Waterbury evening Democrat., 1894-07-20

make sure they were all r1gnt-Tl, 0OU.
 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 off 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 q business one-that, now being as you're goin away, and the baby's sick, mebbe as you might be willin to sell I'm ready to give you yer price"
 Mrs. Eustice was startled She had lamented that reckless squandering of her money at the village auction moro was honest.
 "You ought to sec 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 don't believe anybody knows what's the matter with her"
 "I'll give you $l. .6Oo," said the man huskily.
 "Oh, dear nor' cried the lady; "that wouldn't be fair. Why, 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 a 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 tho 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 poorhouse He went into the house and laid the baby on the bed.
 Granny" he called softly, Gran nyl"
 She came in slowly from tho kitchen, shading her old eyes.
 Don't you think you kin nurso n lit tie baby till she's well?''
 The old woman fell on her knees be- side the bed, she gathered the baby close ill 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 hc= 'iil she gifts well, :" she sobbed. Tor we'll die together. '
 Six months had passed away. It was on a beautiful afternoon in the spring time. All the roses in Two Hills were abloOm. A carriage drawn by two splendid bays came clatterin: up the village street. The great people had re- turned.
 Sitting in the doorstep of n little whitcwashed cottage was q small vel low haired girl. She was swinging her feet and singing at the top of her voice Above her the red roses trailcd 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 laugh.
 But the yellow haired girl rose from the doorstep with alacrity, ran into the cottage and laid her head in the old grandmothcr's lap, hiding her face I'm g'anny's baby" she sobbcd. The old woman heard the carriage wheels and the clattcring horses She passed her hand tcnderly over the rufflcd yellow head.
 ''Yes, deary." she said fondly, ''and her ain't never goin to be sol no more. :" Washington Star.