Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1897-07-31

had, by common consent, been con
signed to her care, was at fever heat
Tillie herself often wondered how sh,
could treat him so badly.
"Hiram Stewart, Hiram Stewart, ..
hate you," she said one day in a low
tense voice that fairly frightened hel
when she realized what terrible state
of mind such tone must express.
She had taken him out to the park
that afternoon for an airing in compli
ance with Alice's request. She placed
him in one corner Of wooden bencl
and knelt before him that she nigh
look him squarely in the face when
telling him what she thought of him.
Even in the midst Of her anger Tillie
involuntarily pronounced him the pret.
tiest baby in the whole world, with his
soft brown hair, long dark lashes and
beautifully nodded face, but the thought
did not cause her to relept.
"Do you know what you have done
to me, Hiram Stewart?" she went on.
"You've made me work my fingers to
the bone" Tillie could not forbear
using her favorite expression, in
spite of the fact that she had been do.
ing comparatively little since his COM
ing. "You keep me from having any
fun. I can't 60 visiting with the girls,
but have to lug you around every
bright day instead"
Great tears were coursing down the
baby's cheeks, and his breast heavetl
with the storm of sobs that was about
to break. Tillie saw his grief, but she
went on mercilessly.
"I had completed plans for having
little pleasure this summer for the
first time in my life, and you had to
come in and knock them all in the
head. Hiram Stewart, you're the pest
of my existence. I'm not going to put
up with you any longer. I'm-going
-to-lose-you."
It seems as though the child under
stood the import of the words, for he
set up cry that echoed through that
part Of the park and attracted the at
tention of everybody who CHANGED to
be loungiug near there.
ooh, dear! Oh, dearw lamented
Tillie. "I've done it now. I ought
to have known better than to get him
scared. must try to quiet him some
how. There, there, baby" and she
assumed coaxing tone, "don't cry.
Tillie didn't mean it. Come OH, darl-
ing, and go to sleep, Tillie'll sing for
you.".
She took him in her arms and sat
down in his corner of the bench.
Then, swaying herself gently backward
and forward, she murmured lullaby
with which her own heart had often
been soothed when heavy with infan-
tile woes. The afternoon sun was
sinking low, and its last rays fell
athwart the fair face nestled against
her shoulder, when Tillie ceased sing
ing and assured herself that the baby
was sound asleep. One little hand
was closed over the end of the lace
scarf at her throat, but she deftly
loosed his grasp, and with a dexterity
born of a settled determination she
slipped him from her arms to the
bench.
Then she stood up and looked
round. That corner of the park was
momentarily deserted. The only per-
sons in sight were three boys in boat,
quite distance out on the lake, and
fisherman, who was just returning from
the end of the pier. She watched the
fisherman until he struck into path
way leading south, then turned to the
baby once more. One tiny hand was
doubled up under his head and the other
nestled beneath his chin. There were
tear stains on his cheeks, and even in
his sleep his breathing was convulsed
now aud then, as though dreaming of
the sorrow he had just borne.
Tillie gave one more quick, fright
ened glance at the child on the bench,
then turned and ran, with the swift
ness Of young gazelle, through n
deeply shaded path that branched off
from the wide carriageway. Twilight
had already settled down in the tree
lined walk, and there was no one to
watch her flight. She had almost
reached the street, where the cable
cars were running two and fro, before
any one crossed her path. Then she
Stacked her speed and walked out into
the wide drive with apparent uncon-
Germ.
The clock in the tower of the railroad
depot at the head of Roseberry row
was striking seven when Tillie walked
into the kitchen--alone. Supper had
been standing for half an hour, and
Alice already had grown nervous and
anxious.
"Where's Hiram?" she asked, when
she perceived that Tillie did not have
the baby.
"O-o-oh," moaned Tillie over and
over again. Her grief was not feigned,
for her alarm had by that time become
genuine in realization Of her offense.
"What's the matter?" repeated
Alice. "Where's Hiram?"
"He's lost, or stolen or something
said Tillie. II had him on bench
close to the lake, and / just went down
to the edge OF the water for q few
and when 1 went back he
was gone. O-o-ohH"
Somebody's stolen him." said
Geoffrey.
Alice was weeping piteously.
"Did you speak to a policeman,
Tillie?" she asked.
"N-n-o," faltered Tillie. 81 didn't
think about it."
Within an hours time description
Of the lost child had been se1t to every
police station in town. That was q
Tillie had not counted on,
and she wondered what the outcome
be. 1t practically resulted in
nothing, for in spite of the assurances
Of the officer who patroled Roseberry
row that Hiram would be restored by
the next day dawned without
bringing any news Of the pretty boy.
Tillie passed miserable night. She
begged to be allowed to sit up with
Alice and the neighbors who had
come in, but they bade her go to bed.
.Tt isn't your fault, child" they
said, kindly. Nobody blames you.