The Appeal., 1890-12-20
PLEASE DIRECT IT,"

,PLEASE DIRECT 1T.
if you'd just put a bit of post-what
do you call it?" he said, coloring like
schoolgirl.
"Postscript?" suggested. Certain.
ly."
''Tell MOTHER" he said, as took ur
my pen again, ''that I wish she'd re-
member memo, not that word-give
my love toto my little girl out there
if she-isn't married" He jerked out
these words. and turned his flushed face
away from me.
My heart beat painfully. Was this ia
be the realization of my presen timont!
I could scarcely trace the words of this
cruel postscript, for my hand trembled
violently. l tried to move the pen me.
chanically, as would strike the keys
of the dumb typewriter, but the words
were scarcely legible. He took the lat
ter again, and pored over the last lines.
He seemed puzzled. He held it in dit
ferent positions, and finally said:
II can just make it out It doesn't
look pretty, like the other part of the
letter. 'Tisn't much better than nv
left-handed scrawl," he laughed, look.
ing up ooh! 1 beg pardon, Miss he
exclaimed, as he looked into my panied
eyes. II s'pose you're tired Been
do very well, I guess.
''Now Miss" he said, in gentle tones,
''if you'll direct it for me I'll be
Obliged"
That voice, softened to this pitch, waa
nos unknown to me land yet Inerved my.
self to direct that letter with his love
conveyed in it-by my hand, too-to an.
other: He had to repeat the request,
however, before could rouse myself
"Please direct it to Mrs. Jane Stan.
ley, at Dayton, N. H." he said, slowly.
My hand that held the pen rose sud.
denly in the air like the arm of one first
stricken with the palsy. A sense OF
dizziness seized me and I fell back.
ward, but not far. A strong arm held
me up. A glass OF water revived me-
and I heard him say: "Poor child
She's worn out" -..-
care you John Stanley?' I asked, al
he raised me to sitting posture.
''Of course Pm John Stanley" said
he, regarding me with surprise.
! was shaking with the violence Of an
ague and my face burned as though all
my hot blood had conferred there as
said: Il am Annie Sinclair.'' - :
Something between a groan and 8
miners shout of JOY at the discovery OF
a rich 'lead" of silver escaped him as
was unceremoniously gathered tightly
into the grizzly bearskin coat of this
terrible stranger. What if it were
mistake? There might be other John
Stanleys Oh, yes; there might be
other Annie Sinclairs who worked ten
hours a day on typewriters. 1 nigh,
not be myself. and John might not. :,
my own little girl! To think I've
got you to write letter to mother and
to give my love to yourself!'' he ex.
claimed. And forgetful how tired j
was he hugged me to his breast again
and again. 1t was like being squeezed
by bear, think. I made feeble
struggles to release myself, but could
not make this miner relinquish his
claim, which he had staked out teu
years ago. I tried to convince him that
he had forfeited this claim by neglect;
that it was long since outlawed by lapse
OF time. It was no use to argue with
him at all. think it was John who
first discovered the presence of my en-.
ployer in the Office. He had witnessed
part of the wild scene His countenance
was study. Surprise, amusement and
displeasure blended there.
"Its all right, Mr.. -. This is my
little girl. | left her about ten years
ago. My claim is good yet"
II must congratulate you cpon your
good fortune, then" said Mr.. Brunsley,
taking his hand.
II want to pay you, Annie. for wrls
ing my letter, said John, turning to me.
Il am already paid" said. blushing
l turned my back on the hateful type.
writer the following week and accom-
panied John home.-Edward A. Baydon
in Shoa md T.oofhop poro~<n~