Mower County transcript., 1890-12-17

1t you'd just put bit OF post-what
do you call it?" he said, coloring like
schoolgirl:
"Postscript?" suggested. Certain.
ly."
Tell mother" he said, as I took ur
my pen again, that l wish she'd re-
member memo. not that word-give
my love toto my little girl out thore-
if she-isn't married." He jerked out
these words. and turned his flushed face
away from me.
My heart beat painfully. Was this tc
be the realization OF my presentimcnt;
l could scarcely trace the words Of this
cruel postscript, for my hand trembled
violently. l tried to move tho pen me.
chanically, as would strike the keys
of the dumb typewriter, but the words
we're scarcely legible. He took the lat
ter again, and pored over the last lines
He seemed puzzled. He held it in DIFF
ferent positions, and finally said:
II can just make it out 1t doesn't
look pretty, like the other part of the
lett r. 'Tisn't much better than my
left-handed scrawl," he laughed, lcok.
ing up ''Oh! beg pardon, Miss,' he
exclaimed, as he looked into my panied
eyes. II s'poso you're tired. Been
working too hard. I'm brute. It'll
do very we'll, guess.
''Now Miss" he said, in gentle tones,
'if you'll direct it for me Ill be
Obliged"
That voice, softened to this pitch, was
not unknown to me ,and yet neryed my.
self 10 direct that letter with his lovG
conveyed in it-by my hand. TOTO 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 l 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"
"Are you John Stanley?" asked, az
he raised me to sitting posture.
''Of course I'm John Stanley" said
he, regarding me with surprise.
J was shaking with the violence OF an
ague and my face burned as though all
my hot blood had centered there as
said: Il am Annie Sinclair"
Something between a groan and 9
miners shout of jov at the discovery oi
rich ''lead" of silver escaped him as
was unceremoniously gathered tightly
into the grizzly bearskin coat of this
terrible stranger. What if it were 8
mistake? There might be other John
Stanleys Oh, yes; there might be
other Anne Sinclairs who worked ter
hours a day on typewriters. l might
not be myself, and John might not.
my own little girl! 10 think I've
got you to write letter to mother and
to give my love to yourself!" he ex.
claimed. And forgetful how tired
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 I could
not mako this miner relinquish. his
claim, which he had stalxed out ten
years ago. tried to convince him that
he had forfeited this claim by neglect;
that it was long since outlawed by lapse
of time. 1t was no use to argue with
him at ALL. think it was John who
first discovered the presence Of my em.
ployer in the Office. He bad witnessed
part Of the wild scene. His countenance
was study. Surprise. amusement and
displeasure blended there.
"It's all right, Mr.. -. This is my
little girl. left her about ten years
ago. My claim Is good yet"
Il must congratulate you rpon you,
good fortune. then" said Mr. Brunsley,
taking his hand. - ,
Il want to pay. you, Annie, for writ.
ing my letter" said John, turning to me-
II am already paid" said. hlushing.
turned my back on the hateful type.
writer the following week and accom-.
panied John home Edward A. BaT3e
t. T II . 4 s