Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1893-08-10

/ was soon wei luTOuSu, ana molc illHp
and bedraggled woman could not have
been imagined than that poor mother
who staggered in at her own doorway
at last
Mr.. Atwood had just completed a
most splendid dinner at Il most splen-
did hotel, and was leaning back in his
chair chatting with a gentleman friend
he had chanced to meet, and whom he
had invited to JOIN him. There had
been champagne, and they were laugh
ing and in the best of spirits, when Il
telephone message was handed to Mr..
Atwood, which read us follows:
Come home! your wife is dying
MARY ATWOOD
'Ah, what is it 7 exclaimed the friend,
noticing his companions pallor.
For answer Mr.. Atwood handel him
the message, snatched his oyercoat and
without more ado rushed away.
1t was still raining, but the electric
railway car bore him quickly homcward
Silence greeted him as he entered the
hall but, upon opening the door to his
wifes chamber, his oldest sister mt
him, strange look upon her unusually
cold face.
Mary ! he gaspcd, when dil YOU
come, and wha; has happened ?
4 came an hour ago. luckily. As for
what has happened, I'll leave You to
answer that. Look at your wife !
She isn't dead, is She: There S col
or in her face
No, she's : not dead-yet. Look here,
Charlie, do you know what these are :
and she held up before him bundle Of
what appeared to be rags, soaking wet.
Your wife's cloak, dresses and skirts,
and these are her shoes. Please exam
ine them don't see how she kept them
on her feet. I uppose they are the kind
you provide for her.
But where has she been, gasp"d Mr..
Atwood, 'to get 50 wet =
i asked the little Irish GIRL who had
! taken the children over to their house,
about it, and she said that Mrs. Atwood
went down town to the stores, and that
she walked there and back, and without
an UMBRELLA
Walked +
Yes. You may understand why; |
don't
just then a smothored sob reached
Mr.. Atwood, and he discernel pair of
chubby legs in darned Old stockings,
sticking out from a mass Of bed clothes
at the foot of the bed.
It's Johnny. lie was so wild with
grief | had not the heart to send him
away, and he won't do her any hult.
See his feet and they are soaking wet,
and must be attended to.
Mr.. Atwood flushed hotly at the SIGHT
Of those toeless shoes.
She went to get him Il pair this morn
ing, But why don't you send for doc.
tor p
He has been here ami gone every
thing has been dcne that can be. This
is the bundle your wife brought home
with her. These are her winter shoes,
| suppose, and you can see how suitable
they are; the price marked on them is
one dollar and ten cents,
'Mary!' began Mr.. Atwood, pam
lively.
You asked me what had happened.
You see | am trying to find out, and |
, think | shall before get through. |
want you to see something else IN this
bundle. This roll Of coarse led flannel
no doubt is for petllcoats for the little
girls but what do You suppose this is
orr sternly.
Mr.. Atwood gazcd down upon small
quantity Of soft white flannel. i don t
know, he said helplessly.
|
Thank God | never married y cried
his sister earnestly. Il might not have
known myself if the doctor hadn't in
tlmatcd that was what made the case
so critical
Mr.. Atwood understood now and
went to the bed and kneeled down.
'Mable he SAID, brokenIy. oh, my
wife 7
That is alI,' said his sister, grlmly.
You were always selfish. Your moth
er (who I'm glad wasn't mine) helped
to make you SO. But | never supposed
you could be quite so cruel, and to Your
own. Your income OF fifteen hundred
dollars a year will admit of a comtorta-
bic living for aII--had it been shared.
Johnnie DEAR must get Oft these old
wet shoes, or we shall have another sick
member Of the family.