Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1893-07-17
that. It's pity the tables couldn't

1 y
and clean, she sent Johnnie off to
school with loving kiss, called in
Irish Nora, a neighbor girl, to stay
with the children, and started out to
make her purchases.
eff I walk there and back she
thought, tsI shall save ten cents, and
that will pay Nora. But think OF
papa walking mile over such streets
as these, in such shoes!" For they
lived in the suburbs, where rent was
less.
The purchases had been made, and
Mrs. Atwood started homeward, tired
and faint.
eff could only have a hot cup of
coffee now?" she thought, "but l
don't even dare to spend a nickel. It's
going to rain, too, believe"
And rain it did; not gentle show
er,but terrible drenching downpour,
and she had no umbrella. The thin
cloak was soon wet through, and a
more limp and bedraggled woman
could not have been imagined than
that poor mother who staggered in at
her own doorway at last.
X
Mr.. Atwood had just completed a
most splendid dinner at most splen-
did hotel, and was leaning back in his
chair chatting with a gentleman
friend ne had CHANGED to meet, and
f0 h
There had been champagne, and they
were laughing and in the best of
spirits, when telephone message was
handed to Mr. Atwood, which read as
follows:
"Come home! your wife is dying.
MARY ATWOOD"
"Ah, what is it!'' exclaimed the
friend, noticing his companions pal
lor.
For answer Mr.. Atwood handed him
the message, snatched his overcoat
and without more ado rushed away.
It 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 US
ually cold face.
'sMary!" he gasped, "when did you
come, and what has happened"
81 came an hour ago, luckily. AS
for what has happened, I'll leave you
to answer that. Look at your wife!"
"She isn't dead, is she! There's col
or in her face.'
sNo, she's not dead-yet. Look
here Charlie, do you know what these
are?" and she held up before him a
bundle of what appeared to be rags,
soaking wet.
"Your wife's cloak, dresses and
skirts, and these are her shoes. Please
examine them; I don't see how she
kept them on her feet. [ suppose
they are the kind you provide for
her."
'sBut where has she been," gasped
Mr.. Atwood, "to get so wet!"
81 asked the little Irish girl, who
had taken the children over to their
house, about it, and she said that Mrs.
went down town to the stores,
and that she walked there and back,
and without an umbrella"
stWalked!''
eyes. You may understand why;
I don't.o
Just then a smothered sob reached
Mr.. Atwood, and he discerned a pair
of chubby legs in darned old stock
ings, sticking out from mass of bed
clothes at the foot of the bed.
Its Johnny. He was so wild with
grief 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 a pair this
But why don't you send for
a doctor?"
"He has been here and gone; ev-
has been done that can be.
This is the bundle your wife brought
home with her. These are her winter
shoes, 1 suppose, and you see how
suitable they are; the price marked
on them is one dollar and ten cents.''
"Mary!" began Mr.. Atwood, plain
lively.
"You asked what had happened.
You see [ am trying to find out, and I
think I shall before get through. I
want you to see something else in this
bundle. This roll of CO arse red fan
mel no doubt is for petticoats for the
little girls; but what do you suppose