Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1889-01-26
aWhat
w nat
I staggered against the landing.


is out, and my wife sent me around to tell
you. Our little one danced next to yours
Pm Mamie Grady's father"
| didn't answer him or thank him. !
turned around and walked up stairs to
| Jenny.
81 haven't stirred, mamma. Who did
you bring? thought thought it might
be going to be a-pink- Was
it, mammal"
| What could say to her? Oh, Heaven
what could l say?
| Days went on. At first we hoped, We
weary mothers, that the manager would
carry the day, but he did not Weeks wore
on; / had pawned almost everything /
eould-Jenny's little white frock, with its
silvery spangles, had gone long ago, when
| all hope of her needing it went out. The
table, the chairs, the little wooden bench
she used to sit on and help me sew buttons
on the shirts, all my few poor clothes ex-
cept what had on my back.
| remember that day and that night.
Mamie Grady's mother gave me few
sticks Of wood and some cinders there was
dull glow, and Jenny crouched on the
! floor before it,
When was Christmas, mammal Have
we had it yet" she asked me, while her
| blue eyes stared sadly at the DIT of fire,
and she spread her little fingers to the
! warmth.
"Yes," | said, they've had it; we
| haven't"
/ stood at the window; | scraped the
frost from the dingy pane, and looked out ;
it stormed terribly, the wind shrieked and
whistled turned and looked at Jenny !;
which was the more dismal picture-my
starving child or the tempest outside :?
Outside outsider that meant some
where comfort. warmth, clothes, food
would go outside and beg, and see if !
could get any of them for her.
put on my bonnet and cloak, kissed
Jenny and told her l would not be away
long; that l was going to get something to
eat
/ went. / crept down and into the
street, and, following some blind impulse, l
flew along and across the city until l
reached the theater where Jenny had
made her first and last appearance. Lines
of carriages blocked the way Policemen
shouted. l pushed on. reached the
portico | leaned breathless against
gas-lamp. | made up my mind to implore
little money from the lady who should
alight from the first carriage. 1t rolled
up; the door was opened, a maid stepped
out, and then lifted from the soft cushions
and robed little girl, a child not so big as
my Jenny; another and another tiny one
was carefully assisted out and the coach
drove away, only to be followed score of
them, each with its freight of children. AT
last the coaches with little children grew
fewer and the crowd became denser. /
tried to beg, but no one would listen to me.
Crazed, | strove along with the surging
crowd, and thinking if but once could gain
admittance to the theater might implore
aid of the manager, or of some of the peo-
pie whom | knew, at least by sight
Painting, weak and bending with shame,
l was fairly carried in with the throng
no one noticed me. / sped along the great
lobby, and warmed my frozen fingers at the
steam-pipes. "Ah, Jenny, Jenny, darling"
l kept whispering to myself, Something
tells me we'll have bite for supper to-
night; something tells me that you'll be
happy before tomorrow morning"
l was thawed after while and | looked
about to see whom | might dare approach
first. / asked for the manager, who had
engaged Jenny two months ago; the man
laughed as he replied, 'FWhy, the opera
troupe have been gone these five weeksw
| shrunk back and then summoned courage
to ask what was going on tonight.
"Why, sure, it's the 'children's carnival
don't you know? all the great rich folks
children in the city dancin' and playin' for
charity"
Children's carnival 1t conveyed moth
ing to me; supposed it was childrens
ball where they played and romped and
frolicked about to their hearts content. /
listened to the music fer moment l
took heart. There must be mothers in
there on the other side of the green baize
doors-mothers who would not refuse me
little money if asked for it quietly and
gently.
/ crept up to one of the doors, swung it
aside, entered, kept close to the wall and
down the side of the great horseshoe
where | should be least observed. A burst
Of quicker music, applause, loud and to-
multuous. looked up. What did | see?
The stage set and children! childrenl chill
dren! not so big as my Jenny, many of
them dressed as fairies, as children of the
ballet are dressed only in richer materials,
pirouetting, whirling, bounding, as only
children can do who have been taught by
ballet-master.
l staggered. swept my hand across
my dazed eyes. Was l dreaming? No,
no; the appause-such applause as had
anew. | was awake. / rushed out into
the lobby again; some one caught hold
of mean officer, think-and cried out
to him: "Where is the Society? Why
does it not stop this? Is it not cruelty to
rehearse those children yonder for weeks,
and then make them dance when their lot
is one of riches and plenty, as well as to
take the bread out of my childs mouth
and mine by preventing her appearance in
a ballet-a ballet that was no more of one
than that inside on the stage there?"
Hush hush. Whisht, nowl Come
out. You can't be making noise inside
here. Out with your
/ was thrust into the storm and the
street rushed blinded, frantic, back to
my wretched home, wondering, wondering
at the difference between me and mine
and them and theirs. / climbed the stairs,
and pushed open the door. l flew in
Jenny lay beside the ashes-Jenny, my
Jenny, quite, quite cold. She needed nc
supper that nig ht, and she had found hap.
piness " before the morning" My child
was dead, dead The bite had been taken
from her lips, and was mad when cursed
the men who had so stricken me ?-Fanni,
Aynar Matthews, IN The Epoch.
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A lady having pet dog, whose hair is
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