Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1892-10-19
MARGARETs WEDDING NIGHT.

y
night. And stitch, stitch,
stitch would the work never be
done? Could those tired fingers
hold the needle much longer, with
out fire, or food, or rest? Margaret
Lowe hardly knew, for her head was
giddy and her hands all a tremble,
yet she toiled on, with once glance
at her sleeping children, and one
brief prayer (the poor have so little
time even for prayer that it must
be brief) for strength and succor.
There was time when Margaret
had a pleasant home and kind
husband and many friends, but the
home belonged to strangers now,
and the handsome captain had gone
down with his good ship into the
sea; and if ever you have seen a
troop of summer butterflies twirl
up into the air, you may know how
the friends of Margaret's summer
time fitted away before the wintry
blasts of poverty and left her.
Now she sat alone in her little
garnet room, the night growing
colder. the candle DINNER, and her
fingers sitter. Her clothes were
thin, but she had wrapped her only
shawl about her babes, and could
make herself no warmer. If she
could only work till the task was
finished, they might have bread and
fire, at least tomorrow. Stitch,
stitch. stitch! The panes shook in
the bitter blast that moaned about
the house; the shutters creaked and
tapped. A drunken tenant down
in the lower floor of the tenement
house howled song between his
oaths, and out upon the air fire
bell doomed slowly and solemnly,
adding new horror to the gloomy,
lonely night. Oh, if it were only
brighter-if she could only have one
blazing, Pickering log upon the
hearth-if some good fairy could
bring one of those jets of gas from
the street below into her room, what
a comfort it would be-
She said that to herself, counting
the stitches that her work might
seem the shorter, trying to hope that
an hour would finish it, trying not
to feel her fingers stiffen. And
now, as her mind wandered away, it
really did not seem quite so cold;
even the memory of that Christmas
fire must make it little warmer.
Such a fire! And on the table a
Christmas tree, a-glitter with toys,
and baby in her arms, and Lofty on
her fathers shoulder-the three
year-old darling, and all so bright
and beautiful! Oh, how the cap
tain's curls shone in the freight!
How clear his voice rang! What
song he sang of the sea! Then the
door opened and in came the old
people, and there were gifts for
them and from them, and wine went
round and fruit-rare, tropical fruit,
brought home in the captains own
ship, "The Margaret" and he told
them a wild, merry sailors story,
and set them all laughing.
Could that only be rain on the
window she heard? Was it really
so dark and cold
Ten years ago they were married
ten years ago tonight. She wore
white muslin, and had white roses
in her hair, and her cheeks were
aglow, and her heart warm as a
child's, and her fathers lips-cold
in the grave now-had blessed her,
and her dead mother had pressed
her to her heart, and then she had
gone down to meet him whom she
loved! Was that the signing of the
wind, and not the music-the sweet,
sobbing music! Surely she felt his
hand upon her own, and the ring,
yes, the ring was there still, the
wedding ring. 1t had outlived him;
it would outlive her and all her
sorrows, that little heap of gold.
She had come back to the black
garnet and the weary life, and was
stitching faster now. Only for
while though, for another picture
arose. No bright one now. A
melting sea, wreck upon it. Dark,
she knew, but with a supernatural
light somewhere, by which she read
the name, 1.-THE Margaret" and by
which she saw the struggling forms
lashed to planks and spars. Found
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