The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1897-11-10
TRIED AS BY
LIVING FIRE.
A Little Lesson That He Who Runs
May Read.
BY MRS. IDA KAvs.

Oh! See there. What a pity! And
what pretty childr'
Indeed, it was a pretty face that
turned towards the passing carriage, as
the untimely remark reached the ears
of its object Such lustrous blue eyes,
deepened now by an inward fire that
famed forth on cheek and brow.
Was it shame, indignation, that
crimsoned the fair, white skin? Or
was it the over-exertion that had called
forth the lady's pity2
The body of child Ofeight was bent
staggering, beneath the weight it bore.
One could but watch, in dread Of some
mishap or fall; but at last a gate was
reached, a woman rushed :orth and
seized from the STOPPING shoulders
sack of flour, which was already slip
ping from the weakening grasp.
There was reproach in her face and
voice as she said:
"OhI Lawrie, how could you?"
81 thought could carry it," was the
apologize answer, "but ] see l over
estimated my puny strength"
"Why didn't John bring it?''
ale couldn't leave the office; knew
you needed the flour, and told him
would bring it up"
"But why did he let your
"John allows me to do as please.
He is the only one who treats me with
any consideration, or regards me as
more than cilild-'a pretty child, as
I was termed on my way home"
The words, the bitter tone, belied the
childish face, and when the small form
sunk back among the cushions of a
padded chair, where one might scan
the face, something there belied the
baby prettiness. The fire Of the eyes,
the curl OF the mouth, belonged rather
TO a man, and one for whom the world
held naught but bitterness.
Could one have seen beneath the H.
fitting garments, the formidable har-
ness-springs, straps, buckles and
braces-whieh made of this frail body
human form at all, no further ex-
PLANTATION would be needed. 1t was
youth of eighteen, old beyond his years
instead of a child of eight, who lay
back, breathIess and paling from the
effort he had made.
"YOu won't do so again, will your
said the woman, pleading, anxious, as
she returned, and laid her hand upon
the soft brown eurls.
"No; because 1 can't,r was the curt
reply. 81 should drop the flour, and
waste it,"
at isn't the -four, Lawrie, it's you.
Suppose the braces should snap, and
your back should give way entirely?'
The hand slipped earessingly to the
deformed shoulders, but the boy did
not look up as he said, deliberately.
al think l should die then; and
better So"
"LawrieI StopF'
whats the use of living such life
as mine? I'd rather die than to do
nothing, be nothing, more than a pret-
ty child BahF'
.Come, come, Lswrie! You're tired
and vexed. Be a man, dear"
The boy would not, usually, have
minded the half soothing, half reproof;
but it was iIl-timed now. With seorn
and defiance in his voice, he broke
forth passionately:
"a man! That's just the trouble,
Maud. A mani /, manr'
With a groan, the boy buried his
face in his hands, while the woman
stood, grieved and silent; she had never
seen him thus, ami knew not how to
still the sudden tempest.
"Maud, why didn't they lei me die
when that wagon crushed out of me all
possibility of manhood? Why did
they give me back life that is not
worth saving, a life that can only be a
curse 10 myself and to others?"
"a curse? Lawrie! Do you not know
what treasure you have Been to me
ever since mother first Laid you in my
arms, and said you were mine to love
and care for? D0ubly dear, since that
awful accident that made you help
less charge; and dearer still when iath-
er and mother were taken away, and
YOU were all l had. Not worth saving.
Oh, Lawrie"'
Don't, dear sister;'-it was now his
turn TO soothe-''perhaps l have been
some little comfort to you, but you
don't need me any more-you have
John, now."
II do need you, and love you just
the same. Aud, Lawrie, never should
have married, if | had not thought il
hest for both of U.S.
at was best, Maud; it was too hard
on you to support Us both; and never
could have taken care of you. John IS
the best fellow in the world, Sc good to
YOU. and more than a brother to me.
Sometimes, wheE I am with him l
almost forget that l am not a man.
With you"--impatientIy-''it's 'dar-
ding and .shild, and 'Lswrie,' until
sEhy don't you call me Lawrence as
John does?''
al know, dear; l do forget You've
been my child so long, that it is hard
TO realize that you are getting to be
man now. I'll Try TO be more thought
ful-but don't ask me to call you Law
renee Don't grow entirely away
from mel can not-I can not give mp
any .Lawrie' as long as We both live"
"Forgive me, sister; I'n not myself
to-day. It's wicked to worry and try