Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1889-08-07

ing UoU11O II mass vi ouEuUUcTy
and snowballs 'all abloom"-the one
neighbors, the Congregational Church
with its long, slender spire, and then
came the low, yellow store with its
weather worn sign. its little group of
loungers-which the shy girl always
dreaded But after the first glance the
young men continued their converse
ton. Rachel, little brown thrush as
she was, passed almost unobserved in
the village. Shyly she deposited her
precious parcel in the box, which was
half concealed by huge cask standing
near, and then to make an errand,"
turned to the long counter to buy yard
of pink ribbon. The blondehaired
clerk noticed for the first time that the
''little Dean grip was indeed quite pref
ty, and paid her silly compliment, the
first she had ever received, except from
Bert.
Up in her little room at nightfall she
did not light the lamp to read or write,
but sat at the dormer window with her
chin resting on her hands, her elbow on
the window-sill, gazing out over the
quiet river-like silver ribbon it
looked in the moonight-and through
the dusky foliage to the village ceme-
terry where her parents were resting in
their long, dreamless sleep. She could
see the CLEAN OF white gravestones, but
above was the peaceful sky, flushed at
the horizon with tints of crimson and
gold. And the calm. bright evening
star shone directly over them, she
thought.
How many, many times had she sat
in the same posture at that window and
looked out over the river to the ceme-
TO- hi
Sometimes she had longed to be at rest
with father and mother, for to the sem
sitlve girl, writhing under sharp criti-
cism and cruel censure, life was always
dreary, sometimes almost hateful.
But that night with tremulous hope
in her heart she said softly to herself
There must be a place for me some
where in this wide, wide world. The
loving Father has work for me to do.
My life shall not be failure"
~
"Dear me | had forgotten that lit
tie story 1t must have been lying
here for months" and the lady editor
of great city journal drew neat
package from the pigeon hole in which
1t had reposed SO long.
''The effusion is probably of little
value," she soliloquized, as she laid
down the accompanying note-"A lit
tie country girl scarcely seventeen
"WeII, it must be read. l suppose
She bent over the MS. with a weary
air, but presently her dark eyes lighted
up with interest. 1t was no romantic
sketch full of improbable situations,
but tender prose-poem. 1t was like
a breath of country air-sweet laden
with suggestions OF green fields and
hidden haupts in which wild flowers
blossom, touched in with simple pathos,
and the lady, as she read could guess
something of the lonely, unappreclated
lie of the child who bad preserved it
in the west chamber Of the low brown
farmhouse by the river.
"Poor little girl ~ she murmured.
How she has watched and waited Tor
tidings of her brain-child-E cannot for
give myself for my negligence" And
the warm-hearted woman turned to her
desk to write long encouraging letter
to the young author, inclosing gener-
Gus sum for payment.
October had come and gone; the
elms and naples near the river were
bare, and BERTHE Wilson'S feet crushed
their dry, dead leaves which lay in lit
tie wlnd-swept heaps along the road.
A few withered vines chung to the
brown farmhouse. It was a slumbrous
Indian summer day, and a Sabbath
stiffness Jrooded over everything. No
sound from the house-no gathering of
dishes, NO click of sewing machine, no
laughter-and yet it was week day.
The white curtain at the dormer win
dow futtered lightly, and the boys
eyes caught a glimpse of something
white within.
"Here's letter, mother" he said as
he entered the sitting-room where his
mother and Ruby and Aunt Jane sat,
all with quiet folded hands. "Its-for
Ray" and turned away with a choking
sob.
Mrs. Wilson tore open the envelope
with trembling hands, wondering as she
saw a check folded within the letter.
"What is this? Why" as she finished
reading the closely written sheet, 1.-The
poor darling child There's $25 for
piece she wrote last spring an sent to
New York. An they say she was a
real genius, an want more Of her wri
tins, an promise to pay her we'll"
"Oh dear! oh dear! If she could only
lived to git this! But she died thinkin'
her poor little life hadn't ben O. no use
an never could a. benz
"Says she to me last night just little
while before she died, says she. Aunt
Caroline, don't cry; its better for me to
60. I never was like other girls. I
never could be if I lived. An I
couldn't be of any service to you or
anybody else;' and to think" Mrs.
Wilson broke down in fit of weeping.
I'VE amt used her right, none of us,
she resumed. "We've tormented the
very life out of the blessed child,
just because she wasn't handy with her
work, forgitten that the Lord didn't
make US al alike. [ know now what
made her so low-sririted last summer,
an | think worryin' over her disap-
pointment kinder broke her down; an
when she Got that cold, and that dread
tul cough came on, she hadn't courage
to fallv. There warn't anything bright
to look to here, poor child, poor little
Raw"
III she only could O. known it, Ber-
tie" his mother said as they stood to-
gether bending above the white face
framed in dark curling hair, eff she
could O known that life needn't O. been
a failure for her, an oh if I'd known
an understood her better, seems as if
| can't never be reconciled"
Alas the letter and her aunt's re-