The record-union. [volume] (Sacramento, Calif.) 1891-1903, 1892-01-16
/" POPPY"
Written for the RECoRD-UNIoN by Gale
Praith.l

Written for the RECoRD-UNIoN by Gale
Braith.
A little barefooted child is toddling
down the dusty road Such pretty
blue-eyed baby girl, upon whose rum
pied, unprotected golden head the
summer sun is pouring numerically
Each chubby hand holds tightly to the
corners of the tattered pinafore, which is
filled to overfiowing with gorgeous, frag-
rant wildtiowers. One string of the
faded blue bonnet is held between the
little white teeth; the bonnet hangs
loosely down her back with the other
string trailing in the dust behind.
The sun becomes hotter and hotter
almost scorching the wee brown feet,
which leave behind them at each step the
imprint of five tiny dimples and a little
round dot in the sand.
By-and-by the feet commenced to lag
and YEARLY falter. The sweet lips part
in a troubled sigh. The tired fingers re-
lax their hold upon the ragged apron,
from which the brilliant flowers are
slowly dropping one by one. Standing
still the mite looks around with be-
wildered air
"Poppy's tired; Poppy's lost" say the
trembling little lips. Wolf catch Poppy
and eat her all up'-a frightened sob
arises in her throat-"Poppy's 'fraid."
And, then, all uuheeding, the wild
flowers fall in heap at her feet, whilst
the frightened baby sobs piteously. In
stantly q great dog bursts through the
bushes, and, with Il gulp of dread, the
child sits down, covering her face with
both trembling hands. 'Wuf, Wuf,"
barks the dog, coming with long, play
ful bounds toward her. The poor little
creature means with terror. ''Oh, good
wolf, please don'te eat Poppy"
Then gentleman on horseback rides
quickly down the dust-white road, draw
ing rein beside the child and dog.
Lie down, Rover! Quiet sir! For
shame! See! you have frightened her."
And in another instant he is off his horse
and is holding the girl III his arms
A woman with long red cloak comes
flying down the dusty road; lone of those
confounded gypsies,' growls the young
man, still holalng the trembling child in
his arms. Fhe handsome, dark-eyed
gypsy girl braathlessly holds out her
arms, Pray. give her to me, sir We
thought she was lost
But the child shrinks against her new
friends shoulder, mo, no; Poppy won't
go. Bad Stella; whips Poppy''
Half amused, half yeXed, Dick Now
bray laughs. Come, little one, won't
you go to your sister?" But the chiId's
arms clasp his handsome neck closer.
whilst the sunny head is pressed against
his shoulder. Then, impulsiyely, he
asks, why not let me keep her? My
wife wants TO adopt child.'
The girl looks at him in wonder. II
don't know il her grandmother would be
willing to part with her"
Her grandmother Has she then no
motherY'
10, her motheris dead these two years
past"
Where is your camp?"
I'm the tir grove yonder."
Good; | viii go with you and have a
talk with the old woman. What is the
ChIld'S name %
"Pasquelina, though for short we call
her Poppy
The young man pats the rumpled head
on his shoulder reassuredly, and, slipping
his disengaged arm through the horses
bride, prepares TO follow the girl to her
peoples camp.
a few questions asked, few answered.
A purse filled with silver and shining
golden pieces Is passed from a strong
white hand, to be clasped greedily by five
brown, wrinkled fingers, and Poppy,
lucky Poppy. passes from her old com
rades and leaves behind a vagabond's
life, to turn, with her new protector, to-
WaGu NOW pray Hail.
Mrs. Mowbray a pale, fretful woman,
some dozen years her husbands senior,
received the newcomer in angry aston
lshment. and little Pasquelina was soon
banlshed to the servants quarters.
Fourteen years have flown apace.
There is a mysterious shadow hanging
and lowering over Mowbray HaTl-a
horrible, black shadow which is envelop-
ing fair, young girl, who has passed
these fourteen years in neglected idleness
spending the most of her time amongst
the servants since the day she came, a lit
tie barefooted child, TO Mowbray Hall,
polling her dainty fingers into various
dalnties, dipping mischievOus little hands
around the edges Of shallow milk-pans,
to convey thence the rich, yellow cream
to her rosy mouth. Poor Poppy!
Love, love, you terrible, beautiful
word, what sins, what crimes are you not
guilty of? One moment raising us to the
highest pinnacle of bliss; anon plunging
us into the deepest abyss of black des-
pair. Poppy, with her halt-savage ma
ture, now dimly realizes the act of folly
for which she must now suffer. Poor,
erring Poppy!
Two more years have taken wing.
The warm, soft lights from the cosy fire
Kicker and dance upon the sunny curls
OF the pretty, brown-eyed child sitting
upon the hearth-rug with plump little
fingers busily employed in destroying
nude and battered doll, from whose
body and limbs the sawdust is running
in dozen tiny streams.
The plain, though tastefulIy furnished,
room is softly lighted. At the farthest
end stands an upright piano, before
which is'seated a graceful, girlish form
She is singing in pure, strong tones an
aria from Normal
AS the last notes die away the gray
haired listener standing silent turns
eagerly, patting her shoulder tri-
umphantly
"BrGUd, brGUG; your fame is assured"
He touches the wick and the dimly burn