The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-10-12

rambling old house with its many
rooms, of the fertile acres surround
ing it, and of the comfortable bank
account. Then her mind wandered
to the distant cemetery where white
marble cross marked her baby's
grave.
81 couldn't give Leah's place to an
other" she whispered. "And vet he
might make place for himself. Oh,
my baby, miss her STILL
Withdrawing her hands from the
suds, Mrs. Busby crossed the sitting
room and entered the parlor. No
one knew, not even her husband, how
many troublesome questions the
mother settled before her child's
picture.
She opened the blinds and looked
long and earnestly at the baby face.
do you want me to, dear9" she
asked tearfully. "Do you want me
to take noisy, troublesome boy into
this home? Is it an idol, Leah, my
wanting everything SO quiet and or
derly|
Ten minutes later she was back at
her washing. The parlor blinds were
closed and all things were as they had
been excepting Mrs. Busby's eyes;
there was new light in their gray
depths. At half past nine the last
clothes were on the line. Returning
from hanging them out, Mrs. Busby
found neighbor, Mr.. Vance, at the
door.
eve been down to the station" he
said, land the eight o'clock train
brought baby for you, or Busby,
rather"
"a what?" demanded Mrs. Busby,
catching her breath.
GA baby" 1t was plain to see that
Mr.. Vance was enjoying the situation.
ga woman who was going East on
visit brought it from Kansas. Said
it belonged to some of Busby's folks.
She left it in care of the ticket agent,
and he sent it over by me. It's down
to the road in my wagon, and trunk
too. The little fellow has cried most
ever since the woman left him."
Mrs. Busby took down her green
bingham sunbonnet and prepared to
follow him out to the wagon without
a word.
"Was you expecting it," Mr.. Vance
asked, somewhat disappointed at her
quietness.
"Not today" she replied briefly.
1t was plump, but tear stained
face that met her eager gaze. There
were great blue eyes, rosy mouth,
and closely curling yellow hair. But
the child was Enthusiastically dirty and
began crying again in piteous fash
ion.
Mrs. Busby held up her arms.
"Come to auntie, DEAR" she said
coaxingly. "You want some bread
and milk, don't you, and to see the
dear little chickensi"
At the same leisurely gait of the
morning Mr.. Busby again traversed
the path from the barn to the house.
Miranda's line of snowy clothes dry
ing in the sun brought to his mind
the conversation of the morning, but
he expected no reference to it from
his wife. A surprise awaited him.
The table was laid for three, and at
the guests place stood clumsy little
high chair that for twenty years had
stood empty in an upper room. And
on the floor sat happy faced child
surrounded by clothes pins, empty
bottles, disused candlestick and a
like collection of impromptu play
things.
"Who, why is that, Mirandy?"
"Joey Hale Busby," was Miranda's
prompt reply, and picking up the
child, she put it in her husbands
arms, "There, Joey, dear. make
friends with Uncle Joseph. He is the
dearest little fellow" she went on,
$50 cunning and and not a bit
afraid"
"But | don't understand" and
Joseph Busby's arms closed tenderly
around the little orphan.
The story was soon told.
"Of course, we'll keep him, and do
the best we can by him, ;" Mrs. Busby
said by way of conclusion. 'Dinner
is ready and the green peas and GUS
tard pie will taste good to little Joey.
/ guess you were right bout my idols.
Joseph" stopping to fasten towel
around the child's neck in lieu OF a
bib, "but they are overthrown. Now
I'll try and not make an idol of JOEL"
"You air a remarkable woman,
Mirandy," Mr.. Busby said, wiping
/