The Opelousas courier., 1892-10-01
CRONIN'S DAUGHTER.

It was a still, clear, cold night In
the heart of the Maine woods. Mary
Cronin drew her fIayed shawl 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 .encircled
spring on the mountain road, her
mothers cruel had been made, her
bel smoothed up, and Mary had sung
Ole tune after another, as she held
her mothers wasted hand, till sleep
came to the sufferer.
The girl stood motionless on the
d~oor-stone and looked eagerly at all
the works. Through the windows
and doors of the easting-room, which
were open this December night. q
fiery CLEAN shone from the red-hot
iron running through the molds.
Now and then came a sharp explo,
sion, with a superb play OF fireworks
around the mouth of the furnace.
The violet, orange, green and Grim
son stars did not attract Mary's at
tention. 1t was an old story TO her,
and her heart was too heavy for her
eyes to e any beauty in it. She
looked above the casting.room up the
high brick chimney to the top
house, which was perched on an i'm
mense staging just at the mouth OF
the chimney.
Her father was therefor it waa
his night on-and he had been drink.
ing when he came home 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 the Goodnight, Molly flake
good eare of your mother" which
made her happy every night. He
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 and only child.
The factory quarters of st. Louis,
Pittsburg, Newark, and other manu-.
featuring centers are wofully alike,
and had it not been for her mothers
stories, Mary-the little girI-would
have believed the whole world paved
and cut into narrow, dirty streets
with a streak Of sooty sky above,
crossed with clothes-lines.
Her mother came from the Catgkill
Mountains region, and her nature re-.
volted at the wretched places they
had called home. The sunny old
brick farmhouse, built In the Dutch
way, the fertile fields and crowded
b~arn-yard, grandmother's flower gar.
den across the road, the mountains
framing the little vale, the peace, the
cleanliness, the stability-Mary knew
them all through her mothers words
and signs 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. II only her father
would not drink!
There came q day TO the child when
she began. to see her way clear. A
letter arrived from a man with whom
her father had worked before his
marriage, in a Penobscot logging.
camp. He wrote of an opening for q
family at the Katahdin Iron Works, In
Maine-fair wages and a comfortable
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-barrel and the supple
rod bend in his hand. Before long
the money was got together 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, unsightly build.
ings, long row of charcoal houses,
heaps of puTple-tinted Stag, the refuse
OF the iron and acres Of dead trees
from the sulphur fumes, and explored
Pleasant river, leaping from one fat
stone TO another, and gathering iii
the cardinal flowers along the bank.
She wandered beside Silver Lake,
which reflected old Ghairhack and
gaddleback Mountain upon It's polk
lshed surface. Her mother would NOT
let her venture far. Two fierce bear
cubs In their cages at the hotel told
what the woods contained.
Under Mrs. Gronin's touch the
plain wooden cottage grew into Il
home. There were u few pretty pict
Tres and ornaments she had brought
with her-the remainder of better
lays, and Mary helped arrange them