Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1892-07-27
ALPENA WEEKLY ARGUS.
MISCELLANEOUS
CR0NIN's DAUGHTER.

| MARY CrOiiih uio" hoi i'"Jo"
closely over her head and shoulders
as she closed the door softly and
stepped out into the night. She
was very tired, for the days work
had been hard, and her invalid
mother had needed more care than
usual.
The dishes had been washed and
the table reset for breakfast, the
pail had been filled at the ice-en-
c..rcled spring on the mountain road,
her mothers Cruel had been made,
her bed smoothed up, and Mary had
sung one tune after another, as she
held her mothers wasted hand, till
sleep came to the sufferer.
The girl stood motionless on the
door-stone and looked eagerly ut all
the works. Through the windows
and doors of the casting-room,
which were open this December
night, a fiery CLEAN shone from the
red-hot iron running the molds.
Now and then came a sharp explo-
sion, with superb play of fireworks
around the mouth of the furnace.
The violet, orange, green and
crimson stars did not attract Mary's
attention. 1t was an old story to
her, and her heart was too heavy
for her eyes to see any beauty in it.
She looked above the casting-room
up to the high brick chimney to the
"top-house,' which was perched on
an immense staging just at the
mouth of the chimney.
Her father was therefor it was
his night on-and he had been
drinking when he came to supper.
Fortunately her mother was asleep,
and had been spared cruel anxiety.
Mary's heart stood still as her father
took his lunch can, without his
usual kiss or Goodnight, Molly!
take good care of your mother"
which made her happy every night.
lie had stumbled over the rag mat,
and uttered a curse under his breath.
He never did this unless he had been
drinking heavily,
Poor John Cronin His appetite
for liquor and his weak will had
caused him to drift from one work.
shop to another, from city to city,
and from state to state, carrying with
him his wife aud only child. The
factory quarters of st. Louis, Pitts
burg, Newark, and other manufact-
uring centers are wofully alike, and
had it not been for her mothers
stories, Mary he little would
have believed the whole world paw
ed out into narrow, dirty streets,
with a streak of sooty sky above,
crossed with clothes-lines.
Her mother came from the Cat
skill Mountains region, and her ma
ture revolted at the wretched places
they had called home. The sunny
old brick farmhouse, built in the
Dutch way, the fertile fields and
crowded barn-yards, grandmother's
flower garden across the road, the
mountains framing the little vale,
the peace, the cleanliness, the stabil-
ity-Mary knew them all through
her mothers words and sighs and
tears.
A great resolve had crept into the
child's heart to try and reproduce
that peaceful life. ITO be respect
able and stay in one place" was
what she lived for. If only her
father would not drink
There came IA day to the child
when she began to see her way clear.
A letter arrived from man with
whom her father had worked befor.
his marriage, ina Penobscot logging
camp. He wrote of an opening for
afamily at the Katahdin Iron Works,
in Maine--fair wages and COM
Portable home were ready.
When John Cronin read the letter
all his old love for the woods came
back to him. He could feel the cold
steel of the gun-barred and the
supple rod bend in his hand. Be-
fore long the money was got to-
gether which carried the family
from Boston to Bangor, and from
there to the works, sixty miles north.
Six months had gone, every day
brought new beauties to Katahdin.
Now and then the child left the
works, with its black, unsighty
buildings, long row of charcoal
houses, heaps of purple-tinted Stag,
the refuse Of the iron and acres of
dead trees from the sulphur fumes,
and explored Pleasant river, leaping
from one fiat stone to another, and