The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-03-16

he cried in welcome. You were
brave, indeed, to come out here on
such nightF
"'Don't,' I answered excitedly. i
am not brave at all Mother is ill, or
l couldn't have come. And | don't
know how l got here at all! o DIR.
Balm, I've had such dreadful frightsp
az don't WONDER he said with
kiss. But we'll go back together in
a sleigh, and that will make you for
get all about it,
"And SO we did shortly after, DIR.
Balm cheering me up with kindly
jest and song.
"But it did not seem the same
road We slipped by the lane an !
woods and bushes in turn, and at
last drew up before fathers own
white gate.
Mother was lying white and still
with heart spell, and felt that DR..
Balm had come just in time. For
some hours he worked there at her
bedside; and, when he finally left for
home, mother was resting quietly
and naturally.
"'You have saved your mothers
life, he said at the door. Valerie,
my dear, l don't think you will ever
be coward again.
"And l promised him, then and
there, that / would not.
"Uncle Foster came over the next
morning, and mother proudly told
him the story of my bravery, as she
termed it. But knew it had been
only cowardice instead, and when
uncle drew me into his lap 1 sobbed
loud.
"'You don't know alll' cried. Il
have been wretched, cowardly girl,
and / wouldn't have gone step to
DR.. Bain's if mother hadn't made me.
And then l told both mother and
him my whole miserable story.
"But they did not chide me, as l
thought they would. Mother called
me her heroine, and Uncle Foster
Rugged me just like the bears in my
story-books.
"Father got back from Auburn
soon after, and he stroked my long
hair gravely. Il must not praise you,
he said, for you only did your duty.
But | cannot be too thankful that
you have at last overcome your cow
ardice. All! Valerie, | have great
hopes of you yeti
"And, coming from father, that
was great deal.
THE week before Christmas Uncle
Foster went to New York City. 1t
was great thing in those days, and
eagerly l awaited his return. For
many story would he have to tell
me about what he had seen and
heard.
"And he came ON Christmas Day
The stage stopped right at our gate
and Aunt Selma, his wife, was there
with us, to meet him. / remember
he put me on his shoulder right be-
fore the driver and his other passen-
gers, and l felt very much ashamed
.indeedi
"'My brave little Valeriep he cried
with hug. I've brought you fine
present clear from the great city
And you'll never guess just what il
isl!
II did, indeed, try hard, but finally
l was obliged to give it up.
"After dinner we gathered around
the blazing logs, and Uncle Foster
brought out his presents. There was
long cloak for Aunt Selma, and a
purple gown for mother. Father got
silver ff-box, and lastly came
my own present. 1t was in a square
brown box, and on it was printed in
Uncle Fosters own hand, For a
brave girl The room seemed to
turn round as / read! l looked al
mother, but her eyes were filled with
happy tears. And then Aunt Selma
cut the string, and raised the lid, and
there like pretty gray kitten, lay a
soft squirrel skin muff.
"Father raised both hands depre-
catingly, but Uncle Foster shook his
head. Don't say word, Abnerl
Valera shall have her due. She
went for DIR. Balm that stormy night
without hope of reward; and I've
brought her this muff in compensa-
ton. Selma and | have neither chick
nor child, and Valeria has always
seemed daughter and niece in one.'
He shook out the pretty muff, and
l thrust ten trembling fingers into it.
What moment that was, to be sure!