The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1888-07-11
LOST AND FOUND.

The summer that l left old 'tVassar's'
slasslc shades, crowned with honors aud
flushed with triumph, father was board
ing at Mrs. Elliott's; indeed he had
lived there for years, while was pursu-
ing my studies IN the North. He was a
widower of fine physique and ample for
tune, with no encumbrance save me, his
only child-Eunice Grey.
Mrs. Elliott's boarding house was, un-
like the typical one, elegant in all its APP
pointments, with corps of well ira ned
servants, and a mistress that would have
graced the home of the most fastidious
connoisseur of feminine beauty and
worth. We became fast friends at once
this petite brunette aud myself. To
her invalid child was no less strongly
attached. l wondered often why the
mother was always robed in the deepest
of mourning. That she was a widow l
knew; but that her bereavement was Of
no recent date l had learned by chance,
from the little one who, in mentioning
her father, told me quantity she had
never known him, that he had gone up
to God before the fairies had given her
to her mamma.
asked my father if he could solve
the vexatious mystery of those sable
garments.
"Oh, yes" he answered, 81 believe l
can. 1t is but the fancy of loving wo-
mans heart that secs in the sombre hues
reflex of the grief that knows no So
lace. Seven years ago her husband per-
ished in storm that wrecked the pleas
ure yacht in which they were cruising.
She herself escaped death by the mirac-
ulous interposition of Providence, be-
ing caught by passing steamers crew,
as she drifted by them clipging to a
broken plank. She was carried aboard,
but lost consciousness, as the rough but
kindly hands drew her from her watery
bed. For months she lay i'll, nigh to
death, her n ind blank. When at
length the skill of the experts in the Re
treat for the Insane to which she had
been conveyed elected the restoration
of reason, she learned through the coll
umns of an old Herald that she alone sur.
vived that fearful gale. A few weeks
later newborn baby lay upon her
bosom. Miles away from the scene of
the disaster, in strange land, little Ada
was born. Mrs Elliott does not know,
ss | do, that official stupidity-or care
lessness-had reported her death some
three days after her husbands. The oc-
cupant of the bed next hers in the In
sane Pavilion having died, and the name
oddly enough being the same as her
own, it was Immediately taken for
| granted that the deceased was the VIC
tim of the yacht disaster.
"The northern climate was not suited
to Ada's delicate constitution. For this
reasonMrs. Elliott came south and opened
a small select boarding house for the
maintenance Of herself and little one.
So popular did this become under her
management that she was emboldened
by the success of her humble beginning
to remove to this fine dwelling. Aud
you see what she accomplished here.
"She was.my first love, Eunice. Years
before. met your mother l knew and
loved Edith Lattimer; but she gave her
hand and heart to my chum, George FL
lott, and went my way with sorrow
for my loss, and gladness for the happi-
ness OF the two so dear to me. would
make her my wife now; but she is true
TO the memory of her husband. and
frankly says that no one can ever be as
dear to her as he. 1t is sad, this linking
ones self with those that are gone; but
it is like woman's constancy; and am
not the man to press a suit know is
vain"
After hearing this recital | believe
loved Mrs. Elliott more than ever. Icer-
tainly felt deeper sympathy for her grief.
Her devotion to her child was touch
ing in the extreme. The little.
creature-a cripple from birth-seemed
too fragile for this earth. Her deep
blue eyes looked out wistfully at one
from amidst mass of fluffy golden
ourls So patient, so loving, who could
help being drawn toward her l was
with her day after day, reading some
bright tale, or talking to her of the
birds, the flowers and the bright blue
sky; but best OF all she loved to hear of
the sea where the waves, in their silvery
tones, sang requiem over the grave of
the father she had never known. And
she would press her lips to the miniature
that hung by a golden thread from her
neck, and murmur words of love to the
handsome man whose image il bore. She
would sit for hours by the window where
We placed her and watch the shifting
panorama of busy people in the streets
below. And when some sprightly little
elf would dance by in childish glee Ada
would draw her mother gently to her
and kiss away the tears which clouded
those dark eyes for she knew how it
grieved her that her only child should
be so unlike other children. And in
many pretty, touching way, the little
one would seek to show how little she
rocked her own sad lot. Poor child
she knew not that child's heart is an
open book to its mother. But when Ada
and were alone, she would often say
''Oh, Eunice, why must suffer so9
1t hurts so bad to cough. and yet can
not keep it in. And when the doctor
comes in the mornings and sounds my
lungs, as he says, could scream out
loud but do not cry because mamma
is always there. But it hurts so awful
bad"
1 could only press my lips together to
keep back the tears, and presently turn
the child's thoughts elsewhere.
Summer passed. Autumn in the
South, you know il, fair reader, with its
cool breezes tanning away the sultry