The sea coast echo. [volume] (Bay Saint Louis, Miss.) 1892-current, 1893-07-22

without more ado rushed away.
1t was still raining, but the electric
railway car bore him quickly home
ward.
Silence greeted him as he entered the
hall; but, upon opening the door to his
wife's chamber, his oldest sister met
him, strange look upon her usually
cold face
'Mary!" he gasped, when did you
come, and what has happened?"
Il came an hour ago, luckily. AS for
what has happened, I'll leave you to
answer that. Look at your wifep'
"She isn't dead, is she? There's color
in her cheeks
"No. she isn't 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, dress and
skirts, and these are her shoes. Please
examine them; l don't see how she
kept them on her feet. / suppose they
are the kind you provide for her."
But where has she becn,' gasped
Mr. Atwood, ito get SO wet9"
"f asked the little Irish girl, who has
taken the children over to their house,
about 1t, and she said that Mrs. Atwood
went downtown to the stores, and that
she walked there and back, and without
an umbrella"
Walked"
Eyes. You may understand why; l
DON'T
Just then a smothered sob reached
Mr. Atwood, and he discerned pair of
chubby legs in darned old stockings,
sticking out from mass of bed clothes
at the foot of the bed.
TITS Johnny. He was so wild with
grief l had not the heart to send him
away, and he won't do her any hurt.
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 pair this
morning. But why don't you send for
a doctor?''
He has been here and gone; every
thing has been done 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, plain
lively.
You asked me what had happened
You see am trying to find out, and 1
think l shall before get through.
want you to see something else in this
bundle. This roll of coarse red flannel
no doubt is for petticoats for the little
girls; but what do you suppose this is
for?" sternly.
Mr.. Atwood gazed down upon small
quantity of soft white flannel. "Idon'.
know" he said helplessly.
THANK God 1 never married!'' cried
his sister earnestly. II might not have
known myself, If the doctor hadn't in
timated that that was what made the
case so critical"
MIR. Atwood understood now, and
went to the bed and kneeled down.
"Mabel!' he said, brokenly. "Oh, nv
wifer'
THAT is ALL" said his sister, grimly.
"Yon were always selfish. Your moth
er (who am glad wasn't mine) helped
to make you so. But 1 never supposed
you could be quite SO cruel, and to your
own. Your income of fifteen hundred
dollars year will admit of a COM
Portable living for all-had it been
shared. Johnnie, dear, must get off
these wet old shoes, or we shall have
another sick member of the family"
'Oh, mamma! mamma" moaned the
child.
I'VE will do everything we can, said
Aunt Mary, kissing the tear-wet cheek.
"She looks better, think"
She lived-at the sacrifice of the little
life that was to be. Lived, and began
to grow~stronger, and to smile upon her
children once more.
Aunt Mary was at the head of tho
household, and new reign had been in
augurated. As for Mr.. Atwood. his wifc
wondered what had come over him. He
had sat by her bedside night and day.
doing all he could for her, in his awI.
ward fashion, but with a tenderness
oh"O SuipfiSCu llcr. he nad won the
timid little girls to sit upon his knee
and romp with him as they had never
dared to do before.
Mamma" said Johnnie one day.
"how pretty you are, your cheeks are
so red and your hair crinhles all around
your head!''
Then Johnnie's father laid his hand
upon that head, and said:
Mabel, if you can forget nv heart
less thoughtlessness, my cruel selfish
ness, will see that from this time out
my wife and home are my first thought.
never knew how loved you until |
was afraid was going to have to give
you up forever. Can you still love me
little?"
The happy mother smiled fondly on
him, and answered.:
Il have always loved you, and I'sup-
posed it was only mans way"
Aunt Mary, who had chanced in at
this instant, shifted audibly.
II was thankful before that / had
never married, and now Pm thankful
I'm not man. call such ways as
you attribute to the common man or