The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1893-02-25

; jess, and lovely summer. hadn't for
gotten you, dear, and there was sorrow
in my heart for yer but it were sorrow
that KEEP me gentle, not like this tha
makes me angered, and l sort o hoped al
the while that By and by it'd all be beau
tiful an happy. And the autumn came
an then he told me one day as he loved
me, jess, loved me faithful 49,, and
believed him
'Jess, hold my hand--I'm comm tC
the worst. can't realize il proper. Il
was only this mornin', you see I'll read
it to yer, jess. No, won't read it, dear
I'll tell you I'll tell you what was in il
If I can remember, jess, for it seems to
have crushed my life out. 1t wasn't long
just few words. He wrote, jess, that
he'd made mistake, that he'd done
wrong, that he hadn't oughter have asked
me to marry him, and he took it back
And he couldn't" she breathed heavily
as with long-drawn sobs-"couldn' trust
himself to say goodbye. He was goin'
for work elsewhere in London, and he be-
lieved we'd best part, part, Jessie.
And we'd been very happy. =. Oh,
Jess she broke off, weeping violently,
awe had been happy. But its all over;
and I'll never care for any one else. Jes-
sic, can't you say anythiag9 Tell me
you're sorry. My heart is 6reakin', jess.
Don't you mind, jess Oh, Jessie,
darling, you're dead" Alas She could
deceive herself no longer. She knew that
Jessie would never have let her plead in
vain for sympathy if she were by to give it.
When at length Mary raised the pretty,
dishevelled, head it was almost night She
began to undress without light. She
made no attempt to eat supper, though
she had scarcely tasted food all day. Just
at present she fed upon her griefs and
found them substantial diet She turned
down the bedstead and got it ready for
the night. She said prayer absent
mindedly, and then lay down ike tired
child
But she was not quite comfortless. The
old bedridden woman who needed her
kept alive in her touch of sweet human
feeling. Mrs Dowie scarcely realized,
absorbed as she was to great extent in
her own aches and pains, that she repre-
sented to the little dressmaker all for
which life was worth living. She was a
very poor substitute for Jessie, but Jessie
had loved her and honored her. And
then she was fond of Mary and grateful
to her. They talked together Of jess,
and Mrs. Dowie shed tears whenever she
mentioned her name. Mary did not cry
any longer She seemed to have wept
away all her tears.
7 CHAPTER II.
One day the girl had a holiday. 1t
was Boxing-day. Mrs. nowie, in spite of
her expectations to the contrary, had lived
through the beginning of the cold wealth
er, although Christmas Day had been suf-
ficiently dreary and cherries within and
without to have killed her if she had been
any longer keenly alive to the influences
about her. She was little more than a
skeleton now, and her bones showed
through the dry yellow skin. She was
wrapped up as warmly as possible. Over
her shoulders, as she sat in bed, was lit
tie jacket that had belonged to Jess the
sleeves were tied together in front Her
bed was very near the window, and the
parish nurse who looked in every morning
had put up bit of an old clothes-horse
and thrown skirt on it to keep off the
draught;
Mrs. Dowie was slowly drinking the
cup of cocoa which the nurse had made
before she left her, 1t did not look par
ticularly tempting, being mixed only with
water; but it was warm, and 1t comforted
her. By her side, on the counterpane,
was a worn brown volume, containing
prayers and meditations for each day. It
had large print, but Mrs Dowie's sight was
getting very dim, and she could scarcely
manage TO read even when the light was
good. Still, she liked to have tho book
by her side,
When the door opened and Mary came
in, she looked up with a smile. The girl
was a pretty sight even for her old eyes
The wind had brought a color into her
cheeks, and her hair was blown into an
untidiness that became her. Though sac
still wore the black dress and the straw
hat, she had supplemented the costume by
coat faced with red, which she had made
with her own clever fingers, and the ber-
ries had been replaced by red ribbons, 1t
was not vanity, but instinct, which prompt
ed this young woman, little as she sought
for admiration, always to make the best of
herself
Mrs. Dowie's voice had grown weaker
than it had been, aud she did not speak
much above whisper; but the gladness
of her "Why, Mary" was quite audible
to and pleased the girl.
ayes, it's me" she said, smiling.
The brightness Of the morning had put
her in better spirits than usual It is diff,
ficult to be quite hopeless when one is
barely fve-and-twenty and the weather is
exhilarating.
Il thought you was goin' for walk,
my dear"
$50 am, presently. But thought |
would spend little while with you first
Shall | read to your
Mary looked at the book on the bed
''If you please, my dear amt never
too bad to listen to them blessed words,
"Well, you drink your cocoa then, while
| read
When the reading was over, they talked
for little while, and then Mrs. Dowie
said
"Ain't you never goin' to cit a young
man, my dear p
'No, said Mary gravely.
aDear, dear. Young girls amt what
they was walked with two or three be-
fore took up with Dowie Why, there
was one of EN- tinker He made me
tin to keep tea in as I've KEEP by me for
more'n half century. 1t used to be full
o tea at one time. 1t amt got tea in it
now though, she added ina whisper; Kit
amt got tea in it now
Mrs. Dowie was not as rnle addicted
to "reminiscences. Mary thought it cheered
her up to dwell on brighter times. She
anconraoad her tn talk