The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-11-02

anu III was OlOONt budb OAA oCO NRCh
the stones, and the big crowd, and
the yells and the fighting, and it was
my father that was killed, and they
did lay him outside upon the road,
and it was my mother that did take
his head upon her lap, and it will be
the hillside that will be her bed the
night, and it is burnt, burnt our house
is, and my father lying dead out
side"
And the girl with great shudder
dropped in a senseless state into
Mor's arms.
"And it's to my house that you will
come the night, and every night that
you do live, my Eilidh," the rough,
hard faced woman answered, and
gathering the fainting : RI up in her
strong arms, Nor bore hel acme to
her own desolate dwelling.
As she crossed the threshold she
saw that the calf lay dead by its
mothers side. A keener pang than
had yet shot through her heart
stabbed her then. Would even this
poor home be spared to her darling?
No COW, no rent-would she with
Eilidh beside her be turned out on
the bleak hillside to beg from others
as poor as themselves9 Such life
will kill Eilidh; the girls life hung
now by thread from want of food.
The early days of prosperity had left
her father for years, his rent had
been raised to the total value of the
product of his land, and it was only
by partial starvation he had been able
to keep on his holding at all. Now
he was dead.
But that is what you shall never
come to, Eilidh," Nor said, as she
laid the white faced form on her bed,
"while it is that can work, and keep
the roof over your head; and if it's
work day and night both, it is l that
will do it."
And somehow Nor did manage to
do this. How, she hardly knew her.
self, but eventually another COW in
habited the outer room of the little
house, and Nor went happy to bed.
Nothing was too hard for her, nothing
too severe. She toiled like a man at
the kelp, did all the labor of her own
scanty fields, herded the neighbors'
cattle, cleaned and picked the wool
for spinning for buster neighbors; in
fact, lived, and toiled, and scraped,
and managed somehow to attain the
object of her life, the support and
care of Eilidh. Years went by;
Eilidh's always frail health got weaker
still. Sometimes she was able to do
little spinning, but oftener she was
unfit for anything but to keep the
peats alight and the kettle boiled
against Nor came in at night. There
was very little said between the two
women with regard to their relation
to each other. The neighbors were
inclined to think that Eilidh allowed
herself rather easily to become Mor's
dependent, but Nor herself never
seemed to look upon her in that light
at all.
1t was not until they were both
quite old women that any change
came in their lives. Eilidh caught
bad cold one wet winter, and was so
extremely i'll that Nor thought every
breath was her last Great excite
ment had been caused in the neigh
borhood by the erection of hospital
by great lady from far off. Nothing
| had been done for the islanders by
the outside world, save evictions, for
so many years, that at first the hospi-
tai and the nurses who managed it
were even regarded little suspic-
iously. 1t seemed incredible that any
body could want to do them any
good from that great world which
represented landlords and few stall
wart salmon fishers. But to the hos
pital Eilidh must go, so the doctor
said, if she was to be kept alive at all.
The usual complaint of Westeray-
semi-staryaticn-was present in an
aggravated form in poor Eilidh,
whose i'll. health would not allow her
to eat or digest enough potatoes to
keep her nourished.
Nor with many misgivings bore
her feeble friend to the hospital door,
but she left it with heart overflow
ing with gratitude. The little home
was lonely enough without her life
long friend, but Nor never com
planned.
Sand is it not you, then, that miss
me, Mor2" the sick woman would ask,
gazing into her friends face when
she came to see her.
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