The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1890-12-19
"PLEAsE DIRECT IT."

| it you'd just put bit OF post-What
do you call it?" he said, coloring like a
schoolgirl.
"Postscript?" suggested Certain
ly."
Tell mother" he said, as / took up
my pen again, that | 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.
Ny 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 tried to move the pen me-
chemically, 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 shines
He seemed puzzled. He held itih Diff
ferent positions, and finally said:
| 81 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! l beg pardon, Miss he
exclaimed, as he looked into my panied
eyes. 81 s'pose you're tired Been
working too hard. I'm a brute. It'll
do very we'll, guess.
''Now Miss" he said, in gentle tones,
''if You'll direct it for mo I'll be
obliged
That voice, softened to this pitch, was
not unknown to me and yet nerved my
self to direct that letter with his love
conveyed in it--by my hand, TOTO 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 chat 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?" l asked, as
ne raised me to sitting posture.
'Of course I'm John Stanley" said
was shaking with the violence of an
ague and my face burned as though all
my hot blood had conferred there as
said: u am Annie Sinclair"
Something between a groan and
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 II 1t were a
mistake? There might be other John
Stanlcys. Oh, yes; there might be
other Anne 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 letter to mother and
to give my love to yourself!' he ex-
claimed. And forgetful how tired |
was he Rugged me to his breast again
and again. 1t was like being squeezed
by bear, ! think. l made feeble
struggles to release myself, but could
not make this miner relinquish his
| claim, which he had staked ont 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. l think it was John who
first discovered the presence Of nv en-
ployer in the office. He had Witnessed
part of the wild scene. His countenance
was study. Surprise. amusement and
displeasure blended there.
''lt's all right, Mr.. -. This is my
little girl. left her about ten years
ago. My claim is good yet"
Il must congratulate you upon your
good fortune, then" said Mr.. Rrunsley
taking his hand.
II want to pay you, Annie, for writ
ing my letter." said John, turning to me-.
Il am already paid, said, blushing.
turned my back on the hateful type.
writer the following week and accom-.
panied John home. Edward A. Boyden,
in Shoe aud Leather ReportsA