Connecticut western news., 1894-09-20


 positively that Mrs Eustice was going to Europe with her husband and her great aunt; that g'anny's baby lay i'll in the big house; that Mrs. Eustice had told the doctor she never could forgive herself for adopting the child.
 The sun was about three feet from the top of the second hill when the bit of flying gossip reached the black smiths shop and was just sinking be- hind the hill when broad shouldered man walked hastily across the grounds and entered the big house by the rear way.
 While the man sat waiting ln the library he took from his pocket a greasy pocketbook, and opening it laid the contents on his knee. His hand trem- bled as he counted the notes over to make sure they were all right-$1, 600.
 There was a sweep of dainty garments along the hall, and Mrs. Eustice came into the library. She gave slight start upon recognizing her visitor, regarding him not so much as the blacksmith, whom she knew by sight at the shop, but as the man who had bid against her for g 'anny's baby.
 'I hear," said the man slowly, "that you're goin of to Europe"
 "Yes," said the lady.
 And they say that the baby ain't so we'll"
 "Yes, that's true too. It's been ail- ing all summer What did you wish?"
 ''I was thinkin," he said, that as the whole transaction was business one-that, now being as you're goin away, and the baby's sick, mebbe as you might be willin to sell. Pm ready to give you yer price.
 Mrs. Eustice was startled. She had lamented that reckless squandering of her money at the village auction more than once; but, according to herself, she was honest.
 "You ought to see the poor little thing" she said. Come, I'll show her to you"
 Silently Sam Winters followed the great lady to the nursery, where the baby tossed in its little crib. "She's had the best of doctors, said Mrs. Eus- tice, ''but I don't believe anybody knows what's the matter with her.
 'I'll give you $1, 600," said the man huskily.
 "Oh, dear nor' cried the lady; "that wouldn't be fair. Why, I doubt if she lives till we return. I tell you what, I'll take $500 if you are willing to run the risk. It's outlandish, selling baby; but, then, you know, I bought her. "
 Winters counted out the money and handed it over. He had not dared to touch the baby that belonged to the great lady, but after paying the $500 he stopped and patted the little flaming face.
 Down the richly carpeted steps, through the broad hall out into the park and on along the pike hastened the man with his precious bundle, his $500 baby.
 He did not go to the blacksmith shop or the bachelor quarters behind it, but directly to that little whitewashed cot tage where lived the old woman who had been rescued from the penthouse. He went into the house and laid the baby on the bed.
 Granny" he called softly, "Gran- nyp'
 She came in slowly from the kitchen, shading her old eyes.
 Don't you think you kin nurse lit tie baby till she's well?"
 The old woman fell on her knees be- side the bed, she gathered the baby close in her arms, she swayed to and fro as if she were rocking it. The apathy had vanished from her face; it was as glad as sunshine.
 "I'll nuss her till she gifts we'll, ," she sobbed, 'or we'll die together.
 Six months had passed away. 1t was on beautiful afternoon in the spring time. All the roses in Two Hills were splendid bays came clattering up the village street. The great people had re- turned.
 Sitting in the doorstep of little whitewashed cottage was 8 small yell low haired girl. She was swinging her feet and singing at the top of her voice. Above her the red roses trailed them selves luxuriously. The lady looked out and waved her hand and smiled. The child stopped singing and stared
 "She doesn't know me-" said the great lady, with half sigh and a laugh.
 But the yellow haired girl rose from the doorstep with alacrity, ran into the cottage and laid her head in the old grandmother's lap, hiding her face. "I'm g'snny's baby" she sobbed. The old woman heard the carriage wheels and the clattering horses. She passed her hand tenderly over the ruffied | yellow head.
 ''Yes, deary," she said fondly, land | her ain't never goin to be sol no more " | Washington Star