The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1894-03-22

VOICE: G3SCof gurus Tor the CHl0ren.
Send your name and address to The
Trumpet Office, - Broadway"
Ted's cheeks flushed; his eyes almost
started from his head. He seized the little
i crutch and ticktocked over to where he
kept his schoolbooks and q stubby pen
Gil. After an hours hard work the fol-
lowing letter was completed on q page
Of his copybook:
Dere trumpet ofice-i am Ted sewn year old
next 3oon and want . gift, my mama cryed
| hard yesday She has NO muny for gifts . letter
j came that was horid, . man with butonss brot
1 it, am lam but i don't min that was horned
that way, do pies send gift my papa is ded i
/ CESS that makes mama sad, 90 piese send the
gift to Ted in mingins alley yor true friend
| TED.
Posting the letter was an easy matter,
for when Sophie. the little German girl,
came up stairs he gave her explicit d.
rections about sending it al, once.
Not word did Ted say to his mother
about this venture of his, and his cheeks
were very red when he went to sleep that
night, his first secret weighing most i'm
portantly on his heart.
It was Easter eve, and the city editor
of The Trumpet was very busy.
| Among his letters was one in very
cheap and rather soiled envelope, the adj
dress written on it in a hand that was
ludicrously babyish.
'This is from one of the kids about
the Easter gifts" he said, with smile.
''How in thunder did it stray among my
papers? I'm afraid it's too late now
yes, for it's almost II, and the children's
editor is gone"
But when he had waded through little
Ted's scrawl there was a mist over his
eyes. He thought of his three boys at
home, and he determined that this little
i chap should have an Easter gift if he had
to fetch it himself.
Folding the letter, he looked hurriedly
around the room.
There was man busily writing at a
desk near by. He was the assistant ed
itor, young Englishman but lately en-
gagged by the paper.
See here. King, I've got a job for
you"
| He showed Ted's letter.
Sad, isn't it? It may be fake, but ]
/ want you to go and find out. It's too
1 late to touch it tonight, but go. like a
! good fellow, the first thing in the morn
| ing. Here are few dollars, and you'll
! find some Of those painted eggs we sent
out to the children in the desk there"
Whats the name?" asked King, his
sad, vacant eyes glancing down the
4 page. HIN, the little chap has forgot
ten to put anything but Ted How
/ ever, l dare say Ted of Mingin's alley
will find him. Have you ever noticed
what little royalists children are? Their
| signatures are kingly. One name is
quite sufficient. they think, to distin-
! guish them from all other mortals. He
probably supposes there is only one Ted
in the world
"You know where Mingin's alley is
the place where they found Ridel, the
anarchist, hiding-a sad, poverty strick-
en- hole
eyes, l remember. I'll go in the
morning"
King went back to his desk. The light
above him shoneon his stern young face,
the hair strangely white around the
brovs.
When the city editor was gone, and
the place was almost quiet, he threw
down his pen and clasped his hands to
his burning head. How the old pain
racked him tonight-the surging. the
hummiHg, the vertigo that seemed as il
some day it would surely drive him mad
again.
/ Again!
He was almost afraid to think the
word, lest in some way it reach the
minds of the men he heard laughing il
the other room.
What would they say if they knew h,
had been mad-the inmate of mad
house for years? Now they spoke of hin
as a man who had suffered much-tha-
was evident from the settled sadness o.
his clouded eyes-and who was strangel,
reticent about his origin, his past.
What would they say if they knew tina
to him there was no past-that beyond
his first conscious hours in the Swis,
madhouse he knew nothing:
Dismal thoughts-terrible, penetratin.
loneliness. How his soul was tortured
But worse even than this poignant pail
was the feeling that often beset hin
when he awske just at the edge of day
just as the gray light Of dawn was steal
ing over the sluggish world, feelins
that his consciousness was trembling OF
the brink of a discovery-that grea
JOY or great sadness would be his il
| that flood of light.
But it did not come. and the cloud dc
not lift from his eyes.
Easter morning dawned fresh, crysta
clear. The sky was tremulous azure
the fragrance of trumpet shaped lille:
hung in the velvet air; the church bells
pealed out gladly; the streets were
thronged with people who seemed I'M
troubled by a care.
To the city editors gift King had add
ed bunch Of white flowers, and feel
ing the happy consciousness that he wa:
going to make one small boy happy
made his way to the dreariness of Min
gins alley
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