Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1890-12-20

IL you JuSU pun d blU VI u pOoU- hbO
do you call it?" he said, coloring like
schoolgirl.
"Postscript?" suggested. Certain
ly."
Tell MOTHER" he said, as took up
my pen again, "that l wish she'd re-
member memo, not that word-give
my love toto my little girl out there
if she-isn't married" He jerl1ed out
these words, and turned his flushed face
away from me.
My heart beat painfully. Was this to
be the realization of my presentiment?
could scarcely trace the words of this
cruel postscript, for my hand trembled
violently. l tried to move the pen me-
chanically, as l would strike the keys
of the dumb typewriter, but tho words
were 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:
~ can just make it out. 1t doesn't
look pretty, like the other part of the
letter. 'Tisn't much better than my
left.handed scrawl," he laughed, look
ing up "Oh! beg pardon, Miss he
exclaimed, as he looked into my panied
eyes. Il s'poso you're tired. Been
working too hard. Pm brute. It'll
do very we'll, 1 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, was
not unknown to me and 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 l 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"
"Are you John Stanley?" asked as
he raised me to sitting posture.
'Of course I'm John Stanley" said
he, regarding me with surprise.
! was shaking with the violence of an
ague and my face burned as though al,
my nOU DlOOu udu CcNteTcu UucIc 10
said: Il am Annie Sinclair"
Something between a groan and a
miners shout of Joy at the discovery of
rich lead" of silver escaped him as
was unceremoniously gathered tightly
into the grizzly bearskin coat of this
terrible stranger. What if it were a
mistake? There might be other John
Stanleys. Oh, yes; there might be
other Annie Sinclairs who worked ten
hours day on typewriters. might
not be myself. and John might not
my own little girl! To think I've
got you to write a letter to mother and
to give my love to yourself!" he ex-
claimed. And forgetful how tired l
was he hugged me to his breast again
and again. 1t was like being squeezed
by bear, l think. l made feeble
struggles to release myself, but could
not make this miner relinquish his
claim which he had staked out ten
years ago. Itried TO convince him that
he had forfeited this claim by neglect;
that IL was long since outlawed by lapse
of time. 1t was no use to argue with
him at all. l think 1T 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
displeasnrc blended there.
"It's all right, Mr.. - This is my
little girl. l left her about ten years
ago. My claim is good yet"
II must congratulate you upon your
good fortune. then" said Mr. Brunsley,
taking his hand.
II want to pay you, Annie, for writ
ing my letter, said John, turning to me
81 am already paid" said. blushing
turned my back on the hateful type
writer the following week and accom-
panied John home Edward A. Boyder
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