Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1892-11-10

pomposity which astonished and half
shamed even myself.
Across the street we took our course,
int great courtyard lying behind a
row of houses. Then she led me up five
fights of stairs, each one darker and
sleeper than the last, aud finally through
badly-fitting door into a little room
with slanting ceiling and very little win
dows. On a miserable but neatl y-arranged
bed lay child of perhaps fourteen
months. Her limbs were fever-hoated,
and her eyes were wandering and mex
pressive.
The woman bent down to the bedside.
ssShe does not know mel She does not
know me!' she moaned.
The child coughcd; IL was croupous
cough of the worst sort. / tore leaf
from my book, and wrote my first pre-
scriPtion as practicing physician.
"To the nearest apothecary," said.
The woman looked at me, embarrassed.
''Can take il TO the one in the KONG
strassc2" she said
mo, no,n / cried. ''it requires the
greatest haste; why will you not 20 to the
apothecary in this street,"
The woman Redeemed perceptibly, in
spite Of the charcoal dust Finally she
stammered, THE apothecary in tho
Konigstrasse knows me; l carry coal
there, and he will.perhaps- have no
money"
A heavy tear dropped on the paper in
her hand.
"These people, who can pay no physi-
clan and no druggist" said l, angrily,
but iDaudibly. took out sonR money,
and said aloud, "There, take that, and
60 quickly"
The woman kissed the hand of her
child, and then, before / could stop her,
she kissed mine also. and FASTENED away.
/ looked around the room for a seat. A
ricketB chair, red chest, an old table,
some miserable dishes on a poor, cold
oven, which occupied the place of a
hearth, comprised all the furniture.
Hanging on the wall in corner was q
threadbare wooden garment, and also a
child's cloak and little hat with nib
bon around it a finger's-breadth wide; on
bracket hanging next to the little win
dow was a withered myrtle tree, red
geranium, and hymn-book, with dis
gushing yellow edges. That was every
thing the room held.
/ sat down beside the little girl. She
was apparently we'll cared for. Her limbs
were round and pretty, her golden hair
was soft and curly. She was unconscious;
her blue eyes stared straight before her,
as if she was looking into the fur, I'M
known distance. The room was cold.
l went to the oven and found only some
splinters of wood.
There were so few that l did not at
tempt to build fire. sat down and
waited for the woman and the medicine.
Ever and anon my glance would wander
around the miserable room. Here was a
poor, Woodworking woman, who carried
charcoal on the street, while her child
lay in want and sickness, and yet she
loved her baby tenderly.
Suddenly the thought shot through me
that / could not save the child. / had
been called too late. l had not resolu-
ton enough to try any doubtful energetic
effort to save her, to snatch her from the
arms of Death. My heart was heavy.
sprang to the door and listened for the
footsteps of the mother. She came finally
my reproachful look met her downcast
one. There were so many people in tho
store. A woman like myself did not dare
to press forward"
An hour of torment went by. The
medicine availed nothing. Little Marie
could not swallow it. An operation or
the throat was of no USE The child died
died before my eyes on the bosom of the
mother, bowed down by her grief.
She finally looked up in a terrified man
ner; tear had fallen on her hand, bu
she had not wept.
"You arc weeping, DOCTOR" she said
softly. 'Ah, don't weep, sir, you will
stand before many sick bed as you hav,
stood here, where the Lord will not help. y
She looked fixedly at the little corpse
81 have loved her very dearly. hav,
done for her what could in my poverty
Whenever came home from my work
found her 50 pretty, so charming! Fo
hours she would lie in bed OF on the foo
and play with almost nothing, and sh,
laughed for JOY when came home. Coz
has taken her from me. He loves he
more than l do, but, oh, shall be 81
lonesome
pressed the woman's hand, but oosilC
not speak. / dropped some money OF
the table, and silently went out. At home
laid my instrument case away, and sa
down disheartened. / could eat no sup
per. went to bed and tried to get u
sleep. But the picture of the gloom.
attic, of the dead child, of the submis
sive and patient woman, kept me les
from sleep than the tormenting self-re
: proach with which thought over every
thing that had done. My first atient
simply groaned, and then the words o
the poor woman came TO me again
Don't weep, doctor, you will stand be
fore many sick bed as you have stoot
here where the Lord will not help"
had been summoned too late; ! haC
not been able to save the child. "Yo'
will stand before many a sick bed as yo,
, have stood here" laid my face in tn,
pillow. 1t was terrible night; the tor
turing thoughts which made me so rest
, less were very different from the pleasan
dreams which had encouraged me in boil
my waking and my sleeping hours.
@ Early on the following day an old col
lcge friend came, who had sought me Of
his way through the city. He dragged
me over the crowded streets, into tn
Museums, into all sorts of restaurants
He complained of my taciturnity.
feigned headache and escaped the ne
q cessity of having TO see sensational
. play at the Court Theatre. Tired an'
, worn out, went at last to my own room
! On my way there passed the window o
{ brightly lighted fower-shop. Iwalke'
in and bought a costly, white camelia AM
: some sweet-smelling violets. went u