The record-union., 1896-09-13
BURT KINGSBURY'S REFORMATION.
A Tale of Old Dry Canyon.
Wrftten by Kittie Spargur Hulse fo
tho ssRoonrd TIniOu ,N

bles."
| Agnes Glenn had just given back the
ring which the man at her side had
placed on her finger few months be-
fore. Soon after their engagement a
rumor had reached her ears that he
frequented a certain gambling house
O. the village. She had taxed him with
it; he had confessed and promised to
reform. The promise had been broken,
and Agnes had returned his ring.
| Her explanation had been received
with words of anger and pleading, al
ternately.
Then you never loved mel" he said,
bitterly.
"Oh, Burt! 1 do love you! But how
can marry you, knowing that you may
become drunkard and a gambler"
Angrily and vindictively, the young
man threw the ring to the floor and set
| his heel on it, crushing it out Of shape.
| You may change your mind when
it's too late" he said. Its all the
work of that cussed temperance soci-
ETY.! Just because a fellow plays a
game of billiards or takes drink with
the boys once in whilei And yet you
say you love me and expect me to be-
lieve it! l don't believe it-you never
did love me, and this is only an excuse
to throw me over. If 1 go straight to
| hell you can remember that you sent
met"
He left the room without another
| word. The girl stood there with fright
ened look on her face. Was she wrong,
after all?
The next day Burt Kingsbury left his
Eastern home for the mines of Colo
rado, and his widowed mother in her
lonely home mourned for her only child
|
He sat on the north side of a canvas
tent which bore the inscription Res
taurant' one day in early summer. AL
though he was well attired for the
rough mining camp, he sat on the bare
ground, idly thrusting a sharp stick
INTO the sandy soil. His eyes were
bloodshot. his hair disheveled, his face
unwashed, although it was long since
noon.
| lie was gambler-and "broke' II
was new place and he was a stranger
there. Not a soul did he know that he
could bring himself to ask for a loan:
never before in his life had he needed
money so badly, and he had not the
falntest idea where it was to come
| from
Again he took from his breast-pocket
the letter that had come for him that
morning. The Postmaster had handed
it to him only a few moments after he
Ead risen from a table where he had
played all night and lost his last dol
lar. The postmark bore a date Of many
1 weeks hQfnra ha 1a<%
on the road, following him from camu
70 camp IN the mfnes of Colorado. The
superscriptlon was in an unfamiliar
HAND ana In one corner was written
important. p. M. please forward. p
Inc letter was brief, and contained only
few words traced in faint lines by a
Woman's trembling hand: MY Darling
Boy: am sick unto death. cannot die
| without seeing you. Come home to
your poor old mother"
Iears hung on his long eyelashes
when he had finished reading, and he
| cnoKed back sob as he replaced the
letter in his pocket. What if it were al
ready too late? He had never before
realized how lonely the world would
seem to him without dear, old. white
halred woman in it, always longing to
see him and waiting for him. How
shamefully he had treated her the
poor old mother who had suffered and
worked for him! He had left her alone
IN her old age, and all for the sake of a
girl! His cheeks flushed with shame as
ne thought of it. Well, he would go
| nome and try to atone-if it were NOT
100 late. But the money, the money,
! Dark thoughts passed through his
inlnd IN quick succesSion-thoughts of
lonely gulch, a lone driver and the
| precious treasure in the strong box nm
DER MS feet; thoughts of robbery-and
| worse, perhaps-but he put them from
hlm- lie could not go to his mother
with blood on his hands.
| he Dug away mechanically. His stick
! struck something in the sandy coil
he dug it up. A gold piece. Eagerly
re thrust the stick deep in to the soil
Another twenty rewarded his effort
Then leisurely, for fear of ATTRACTING
attention, sometimes using his hands
and sometimes the stick, he dug m and
s'fted the soil around him for a space
OF several feet. When, his task com
pleted, he rose to his feet. there wa
enough money in his pocket to take him
Surely, no richer strike" was eve,
made. A drunken miner had lain +baro
one night and the money had rolled
from his pockets and been tramn,ed
into the sandy soil the owner never
douptlng that some saloon-keeper ar
gambler had pocketed the reward ~
many a hard days toll. IT'S an III
wind that blows nobody good" Thought
| fvia H.
his clothes
That evening Kingsbury the gambler
ie1t on the stage for his home in the far
East and the camp of Sandy Gulch
knew him no more.
"Mother,"
MY boy!
The wasted arms clasped him tight
TO the breast that had nourished him
III infancy, the sick woman's thankful
tears fell on his curly locks. and Burt
| klngsbury was glad, 50 glad that he
had came home before it was too late
Yet his return was like a powerful cor
dial to the woman whose death had
been looked for hourly, and days he
came weeks and weeks grew into
months before the wan face turned low
| ingly toward him took on the hue al
death and he knew that he was mother
| less.
AT her grave he renewed the vow he
bad made when he had first come back
to her and she had told him of the
father he had never known. In her
weak and trembling voice often inter
rupted by tears and sobs, she had told
him how their happy home had been
transformed into the abode of sorrow