The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1892-01-04
IN A SNOW STORM.


louare factories Of the Northern manufac-
tnrinr town. But the poor soul who came
sbiverirc from the hospital steps into the
corDparatiyely quiet white street did not see
this unusual beauty He was thinly clad,
and the piercing north wind cut through
him. lie had been discharged as cured,
word which seemed a CHASTITY moclery II
you looked at the white drawn face and
heard the rackng cough which shook his
enleeb.ed frame But what can he done IN
EDcb clses? Others were waiting TO take
his place. and be was well enough, the doc
tor SAID. to leave. He told them in the hos
pitai that lie was going back TO { ouid
place." mentioning village some miles DIS
lant, and which be had not seen 1OT many
wears; for when taken Ill IN London he had
been drawn as by q magnet ngTthWaTds,
and with a sick mans longing, thought lie
would get we'll II only lie could breathe
again his fresh native air and see the nome
unVlsittd so long. \ o one knew his story,
saving that he had been brought 10 oy
friendly policeman, who found him when
Oh his beat lying desT erately Ill n the shell
ter Of a doorway. lie had no friends that
he could find, he said, 50 they Admitted MIN.
Ii was the Oit-tOld tale. John Lear was
country lad who left home to find work, and
had LETT, too, behind HIM girl to whom tie
was 10 return when lie had made home Tor
her That home had never been made, nor
had he had any fate but hard times. Grad
ually lie drifted lower and lower. still, how
ever, honestly struggling fuT work. He had
said when leaving Mary ROmer that he
would not come back till he had home for
her, and she had waited, WeaTying through
long years for news, while she, too, worked
for heT bread and kept her fathers house
tail the report came that John Lear was
dead. Dead. indeed, he was TO her, for no
word came from him-tO him, too, IL had
dot Inns
hospital Now he WAS discharged, with the
longing for home strong IN him. lie would
make his way home; perhaps the squire or
some farmer would give him work; be
would hot trouble Mary ROaieT, but he must
see tie old place IAls last desire over
powered all others.
1t was a weary tramp, always through
the binding snow, 10 his destination. Hard
enough for whole man IN such weather,
but well nigh impossible to him IN his weak
ness. But he was true north country IN
pluck and dOEgednesS. Ills pOOr thin
clothes cIuDg to him, though the heavy
drops gathered often on his forehead, and
bis worn boots got cl0gged with SNOW, but
be tTudged on patiently, asking no help,
pauslug only when the cough caught him
with sharp pain and he had To stand still to
ease his painting breath. lie had a little
money, which had been given him by the
kindly doctors 10 help him, for his honest,
simple courage had won on them; but il
was his fixed idea that this must be KEPT TO
pay for food and lodging when he reached
The village. so that lie mIghtnOt disgrace. his
name by returning a beggar.
Resting periOrce atIEteTyalS, spending as
little as p ssIble on fOud just 70 help him on.
he walked through the day. Nightfall
came. Still the snow sWlTltd down, making
drifts by the hedges, and singing his face
as i eddied round HIM in The wind. The
smoky town was far behind; he was among
his ORn W0ids now, and Ia spite OF the level
ing, Oblueratng effects If snow, his eager
eye traced Weil-knONn landmarks in the
DIM light
at Is but a sma' bit now" he muttered,
81 nun see l old place, though they are ali
gone, most like" a cottage or two by the
read and twnkling ights further on showed
ne VAS nearing the village. at is her
house, but cOUidna go there" lie went on,
as lie passed small cottage. IN knock
at the farm. No one viii know NE" he
added scornfuily, "a poor clemmed body,
but lis t culd place sure"
little further on he came to a larger
more substantial house, which was he farm.
Entering the gate and going I'D the Tagging
path he knocked at the door. A bright,
buXOm-lOOking woman opened IT, She Id
not recognize him, but be knew her al a
glance rs Mary R0meT, bis old love. a
little girl ciuHg 10 her skirt and pepped
around at tie strange man. lie started and
stared at her. Ii all flashed across him.
OttE udu lldAl lcl Il al LlGl ID wv Tic AcAlCiI-
beTcd now. he WAS all old admiTer. 80 Il
was; having heard lie was dead in London,
that far bourne from which so few travellers
returned she had accepted her well-tO-dO
anu constant sUltor, persuaded to this by
friends Who urged what use to wait for q
man who, if not dead, has never vouchsafed
her one word Of news?"
BE asked. hurriedly, Gould we have a
warm by the freq
En-, poor soul, COON in," she said, hold
ing the door wide open, coon in and warm;
tits cruel bitter night"
Without word be followed her into the
bright, warm room, with the glowing fire
reflected in glnts Of light in the dish covers
and bright polished pans. She set chair
Tor him by the fire and offered him a cup of
tea, woman's panacea for every i'll.
You've travelled far and look wasty
like" she said.
Yes, I am from the hospital" he au-
sweTed, and sank down YEARLY, coughing.
He was too daZed by the light and heat and
shock OF seeing her, TO spe * for some little
time. She, seeing this, busted herself in
something for him. Mechanically he took
It from her.
As be grew better his eyes followed her
every movement, and he replied vaguely TO
her questions. did he know this part Of
the county? He was north country by his
speech"
Eyes, he knew the neighborhood; had
been there"
Being a kindly. gentle woman, she put
down his absent manner to his being weak
and i'll. All this time the little girl had been
looking at him with grave, childish eyes.
Suddenly, as if touched by some divine in
stinct Of pity, she went up TO him and put
her little hand on his knees, saying, Poor,
poor man." and stretched up on tp-tOe to
kiss him. thrustng at the same time into his
hand a battered wOolly dog, one Of her
treasures. The chld'S attempt to comfort
rrf ~ d hrar fro
him. This was her child, and she looked as
Mary had done when they we're children to-
Rether. He could bear il no longer; hastily
he stopped down and kissed the child, then
rose, saying: Thank you, missus, | must
be gOn' on my way"
In vain she begged him 10 stay till her
man came home; he still refused. AS he
passed out Of the door he turned and asked,
/" Maybe you know IS any Of the family Of
Lear left hereab0ut2"
A shadow passed over her face.
They are all dead, or gone away"
Aye, so I've heard" lie answered, and
went out into the night.
Where should he go? He had no friends
who would know him. De walked down
the pathway and heard the door shut be-
hind him. He staggered from weakness and
almost fell.
"Aye, but I will never disgrace her. By
the look In her eyes she has not forgotten
old days. En-, nun, but she is bonny yet"
be muTmured TO himself In the darkness
be made out shed by the path He must
rest few minutes more. BE turned aside
and crept In at the open door. Here he sat
down, leaning against some wood stacked
there, trying to think. The snow drifted in
on him UNDECIDED; his thoughts had gone
back to the past. Why was all getting so
clear to him? His old home. the kitchen,
with its wide chimney-place and oak-raf-
tered ceiling. He could hear his mothers
voice grooming the evening hymn, "Glory to
Thee, Ny God, THIS Night" as she went
about her work. Mary R0mer was there,
too, a slip Of girl; they were sitting by tue
wood fire, on little stools, talking Of what
they would do when they were big. How
bright and happy they were, mother listen
ing to and smiling at their childish fan
cies. such a sense Of relief was coming
over his aching limbs. The door opened. a