Walker Lake bulletin. (Hawthorne, Nev.) 1883-1926, 1897-01-20

Uncle lobe knit his brows. What
are you doing here? Why are you not
at work."
Its Sunday, uncle, and now have
really invented something valuable. My
employer says so, too, and all / need
is little money to experiment with and
take out a patent Uncle lobe, you'll
help me out just this one time, won't
your
Not II | had thousand times thu
amount you want"
1T isn't a large sum, uncle; try me
just once" he pleaded. And II plead
ed with him.
leave me In peace" groaned Uncle
Tobe, II am tired Of It all. You forget
that you are a poor waif who eats the
bread of grace in my house. You'll
either go the way point or choose your
own. You are no longer a child"
you are right" cried Philip, with
cheeks afiame with anger. Il am no
longer child. It's a shame that l
should take aims from such hand ms
yours. 1t has been the last time. III
go my way henceforth."
And starve at itw Knocked Uncle
lobe.
trembled In every limb 1t had new
er been as bad as this before. you
cannot mean what you say / begged.
Eyes, mean It," declared Philip.
"And so do l." added Uncle Tobe.
For moment Philip stock stark still
looking at me, then he dashed down the
stairs and aboard the steamer which
was about to leave the wharf.
In the crowd lost sight of him. The
bell rang out sharply. was alone and
In despair. Behind me stood Uncle
lobe.
LET him go, Vreda; he'll come back,
I'll give him the money after awhile,
but not now. Young folks are too i'm
patient"
you should have given 1t to him
now, Uncle" answered with choking
voice.
Philip had not returned. The sun
had gone out Of my life. The rollick-
ing echo was dead. The days were
gray and dreary, the nights intermina-
BILE. We had no friends. There was no
one to come to house that had no open
door; no hand Of welcomed
Uncle lobe wrestled with figures half
the day, the ether half he devoted 10
business errands. In the evening he
read the newspapers. l was like a
, deaf mute.
Take good, long walk every day."
suggested compassionately Mrs. Nit
chell. You look like ghost, and are
fading away"
Alas! there was no one, for whom
would have exerted myself to keep
fresh and young. The sooner l grew
old and gray the better would fit into
my surroundings.
For Philip cried bitter tears. Uncle
lobe never mentioned his name.
Poor old man, he must be fond OF
you BOTH" Mrs. Mitchell was wont to
say now and then when went to her
room to talk of Philip. HE is working
himself to death trying to buy this lit
tie house. My nephew tells me this: he
is employed in the office of his attor-
ney."
81 hate the place since Phil Is gone"
l cried bitterly. Everything Is gone,
the birds, the flowers and the people.
Only we've are chained to this same
old spot"
"Wait. Miss vreda; wait, later on,
perhaps"
That's what Uncle lobe says, and
then It will be too late"
mot for you. You are young, Miss
Vreda, but your uncle, nobody can
make him see what he.ought to do"
We lived our lonely lives and had
lost all hope that things would ever
change.
One morning we found Uncle lobe
dead In his chair. He looked as II he
had dropped into a peaceful slumber
Mrs. Mitchell and seemed turned TO
stone when we discovered him. l felt
no sorrow, but was terribly frighten-
ed. When the doctor came he said that
he could do nothing.
The funeral was very quiet and I'M
ostentatious. There were no tears, no
lamentations. no flowers, no friends
After We had laid him away 1t occurred
to me that the home in which / had
lived so long would now be closed to me.
But the thought had no terror. 1t was
relief, rather, to be free I knew
nothing about earning my bread. Free
dom was all craved.
On the day after the burial, Uncle
Tobe's testament was opened. Philip
and l were his heirs. He had bought
the little home and had left US enough
money to live in comfortable circum-
stances.
May God bless you" he wute. II
had no one on earth but your
sobbed aloud as listened. "Oh. II
he had only given Philip the money