The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1893-02-25
Select STORY.
MARY.
From the cOrnhill Magazine.

threw ftful light on the narrow bed with
its silent occupant and the bare walls, and
the round table covered with ragged
cloth; yet it did not need the sunshine to
show the poverty which characterized the
apartment.
There was no sound except the ticking
of the clock on the mantlepiece.
Presently, however, there came quick
knock at the door, and without waiting for
an answer girl pushed it open and entered.
The woman in the bed stirred. and said
feebly ais that you, my dear?'
"Yes, Mrs. Dowie, said the newcomer;
''it's me-"
Her voice was young and sweet and
clear, but quicker ear than that of the
old woman would have detected its excess
i've weariness.
You're all in the dark, l see
eyes" said the old woman, raising her.
self slowly on her elbow, and groaning as
she did so. ''Im in the dark 1t amt
much use me burnin' candles, my dear l
can't read, nor nothing Oh, my bones,
my bones Oh, do ache !"
care you worse today, Mrs. Dowie p
about the same, my dear; not worse,
not better. / sha'n't be much better till
the cold weather sets in, and then | trust
/ shall 60 Home 1t won't be very long,
Tn hoping. I'm useless enough. I'm
very anxious to be gone, very anxious"
"You're not useless, Mrs. Dowie, said
the girl gently, though in the same tired
voice. 'fYou're comfort to me. like
to come and see you Your the one per-
son l trust and believe in.
"Ah, my dear, you're too young to talk
that way" said Mrs. Dowie. "Oh, my
poor back !" she groaned. 81 can't rest
noways," she went on. "If l lie aches,
and if | set aches All the night I'm
awake what with the cough and the pain. II
"And don't you get any rest in the day,
Mrs. Dowie ?'
The old woman shook her head
aNo, she said, sits the bones, you see.
I've the same bones by day as by night
Oh dear, dear, dear You'll forgive me
complainin'."
"Poor thing, you have reason to, " said
the girl, sympathetically.
aP'r'aps you'll read to me Bit
"Yes; I'll light the candle, shall ! ?"
"If you please, my dear"
The girl, who had been standing BY the
bedside, moved to the fire, then she lit a
piece of paper and held 1t to the tallow
candle in the broken candlestick. From
her pocket she took q little prayer-book,
and began to read aloud the psalms for the
day.
The light of the candle fell on her face
and on that of the old woman, and threw
grotesque shadows on the distempered wall.
The two women were in strange contrast
to one another Age and illness and ex-
cessiye thinness had made Mrs. Dowie hid
eous She had lost her teeth, and her
mouth had fallen in; she had high nose
and very protuding chin, and both were
sharpened almost terribly; her eyes were
sunken and hollow, and her scant gray hair
strayed from beneath the crochet nightcap
which she wore. Her thin hands, with
long uncut nails, lay out on the counter
zane. She was propped up by pillow
and shawl, and over her nightgown was
thrown an old moth-eaten fur cloak.
The girl who was reading to her was
sufficiently far removed from lady to be
called ladylike. She was neatly dressed in
black and wore large straw hat with rcd
berries on it. She had pale cheeks and
long-lashed gray eyes and pretty dropping
mouth. In repose the face was pathetic.
The thin lips, when set together, gave it,
/ however, hard look, which detracted
from its charms, and the somewhat piquant
nose and chin might become nut-crackers,
ike those Of the old woman, when the
softness of youth had departed.
4 Mary Curtis was dressmaker by pro-
fession. She had earned her own living
since her parents died, aud she was now
1 four-and-twenty. She lived by herself in
one room in little street leading out Of
/ Burdett Road in Mile End, but she was
! so respectable that no one ever said word
against her character She went to shop
| in Whitechapel, for which she made dresses,
every morning and came back at six or
seven most evenings Her time was so
fully occupied that she conld not have
much opportunity to visit the sick, even if
she had desired to do so. But Mrs. Dowie
was the grandmother of her great friend
Jessie, who had worked with her ever
since she had been apprenticed The two
had been inseparable, but year ago Jessie
had died of the influenza, and Il seemed a
natural thing for Mary to try to fill her
vacant place in the life of the poor, lonely
creature who was left, Mrs Dowie was
allowed half crown week from the par
ish. Jessie had helped to exc out this
pittanee Now Mary gave her occasional
aid. She bought such little delicacies as
she could afford It was pleasure to her
to do this. Jessie had been more than a
sister to the sisterless orphan, and besides,
Mary was fond of Mrs lovie for her own
sake Tho old woman was patient on the
whole; and she was very grateful to Mary,
and looked forward to her daily visit as the
pleasure of her dreary life. Mary had a
respect for Mrs. Dowie. She was not a
particularly religious girl herself, though
she was upright and honest, but she had a
great reverence for those who profsssed
religion. She admired Mrs. Dowie because
the latter liked to hear the psalms and
could extract comfort from them She
thought her almost a saint
Certainly Mrs. Dowie seemed to enjoy
the reading. She closed her eyes, and the
expression Of her face temporarily redeemed
its ugliness. 1t was as if an inner light
shone upon it. Now and then, when Mary
paused, she said in whisper, @Its heauti-
full" and when the girl finally laid down
the book, she looked at her with her dim
eyes and said, "God bless youi'
When Mary had put the book back in
! her pocket. she sat quite still for a while.