The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1895-08-29

the shop door. a..
"Stop whatp" asked Hiram
why, that-that- aose!n replied the
| good woman. - If'ssf Rita Iiza-shes g
whistlin at the top Of her lungs!
Hiram looked across the street mt youth
rolling by with sailors gait. The old man
pointed toward him with his thumb.
"So's thy SOD, Jonas, over there. I'll
| wait till thee silences him." was all the an
swer that he made.
In the Summer a dire calamity befell the
old seaport. No one knew just how it hap
| pened, but one night the waters in the har-
bor cleaned crimson with reflected sheets
of flame, and by morning half the town lay
a heap Of ashes Every other face one met
seemed to have the words burned, as by fire,
| into its lines, Homeless
Among the many, Hiram Fishers dwell
ing had been destroyed. 1T WAS near the
starting point of the fire, and but little was
saved. All the curous treasures brought
from over seas by Hiram in his sailor-boy
days, the precious meinentoes of his life, the
wedding linen, over which Rita had spent
so many hours-nothing remained but
ashes
1t had all been so sudden, so wild, that
they scarcely seemed to realize the disaster.
The hour must have been nearing eight In
the morning when Marian Macy, one of
'RIta's friends, found the father and daugh
ter 81 ting dazed and dumb amid the few
household articles that they had rescued.
Come" Miriam said, taking Rita by the
shoulder, as RI to rouse her from her lethargy.
=" Come, Rita, thee and thy father must 20
home with me- We will get some breakfast.
Here's brother Tbaddeus he will look alter
thy things for thee"
The old man and the girl rose mechanic
ally to follow, leaving the furniture TO be
collected.
"What is that thee has in thy atms?"
asked Thaddeus of Hiram. Let me take it
with the other things 1t is too heavy for
thee"
The father made no reply, but seemed
10th to yield his burden.
No, no, will help MIN carry it. 1t is
none too heavy, answered Rita, as she took
upon herself the greater part of the weight.
And so they followed Miriam home, bear
ing between them their precious burden
the portrait that Rita had learned to know
and love in babyhoO as that of her mother
Gradually the town came back to its senses,
hut the " Great Fire twas blow that boded
slow recovery.
Rita and her father had taken up their
abode in a tiny cottage some distance from
The town. The house had belonged 10
Hiram's father and had long been unused.
1t was lonely place-the moors intervening
between it and the town, and the sea stretch
ing far away before it.
Hiram was surely growing old; his loss
told upon him. For days together he
scarcely spoke or noticed what went on
about him.
Thus the weeks went slowly by-desolate
weeks to Rita, except for the one hope that
lighted tbem-her lovers return. 1t was
more than year since he sailed away with
the promise of speedy home coming.
The girl mourned the loss of her cherished
handiwork with SO many happy dreams
woven into it. 1t was hard to start again Mt
the beginning of the wedding outfit, and the
wherewithal did not come SO readily as be-
fore. Young hearts, however, are buoyant,
and the looking forward TO Mates arrival
helped her to forget how iruitless her toll
had been. t+tf
The Autumn grew toward Winter De-
cember came and still Mates ship did not
arrive. But that was nothing strange;
whaers did not run on schedule time
everyone knew that.
One afternoon, late in the month, Rita
threw Oh her long wrap and hood. and
started for visit ut Miriam Macy's. There
she was always welcome, for the two girls
had become fast friends since the episode of
the morning following the fire.
"Thee's a good girl to come with thy
work, cried Miriam, rs she took the reticule
from 'Rita's hand "That means that thee
will spend the afternoon and have tea with
me. The air has chill in it to-day; draw
upto the fire and warm thy fingers, whose
slenderness so much admire Ahl What
pudgy fingers mine are, TO be sure. One
would know that | was but n mmon place,
and thee Senorita!" she cried laughingly,
with kiss upon 'Rita's brown cheek.
Rita spread her shapely hands to the blaze.
It's rosy hue cast glow upon her olive skin
and danced back in the reflection that her
black eyes gave. Miriam gazed lovingly
upon her friend she thought that she had
never seen her look so beautiful before.
Father seemed like his old self, or /
should never have come for so long stay
with thee" Rita said, as she bent over her
work. The fire was sore grief 10 him.
He has seemed strange ever since. Some
times have misgivngs-he takes our loss
80 much to heart"
But when thee has thine own home"-
He will share it and forget, perhaps-I
have thought of that" answered Rita, with
a deeper glow upon her cheek and brighter
light in her eyes than any that the freight
could give.
"I shall he SO glad for thee. The little
house near the sea is too lonely-that barren
beach, and the breakers that pound and
pound"
ut seems lonely to me only when father
is not himself. j love the barren beach,
Miriam. Many night | stand there when
the stars are dancing on the waves and the |
breakers are beating upon the sands under
the cliff. i can look far across the waters
and ] know that away in the distance lies
Spain. Sometimes ] 90 close to the shore |
aud feel the foam flung in my face, and | say
to myself, This water-ths SPRAYS all
there is between my mothers home and me-
seem very near her then"
The girls face was transfigured by q depth
Of feeling that very few of her acquaintance
ever dreamed that she had known, and fewer
yet would have understood could they have
known.
Gradually, under the influence of the cosy
room and the exchange of grlish condolences,
the two friends became merry enough, and
'Rita's old-timc gayety of heart and speech
seemed hers once more. So the brief after
noon passed. the tea hour came and went,
and the Winter evening shut down.
Hark !" exclaimed Rita, at last. "There
is the evening beIl! Nine o'clock Can it
be that hour? Why, Miriam, thee bewitches
time when am with thee. ] must hasten,
not that / fear the walk, but father Will
Al. - L.. II