The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1890-07-30

of it, Jacob, the irony of it. May he
help me now," DOMINIC hat and great
coat. {" will search Houston street
through and through, and when find
them, I'll" But Jacob heard no
more, for the old mans voice was lost
in the bowling of the wind, which jeered
and Knocked at the dazed son as he
gazed after the vanishing figure of his
father.
1t seemed hopeless task upon which
Mr.. Solomons was bent, and as the first
stroke of midnight doomed from
neighboring steeple he turned, weary
and despairing, towards home. AT
that moment, from Old Trinity, rang
out the glad chimes.
Peace on earth, goodwill to men,"
was the burden of voices from mis-
sion near. Loud tongues from other
steeples took up the story, and Christ's
day had dawned upon the world again.
Born in stable" murmured Mr..
Solomons, repeating the child's words,
and then, from the archives of memory
sprang forth another sentence, " a man
of sorrows, and acquainted with grief"
From the depths of his suffering
heart went up cry which the bending
angels heard-and needed.
A little girl named Louise and a
woman called Esther Moore?" repeated
blear-eyed, miserable creature, as she
stood upon the steps of an old Houston
street rookery. Yes, sir, they live
here, way up at the top of the house."
"They be my neighbors," she went
on, leading the way up the rickety stairs,
" and hain't heard nothin' from them
since Louise came home awhile ago.
That's the room, sir-that little room in
the rear. l hopes you'll find nothin'
wrong, sir" she added, falteringly,
but somehow l have the creeps all
over me-"
With. trembling hands the pawn
broker turned the knob and entered
the room. BY the dim radiance of the
stars two forms were outlined upon the
bed.
A light" he cried, hoarsely, to the
old woman. A long shudder passed
over them both as its rays fell upon the
peaceful features of woman, whose
stiffened form was encircled by the lit
tie arms of the sleeping Louise.
"My Esther, my Esther" moaned
the old man.
"Sh-," whispered the awakened
and much bewildered child, " sh-.
God has been here"
The woman dropped upon her knees
and sobbed aloud.
:" didn't find the locket, sir" she
went on in low voice, and when |
got home and called to mamma she
didn't answer, and then put my face
against hers and got up close to keep
warm, and told her | had brought no
money home for supper or for fire."
The pawnbroker groaned and bowed
his aged head upon the cold brow of
the dead Esther.
After awhile" pursued the child,
"mamma moved and said, real faint
like, Did the old man see the locket,
Louise?" And when l told her had
lost it, she threw up her hands and
cried out, My last hope for you is
gone, my last hope We lay real quiet
after that, and then l whispered. Has
nobody been here, mamma, while
Louise was out?' She didn't answer at
first, then after awhile she said, Yes,
Louise, some one has been here, some
one.'
"' Who, mamma whispered, feel
ing frightened, 'who?'
g An angel of the Lord said
mamma-and-"
"And then" sobbed the old woman,
as the child paused, "and then,
dearie?"
And then" smiled the little one,
Louise went to sleep"
Mr.. Nathan Solomons still keeps
loan office at the old stand, but Jacob
Solomons, his son, has no interest in
the business.
That worthy for some years has
hourished under the sign of the three
golden balls block further down the
street, and appears none the happier
thereby.
Why" is his constant complaint to
the loan fraternity, " father keeps a
loan office for no other reason than to
help the poor. Instead of taking from
them, he gives, gives, gives! 1t nearly
sets me crazy. And as for his precious
grandchild, Louise" he adds, with
heavy frown, Z" she does nothing but
run around looking up cases of folks
who perch up in the top of old rock
cries, or who whine and cry at parting
Father is just goose enough to call her
an angel, his angel Louise '-faugh,
it makes me sick, and she, taking his
old gray head between her hands, looks
down into his eyes, and with shake of
her head, says not an angel, grandpa;
not an angel, but only little messenger
chosen to carry your daily goodwill
and cheer into the homes of poverty
and want Mrs. Nora Marble, in
Neto York Observer.