Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1889-08-15
7HB TURNING POINT,

cnance tnat sne turned abruptly IN her
walk, crossed Union square and walked
down past the Academy of Music that
afternoon. Yet there is no chance.
These apparently trivial visible effects
have an invisible cause or succession
of causes, and Mercy, just at this cri-
sis, was led not by chance, but by
some mysterious agency outside her
self to join the crowd who were flock
ing to the afternoon performance of
The Old Homestead and to invest
almost her last half-dollar in a seat.
Mercy mingled with the stream
pressing through the inner doors, feel.
ing trifle furied, for matinee holi-
day was new to her. The usher show.
ed her to her seat, far back under the
balcony. The subdued light was CRATE
full to her feelings. Her dress was
rather passe, and she had lived so long
in that dismal street that she had
seemed to have no kinship with the
bright and beautiful in the life of the
city.
She sat facing the stage curtain,
with the murmer of voices floating in
upon her consciousness pleasantly,
thinking that she was giving herself
an imitation into a new life. She felt
sensation of relief-half unrestful,
that she was to change the old hope
less, monotonous existence soou-very
soon-for g new life, of which this
bright scene was a foretase. A ques-
ton hung in the balance for her to de-
eide. She was to answer tonight. No
more poor living on pittance, in a
meager room, with ill-paid piece
work until she became dumb and un-
responsive through silent endurance.
No more lonely, unloved hours, while
youth was gliding into premature de-
cline. She was to be loved, cared for;
she was to be renewed in an atmos-
phere of affection. She had been a
neglected flower by the wayside, but
one had noticed her in her loneliness
and reached out his hand to gather
her. A soft, pathetic light came into
her eyes. She rested down upon the
thought. Love had come to her. Who
was there IN this great city to crlticise
the terms upon which it had been of.
fered her? He had been so kind, his
eyes had been so pitiful. He had
called her a dropping violet and had
asked her to let him shelter her.
A dreamy languor crept over her,
sitting there in that warm, mellow at
mosphere. It would be so good to
rest from the hand to- hand struggle.
You tell me woman's pride and
self-respect should be always on the
watch-tower, but do you not see that
this girl Mercy was drained of vital
energy at this period, so weary and
overworked, as to be at the mercy of
any passing temptation? There are
infinite possibilities for the souls re.
newal from even the deepest depths,
but in its passive, unguarded state how
easy for it to become victimized.
When the curtain rose up The
Old Homestead, with its barn and old
well and Rlckety Ann and soft smil-
ing sky, Mercy held her breath for
moment. A breeze from her native
New Hampshire hills swept across her
spirit. She seemed to inhale the da.np
salty odor Of the meadows again.
When the load of hay and the oxen
came into sight she felt like rising in
her seat and clapping her hands in
memory of times when she, frst edi-
ton OF Rickety Ann, in big sun bon
net, had perched on top of such loads
ridden into the barn yard and jumped
from her, high seat into the haymow
1t seemed ages since, and yet she was
scarcely twenty-five.
And Joshua Whitcomb! Mercy
wanted to get hold of his hand and
laugh and cry by turns as the play
progressed, for he seemed the embodi-
ment of her father, Squire Rideaway,
now long in his grave. Just such a
bluff, jovlal, good.hearted man he had
Been, as she remembered him. She
Joined in the bubbling laughter around
her, blthysterical tears threatened to-
flow every moment. .se
A new life was flowing in Ter veins
to herstinger tips as she sat there ab.