The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1890-10-10

fast team had long since been out trotted
by Time, and a shrieking iron horse was
whirling one lone. old woman along to
the great, strange, bewildering city.
Whirling, it seemed to her, when, after
long, tedious wait at the junction, she
took her place in the crowded car, though
it was slow enough, even for a way train.
| 1t was late afternoon when the train
drew heavily into the great, echoing
station, wherein, to her poor old ears,
which had only known sweet country
| sounds for fifty years, pandemonium
seemed to have broken loose, and, with
one accord, to be charging down upon her.
''It's all differ'nt," she murmured,
making her weary way along the inter-
minable platform, can Isick aint here.
I 'most wish hadn't a come" For a
moment the little black bonnet drooped,
but it was lifted again with tremulous,
quaint defiance.
"He allus said he would, an I will"
And grasping the satchel tightly, as
though to stay herself upon the contact
with something that had outlasted
change, she looked up with deter
mined air into the strange, eager faces
of twenty clamorous hackmen. One of
them slipped out from behind the bar
and took the satchel from her hand.
"You want to go somewheres, don't
you, mum? Where do you want to go?'
''Be you the stage driver?" she queried
innocently. The mans eyes twinkled,
but he answered gravely enough: "Well,
r xJ,..,- L.. Il >e
abouts did you want to go?"
"Is-is the Astor house stan'in' yet?'
She looked wistfully and beseechingly
up at him, as If mutek- beseeching him
not to say no. The man, without clearly
understanding why, was touched, or, as
he put it to himself, felt "all kind of
queer like"
"Oh, yes, mum" he replied with sus-
picious cheeriness, "that'll STAN as long
as New York does, 1 reckon. But it's a
terrible long ways down town: hadn't
you better go somewheres nearer2'
''No, l must go there. I'm dretful glad
kim" she added, huskily. 81 amt been
in the city this fifty years. you see. an
there's deal gone since then. / didn't
know but that might ma gone too.'
There were tears of relief i'll the anx-
ious eyes as she sank back upon the soft
cushions of the carriage. Now that the
strain of uncertainty was over she felt
strangely weak. She scarcely stirred
during all the long drive down town.
Even her eyes grew tired of watching
tho endless rows Of buildings and the
seething crowd of faces that hemmed
her in on every side.
"It's no use,' she thought at last, clos
ing them wearily. "It's all terrible
strange. Everything's differ'nt, an
don't seem to care for 'em now Isick amt
here"
1t was very feeble, tired old lady that
the kindly driver set down at last ON the
steps Of the Astor house. He said a few
words privately to the porter who took
her satchel, guided her to the ladies' par
lor and summoned chambermaid.
60 This old lady wants room," he said
to the latter, passing on the hackman's
information, "an' 1 guess you'd better
see to her a little. She seems pretty well
played out"
''Give me No. 45, if you can," put in
the old lady, eagerly. "Pve had that
room afore," she hastened to add, seeing
the look of surprise on their faces.
played out" she certainly was. She
could scarcely climb the broad, low
stairs, and walked SO wearily along the
corridor that the good natured chamber
maid was fain to offer her her arm for
support.
"Are you going to put me in No. 45?'
queried the sweet old voice, TREMENDOUSLY,
as they went past door after door, along
way which began to seem strangely ia
miliar, like the places one has seen in
dreams.
"No, ma'am, not 45," replied the girl,
cheerily, that's taken. Forty-seven is
the number" And she displayed the
shiny tag depending from the big brass
key which the clerk had given her.
"Oh" said the old lady in meek disap-
pointment, "Tm sorry fer that! 1 was
in hopes I could have the same room
ag'in. It's only for this once, ye know,
an Isick an me had it afore; fifty years
ago"
I'm sorry too, them" said the plump
chambermaid, sympathizingly. "But it
was taken yesterday. There's young
couple in 1t. guess they amt been
married very long; and she's as pretty
as picter. You'll see her goin' in and
comm out, 1 shouldn't wonder. Your
rooms right opposite"
LAS pooty as a picter," repeated the
old lady, musingly. "That's what Isick
said 1 was. Ye-wouldn't b'lieve now
that my hair was bright yaller onc't,
would ye?" as the Igirl thoughtfully and
kindly removed the queer little black
bonnet from the tired head.
"Idon't know" replied the other, dubi-
ously eying the thin, gray hair she had
uncovered; and, then-for there was
something about this curious little old
woman which touched her unwontedly-
she added softly, "The truest things is
hardest to believe sometimes, an your
hair g fine an pretty now."
THANK ye, DEAR" said the old lady.
"Yere proper good to me. Now I'll just
set here an rest spell. You can call me
when teas ready, if We like. An just
leave the door open. Maybe the young
lady'll come out by'embye." GAS pooty
as picter-as pooty as picter," she re-
peated softly to herself, rocking quietly
back and forth in her chair, while the
chambermaid's retiring footsteps echoed
more and more family along the corridor.
And then, somehow, the world and its
troubles faded gently from her, and the