The herald., 1896-12-20
THE LAST STORY

How grotesque life often is, even in
it's simplest phases! Between the upper
and the neither millstones called supply
and demand, how many lives are
crushed, and yet the mill wheel merrily
turns, and the jolly miller laughs and
sings as he gathers in his grist: The
word must live, the world must laugh,
and we must laugh with it, Or
1t was a low attic room, with dor
mer window that let in, now and then, a
thin ray of sun. The only bright things
in the room were pot of crimson ger
aniums in the window and small wood
fire that burned cheerily in the dilap-
idated open stove. Everything was
spotlessly clean, even the broken-backed
chair and the small deal table.
A woman sat at the table, writing with
feverish haste and look of intense ahx'.
iety in the eyes raised every now and
then to glance across the room at the
low bed in the corner. Little arms were
tossing above the counterpane, and a
little flushed face answered her gaze
with a yearning smile pitiful to behold.
For long time nothing was heard in
the room but the ceaseless scratch of
the pen and the snap and crackle of the
fire. At last the silence was broken by
childish treble.
Isn't it most time, mamma? You
said sure by the o'clock mail"
Yes, dear There's the clock striking
now; be patient"
"Oh, mamma. it Is SO long How can
1 wait forever?'
Forever is a long while, pet. Listen;
{ there is the postman now. Only mo-
| ment more"
The mother darted from the room and
| down the long flight of stairs in time to
answer the postmans ring and almost t
snatch the extended letter from his
hand. She did not glance at it until back
in her own room, and then almost saw
agely she tore open the envelope to find
what? Her face grew ghastly white,
as her blue lips involuntarily cried: "Oh.
| God, not this-nCt this!"
| strength of excitement, lifted herself
| from the bed and crawled feebly to her
| mothers side.
! Mamma! Mammal"
| The cry rang out sharply and startled
! the despairing woman into knowledge
| child to her bosom and lifted her back
! to the bed.
Darling, lie still now, and don't do
that again. Mamma is SO sorry
| And can't l have my orange? Is that
what the letter means?"
I mot just now, dear. You shall soon.
Wait little longer"
Wait, wait! I am SO sick of it. I
haven't done anything but just wait"
The ove~charged heart sent up it's wall
of despair.
The mothers face was terrible to be-
hold. For a moment it glared like a wild
beast. All the years of hand to- hand
struggle with giant poverty, all the re-
pressed longing and baff1ed desire and
unanswered love and uncrowned ambi-
! ton rose up before her, and If ever into
I the face of something more than saint,
a loving, daring mother there crept q
look like murder. it lay there in the
| dark and hunted eyes of that wan face,
| but only for an Instant Tsars-heav-
ems drops of mercy-hurst from the
stormcloud of overcharged feeling and
washed the stain away.
| God forgive me! l must learn to
| bear my SORROWS"
Calm once more, she picked up the let
| ter from the floor and re-read it.
| Dear Madam We regret the neces-
sity of returning inclosed article. but il
is not humorous enough. The fun
seems forced. Can you not discover q
new vein of humor? Something lighter
and less sarcastic? Respectfully.
~ BLANK"