Fisherman & farmer. [volume] (Edenton, N.C.) 1887-19??, 1888-10-19
DORA'S ROMANCE.

but my work was intellectual and very
comprehensive.
How l secured my place I need not
relate. 1t was after hard and long
fight for it, which 1 began at 10 years.
Till then l had been a ward of char
ity, wearing in my baby days the blue
check apron of the Foundlings Home.
l was educated at the expense of the
church, and when / first tried my small
strength against the world it was as
copy holder in great publishing house.
l was able to earn SD per week-after
seven years. l am little of a pessimist,
and my life has not been given over to
melancholy, but to work. 1 gave ten
hours of each day to my task. That alb
sorbed my energy, broke my spirit and
will and left me tired and depressed.
climbed five flights Of stairs to my work
in the morning, taking my way through
rooms full of human beings struggling
for daily bread against greater odds
than /, and who even envicd me.
Five years of this life will render the
hopeful woman strong minded and Gym
icai. She will need the unlovely strength
she develops in a city that harbors and
gives subsistence to 40, 900 bachelors
Forty thousand strong men, who smoke
and eat, sleep and pursue their solitary
lives, spending yearly means enough TO
keep up homes. And where every morn
ing AZ, 200 women tramp hurriedly
through our streets, terrible army, each
with her face set toward some store, office
or workshop. These women do not seek
health nor strength nor wOmanliness-
they must lose these better elements
They will not win wages enough to keep
them through chance sickness nor certain
old age--nOt one in a thousand does
that. They will not be made better,
mentally or morally, by ceaseess toll.
They will only clothe and feed them
selves, that they may come on the NOR
row and again, till their faces are
pinched and bloodless and the grace of
youth has left them; till they are not fit
for wives and mothers, for they are old
and sad, and each Of the 40, 600 bachelors
wants a wife whose temper is sunny and
sweet and who does not know the world
as well as these wOrkingwomen do.
There was time in my life when 1
tried the nun-Iike life of a Young
Womans Home, a home reared and up
held by good women for those who, like
me, were homeless, and oh. no soul could
have been more desolate than mine
within its walls. l ate and drank and
slept and went my daily round, made
more wretched at the sight of nv
struggling sisters who were not so well
equipped for the battle Of life as /, and
then fed from the ''home" into the
Chicago boarding house. l found one
on Michigan avenue, kept by Mrs Nc
Gillicuddy. My home life was at least
Independent. Hrs. McGillicuddy's heart
was honest and kind, her little parlors
were tidy, her table bore wholesome
fare. There was only her daughter,
Josie, who owned the piano, and Jack,
the McGillicuddy son and heir, who
troubled or annoyed me, and from the
son and daughter and piano l could
always retreat to my room. 1t was new
to me to take holiday, but one morning
l slept till long after the whistles had
ceased to blow. [ could not have
reached my proof room even at eight, so
l wandered out lazily into the June sun,
over the city and toward the north side
| reached the bridge at State street and
stepped upon it as it swung to give
passage to a painting little steamboat.
There was only one person on the bridge,
a gentleman. He stood quite near me as
we swung slowly out over the river He
might have been 81 or So He was
broad shouldered and jolly-ioCking and
a little sun Drowned He looked at me
earnestly, and I noticed that he had
keen, honest, hazel eyes. But, to my
amazement, he pronounced my name and
held out his hand.
81 am Wallace Adams" he explained:
'you were schoolmate of my sister Ida
at Westfeld- l met you there. was
sure | conld not be mistaken"
THAT was ten years ago." 1 STAN
mered, feeling my years suddenly rise
up before me-
"You are not much changed, Miss
Hunter-you are very pale and
thin, but l have always remembered
YOU"
The bridge swung slowly round. re-
leasing Us, but my new found friend did
not leave me. We walked slowly home,
talking of those we had known, OF Ida
Adams. who was dead, of each other,
and Mr.. ADAMS told me he had Just
come from Oregon. "For the Convention
perhaps shall stay while after it."
He left me with permission to call
that evening, and that began a new life
for me. He called, and we talked a
while, and then, to my surprise, Wallace
Adams asked me to marry him.
Women who sitin high places in society
will shudder at my boldne-s and want of
delicacy, at Mr.. Adams's vulgar.ty, at
the disregard Of all orthodox rules of
courtship. But looked back upon five
lost and unhappy years, forward to a
lifetime of blind cropping after money
10 cOyoahOW Slinpo6 fror, ho