me send me down. She's going tel
church an it's pretty lonesome an
: you wasn't goin' out. I'll try to be
t real quiet
. "You couldn't be otherwise" !
said, and got her chair. O.
course she took the cat in her lap
she always petted something-and
then she told me how many gifts
she had and how the white aprons ]
made her were the best of all, fol
they were so pretty and such a say.
ing to her dresses" She had given
me a neat little tidy that she had
made herself, and she looked at il
now, pinned on my chair, with visi-
ble satisfaction.
"There was some stitches dropped
but I'm so glad they don't show,
she said, happily. "NIiss Jane" she
asked, after a long pause, during
which |, stunned by my great trou
BILE, sat and looked at nothing, you
are like me, | guess you amt go
many folks"
came back with a start to tel
her had eight brothers and sister
that | had not seen for thirty years
They were in California, l in Boston
| was the oldest, and Il family haC
taken me when was nine years ole
for my father was so poor he coulC
not keep his children together.
Tell me bout EN-" she said
that is if you'd jest as lieve.
guess you've got the megrims ter
day that's what Mis- Morrison hal
g that lives in the second floor front
d She says she gifts megrims so baC
she can't eat bite. get 'em my
self, but myself, but l don't tell ne
one, for I've got ter keep Gamm,
cheered up. She gets so down wher
the rooms is empty or some ont
don't pay her"
The dear little soul at seven con
cealing her own childish troubles tt
made life brighter for others So
went ON and told her of my child
hood and how, poor as we were, W,
children remembered each other a