Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1891-04-17

lost child. Oh, if only Phil-if only
she hadn't
Then thought came to her. If she
left letter addressed to him, after she
was gone, after the troubled spirit,
weary with the battle, with the battle
with privation and despair, had taken its
flight, they would send it to him as the
one likely to be most interested, and he,
if he came, could take the cold little
body and do with it as he might.
The letter occupied long time in
writing. She had not so very much to
say--the pitiful story was not long
one-but her weak hand trembled and
tears bedimmed her sight and dropped
on the cramped lines so often. Then,
when 1t was done, she left it lying on
the table. But she could not remain
there with her thoughts-her thoughts
and her hunger-and SO she went out
again with weak steps and laden heart.
There might-but no, there seemed
no hope for anything. Well, she might
as well die trying! Her thin face was
flushed little now and her eyes un-
naturally bright. Her unsteady steps
grew quicker, and odd, queer thoughts
troubled her brain. Her hunger was
half forgotten as she wandered on and
on with feverish strength and uncertain
purpose. Her short little curls were all
astray and her thin hands clenched con-
vulsivcly.
Her half unguided steps led to the art
store where her pretty little daubs had
so unsuccessf,,lly been exposed for sale,
the kind old proprietor feeling half
pity for the lonely little child woman who
had asked SO often and anxiously of their
fate and had been too proud to voice her
disappointments when they never sold.
This old fellow was just stepping to
the door when she passed the place. The
daubs were almost forgotten in the half
| delirium that had come over her.
"Ho, Miss Lang!" he called, cheerily.
''Luck at last"
The daubs-not one, but all-were
sold Some young fellow, much to the
old fellows surprise, upon laundering
into the store, seeing the daubs, which
he appeared to recognize, and making a
few inquiries as to the identity of the
artist, had snapped up the whole lot as
if they had been very precious indeed.
The man placed the money in the bewil-
| dered girls hands, and watched her as
she went weakly away after few half
! incoherent words.
"Poor child!" he muttered to himself.
"She looked i'll and half starved! wish
why, declare, l forgot to tell her
that that young had beeu very particular
to inquire her address, and exhibited
strong symptoms of intending to call on
her."
Meanwhile the buyer of the daubs,
with his purchases in bundle under his
arm, had matte all haste to proceed to
the address the art dealer had given
him.
No, Miss Lang was not in, the land
lady informed him. She had probably
gone to look for a new abiding place, as
she was about to leave her present quar-
ters upon the morrow.
Was Miss Lang enjoying good health 2
Well, now that she thought of it, the
landlady was moved to confess that for
some time the young lady had appeared
to be sort of fading and failing.
What was the matter2
The landlady could not say. A woman
with the cares of a shabby genteel lodg-
ing house, a worthless husband and
valueless children could not be ex-
pected to find time to pay more atten-
ton to her patrons than to know that
they paid their dues promptly and did
not make way with the furniture.
When did she expect the young lady
back?
She could not say. Maybe, now that
she thought of it, Miss Lang would not
return at all. She had been given warn
ing to vacate the room and might have
done so already. There was letter on
the table addressed to Mr.. Philip
Atchison. 1t might possibly
"That's mel" interjected the visitor,
with much promptness and profound
contempt for the restrictions of gram
mar.
Five minutes later Phil Atchison was
reading the letter in the dreary little
room.
Such pitiful, disconnected, tear
blotted letter it was And when the visitor
| IlaQ reaO III Through nc ruDDeu tne DdCk
of his hand across his eyes and there
were other and fresher tear spots on the
page.
ssWhen you read this, Phil, dear,
dear Phil, the letter said, "my strug-
giles will be done. I've tried so hard,
Phil, but it was no use. The battle is
almost over, and when 1T is done, you
can lay me among the lilacs. And, oh,
Phil, forgive the wrong I did you, dear,
dear Phil. Oh, If you could only come
to me now. am so tired, so tired and
hungry. Come to me, Phil! Come
There was catch in the young fell
lows voice as he spoke:
"Her struggles will soor be over one
way or the other! Well, am glad my
inventing wasn't failure at last! And
the golden harvest it is bringing me
shall be devoted to making jamie, little
jamie, happy if find her alivel"
He started to read on again.
ooh. Phil, come back to mel Come