Blackfoot news. (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1891-1902, 1893-08-12
"HIS VERY OWN"

hours, il awake. She's awake now.
an us Jest Z o'clock.
Auntie Tilford took the spoon in
her fat fingers and poured the dark
mixture out carefully, her brow gath
ering in great creases as she let a
few drops drip over the edge.
Don't v pull the tablecloth. Gwen
ME. an don't y make so much noise
with that poker, Buds Look out,
Gwenl You'll pull of the lamp
Steadying the spoon in one hand,
the good woman loosened the little
girls fingers from the tablespread to
save the lamp She pushed the child
clear of the table and then started
for the door that led into the room
where the sick woman lay.
The doctors comm again" said
Buds. at the window. II see him froo
the gum trees, an his horse is run
min las as fas' can be-"
BY the time the nurse had reached
the bedside the doctor had opened the
gate and was treading the gravel
walk. He came in and hung his hat
on the rack There was great ex-
pectancy in his face.
A low moan came from the bed and
there was a rustling Of the coyerlet-
'.Yo1 must lie still. now-there's a
dear" said the nurse softly.
II know; but / want his picture
Harry's It's on the mantlepie &c
The tone was faint and the voice
quavered.
The picture was brought. It was
a cabinet photograph OF a rather
young man with pointed beard and
large. handsome eyes that looked
straight out and ii the wOmln who
took the picture in her thin, white
hand
The nurse and the doctor stepped
into the sitting room, where they
spoke in whispers that did not go be
yond the cheap little portiere that
hung between the folding doors.
"l'm glad they have not taken
away the light, said the woman
half -aloul II wonder if anybody
knows that this is our wedding-day.
1t was just eight years ago to-day, in
Sacramento. Wasn't / frightened
that morning! And at the church
door, didn't feel queer when ! saw
all those people inside. Henry seemed
nervous, too. How he fidgeted with
his glovesl / know they were a
whole size too small for him, but he
wore them that way for pride. a
prouI man. Was that why he couldn't
bear to live with me? He said / was
'only little country girl once |
never forgot that. though he begged
me to forgive him afterrard. and took
il all back and said was the sweetest
and incest Of all-o. everybody in the
world.
"But he was a city man And he
is somewhere in the city to-day,
while | an ont in roadside house,
unde' the gum trees only little
country girl I told Auntie Tilford
TO write. He might not want to have
me die all alone. even If he did say
was nothing to him when he went
away"
She lifted the picture, resting her
elbow on the coverlet. The sleeve
fell down and showed poor white
arm
This was taken at Fawcett's that
hot afternoon. He did not want to
have me go with him that day, but
went. / wanted to have him taken
in his Prince Albert. but it was Just
as gool-that cutaway. There was
a little thread of rel in that coat and
a sort Of invisible check. But there
was never wrinkle in it, He always
kept his clothes so smooth How
well remember the feel Of that coat
sleeve. II was so woody and soft
Il was too quiet for him not
lively enough; but. OF course, had
the children 10 LOOK out for, and we
couldn keep girl, and pay rent
besides, and do everything else on
$25 week. His clothes cost twice
as much as mine yes, three times,
But he had to go among well-dressed
men, and of course it was right that
he slould dress we'll. / never blamed
him for that never said anything
about it. / didn't see. though, how
he, could afford those seats at the
theater, and / didn't want to go every
week. And knew ! shouldn't make
anything out OF those singing lessons
with Professor Schmidt. though he
insisted on my taking them, and they
cost So apiece. And | wouldn't take
that trip to the Yosemite, for knew
we couldn't afford it.
''Still, | ought to have done every
thing he told me Then. perhaps,
could have kept him. But he went
away-he left me and tho children.
And had to go away from that
house. too. / couldn't live there
after he left-there was nothing to
live on, and the children were all
darns and patches, And now I'll
have to leave them for good and all
Why can't | stay and take care of
themP My God! why can't / stay?
They'll be lonely--so lonely -unless''
Her eyes frightened. A yearning
look stole over her face.
Hell come and take them when
I'm dead-and take care of then