The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1893-11-04

Optucu buc uOOT. III Inc udiI dark
of the late November day stood poor
ly-clad woman before me. Out of her
haggard and charcoal-blackened face
looked pair of great dark eyes be-
seemingly at me.
Doctor" said the woman, in trem-
bling voice, doctor, be mercifui, o,
please. My little Marie is so sich'
The name atoned for the woman's I'M
promising appearance, which conceded
badly with my latest dreams
"Who are you? Who sent you to me?"
asked.
"No one," the woman answered
quickly and in low voice. 80 doctor,
do come! have been carrying coal all
day from the wagon into house near
by. live over there in the courtyard.
My child has been sick since yesterday.
l found her so much worse that came
to you at once"
Ihesitated somewhat; the disenchant-
ment was so great
The woman wiped her face with her
blackened hand.
1t was a face which already showed
many burrows caused by sorrow and
trials.
II should have gone for the charity
physician" she said, wcarily, "but
your servant, doctor, is a child of the
shoemaker of our courtyard. aud he
has told every one that you are such
good man. Oh, do help my little girl!'
decided to go with the woman. At
ter all, one is u man, and most of all is
he man who has learned to do duty.
So went with her. after ] had gath
cred together the necessary instruments
with pomposity which astonished and
half shamed even myself.
Across the street we took our course,
into great courtyard lying behind a
row of houses. Then she led me up
five fights of stairs, each one darker
and sleeper than the last, and finally
through badly-fitting door into lit
tie room with slanting roof and little
windows. On miserable but neatly
arranged bed lay child of perhaps
fourteen months. Her limbs were
fever-heated and her eyes were wander
ing and inexpensive.
The woman bent down to the bed
side. ''She does not know me! She
does not know met, she moaned.
The child conghed 1t was a Group
GUS cough of the worst sort / tore
Leaf from my book and wrote my first
prescription as practising physician.
ITO the nearest apothecary," said.
The woman looked at me, embar-
raised.
'Can I take It to the one in the
Konig-strasse?" she said.
mo, no." / cried; sit requires the
greatest haste. Why will you not 60
to the apothecary in this street?"
The woman Redeemed perceptibly in
spite of the charcoal dust. Finally she
1.-THE apothecary in the
Konig-strasse knows me; / carry coal
there, and he will, perhaps-I have no
money"
A heavy tear dropped on the paper in
her hand.
''These people who can pay no ply
stefan and no druggist" said I, angrily,
but inaudibiy. took out some money
and said aloud: There, take that and
go quickly"
The woman kissed the hand of her |
child, and then, before could stop her,
she kissed mine also, and FASTENED |
away. / looked around the room for a |
seat. A rocking chair, red chest, an
old table, some miserable dishes on a |
poor, cold oven, which occupied the |
place of hearth, comprised all the |
furniture. Hanging on the wall in a |
corner was threadbare wooden gar
ment, and also child's cloak and lit |
tie hat with ribbon around it fin
gers breadth wide; on bracket hang
ing next to the little window was a
withered myrtle tree, a red geranium
and hymn book, with disgusting yell
low edges. That was everything that
the room held.
1 sat down beside the little girl. She
was apparently well cared for Her
limbs were round and pretty, her golden
1alr soft and curly. She was uncon-
'cious; her blue eyes stared straight
before her. as II she were looking into
he far, unknown distance. The room
was cold went to the oven and
'ound only some splinters of wood.
There were so few that did not at
sempt to build fire. / sat down and
waited for the woman and the medi-
line. Ever and anon my glance would
wander around the miserable room.
Here was poor, hard working woman,
who carried charcoal on the street,
While her child lay in want and sick
hess, and yet she loved her baby ten
lerly.
Suddenly the thought shot through
ne that could not save the child. III.
lad been called too late. l had not
enough to try any doubtful,
effort to save her, to snatch
her from the arms of death My heart
vas heavy. Isprang to the door and
istened for the footsteps of the mother.
She came finally; my reproachful look
net her downcast one. There were
70 many people in the store. A woman
ike myself did not dare to press for
yard.n i,