The Cook County herald. [volume] (Grand Marais, Minn.) 1893-1909, 1896-01-11
"NOthing Shall Even Separate UA


but Death, Lassie.''
II was thinking" said the child,
slowly, II was wondering where the
poor, old man saw up on the hill to-
day would sleep tonight. Such poor,
poor old man, so old and sick and rag
ged." j.
''Bless the chick. What is she talk
ing about now?''
was out on the hill coasting with the
Others" the mother said, "some tramp,
I suppose
II have not heard Of any in town."
said Dixon, with sudden thoughtful
ness. ''It isn't the season for tramps
Oh!'' he added carelessly, as the child
continued to look in his face, ''some
worthless old vagabond, suppose,
dearie. Don't fret your heart about
him. He'll find a warm nest in some
body's haymow no doubt" But little
Bah shook her head.
Il don't think he was bad," she said
softly, ''only very sick and sorry. He
asked me my name, and when told
him he laughed out SO queer. And
then l showed him our house and told
him may be you'd give him some
money, and then he laughed again,
and then II got scared because the
other girls had all run away, and I
ran away, too"
| Her father had listened with strange
intentness. His playfulness was ex-
| tinguished, and his face looked all at
once careworn and troubled.
| you're silly little lass" he said
after a moments silence, land you
must not talk to strange men who ask
questions. They mi ght carry you off,
you know"
He held the child silently a little
while longer and then carried her back
to her bed, after which he returned to
his seat near the fire. His wife had
already seated herself in her low chair,
her face bent above the knitting in
her hands. Outside the wind howled
and roared, but in the room where the
two sat all was to the eye calm and
! sweet and cozy. The fire glowed and
emitted cheerful little snaps and
sparks, the clock licked and the knit
ting needles clicked, and through the
open door the child's soft, regular
breathing was distinctly audible. Sud-
| denly the woman stirred and looked
up to find her husbands eyes fixed
upon her. Strangely enough they fall
| tered and turned away, but presently
came back to hers again.
you're very silent tonight, lassie,',
he said, putting out his hand to stroke
her fair girlish head. Are you i'll, or
over tired?"
She shook her head, and, dropping
the knitting from her hands, clasped
them over her husbands knee and laid
her cheek upon them.
NO." she said softly, mot i'll, nor
tired. Only somehow I've been think
ing all day Of old times and-of him.
She dropped her voice to a whisper
as she spoke the last words, and her
husband felt the hands on his knee
tremble. He said nothing, though his
face grew dark and his teeth shut un-
der his teeth tightly. "I've been Won
dering," she went on, what became of
him. Jamie-if he is still alive, and,'
with a break in her soft voice, eff he
has forgiven me my part in his suffer
ing. Oh, Jamie!'' she broke out pas
sionately, throwing her arms about
her husband and raising her lovely,
fearful face to his. "Oh, Jamie, was
so young and foolish when promised
to be his wife, and had not even seen
, you then Tell me, Jamie, was I so
very, very wicked that I loved you
best? Gould I help it, Jamie?" She
rose and threw herself upon his breast,
7sobbing like a child. She could not
through her tears see the working Of
his face, nor the effort is caused him
to speak. He, tried to quiet her with
caresses and all manner: Of fond cpl
thets, and at last she lay still with
closed eyes upon her shoulder.
A tremendous blast swept through
the valley, shaking the cottage to it's
foundation, and shrieking down the
chimney like cry Of despair.
"GoOd heaYens!'' Dixon muttered.
what night" Thsn rousing himself