The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1897-03-25
TOMS WIDOW.
by ANNA SHIELDS.

ne lluy III question: Was IlShO
mare vision, a combination of gaudy col
ors never to be found excepting in those
horrors devised by the economical to
use up odds and ends" 1t was made
of canvas, and bits of zephyr wool, left
from more ambitious pieces of work,
were sewed in pell-mell without regard
to color, in a set black that was
enough to set anybody's teeth on edge.
"Do-do you admire it?" l asked,
fearful of giving otfense by plain speak
ing.
The old lady took off her spectacles,
wiped them, put them on again, leaned
her head on one side, and said, slowly
and gently, in a voice mild as new milk:
My dear, think it's the most unut-
terably hideous object L ever beheld
in the whole 70 years of my life. No
body could have made that tidy but
Toms widow"
"Oh!" L said, not knowing exactly
how to answer, for Mrs. Craige was al
most a stranger to me. My husband,
who was missionary preacher, was
making a lecturing tour and Mrs.
Craige, an influential member of the
Evanstown congregation, had invited
me to stay with her and rest from much
weary travel. / was soon made to feel
at home in the dear old lady's motherly
care, but it is easily understood that 1
could know nothing of herself or her
neighbors and family excepting what
she chose to tell me.
You do not know who Toms widow
was, my dear" she said, presently, as /
stitched in respectful silence; how
should you? Tom was my son; one of
my sons, [ should say, for 1 had nine,
and four daughters, though you find me
alone. Some are dead, some are mar
ried, but all who are living have their
own homes and families. Tom went to
California and started a business; he
married there, and when he died it was
natural for me to suppose that his
widow would remain in her own home,
among her own people. Tom was not
80 when he died, and [ knew she was
very much younger. But one day when
was grieving, as mothers will, my dear,
for my son, there walked in a little
mite of figure that | should have taken
for child but for the heavy widows
draperies. She came straight to me,
lifted her veil, and, looking out of a
pair of baby blue eyes straight into my
face, said
~ am Daisy, dear mother, Toms
widow. l am all alone in the world, but
Tom said he was sure if came to you,
You would be good to me-
Il took her straight into my heart,
the little, winsome darling, and | loved
her as my own, So, my dear, if | tell
you of my trials with her, do not think
it was from want of love"
l was sure it was not, for the dear old
lady's voice was full of tenderness.
at was lonely for her for one thing
said Mrs. Craige, for her mourning,
and it was a deep-hearted sorrow, kept
her secluded; and as there was no need
for her to employ herself usefully, she
began to plan delightful surprises for
me. She was possessed by d very de-
mon for fancy work. While she exer-
cised it upon sofa cushions and foot
stools with distorted dogs and dislo-
Gated cats embroidered in Berlin wool
upon them, l endured in patience al
though my oId-fashioned ideas were
certainly amazed at the sums Daisy
spent on materials. Tom had left her
well provided for, and as she had no eX-
pense here, her pocket-money was a
very handsome income. AS [ said, did
not object to the poor little lonely
child taking all the pleasure she could
find in embroidering hideous designs
on canvas, and putting the results in
the most conspicuous places in the
house, but this mild form of her mania
soon gave place to the desire to tx
Gel in every species of work that came
up to waste the money and time of
idle women. This old house, W hch was
in my husbands family before the rev
Olution, is full of treasures endeared to
us by age and association, and our
sailors and travellers have added many
relic to the ornaments and furniture
he first piece of vandalism that | was
expected to admire, and secretly
Eroaned over, was the potichomanie
transformation of a pair of Venetian
glass vases that my son Henry brought
from Europe for me. They stood in
the spare room, and never was a serv-
ant allowed to touch them, the ex-
quisite, fragile beauties! Imagine my
horror when Daisy eXultantly led me
to the. room and displayed her handi-
work. My lovely vases! Inside of each
one was pasted a coiored landscape cut
frem paper, over which a garland Oh
leaves was varied by punches of grapes
currants, cherries, flowers, birds and
butterflies. Then the inside was plas
tered with blue paint. What was on my
tongue was never spoken, for the blue
eyes danced with delight at my sup
posed pleasure, and how could 1 bC
cross to Toms widow"
could you never get it off ?" 1 asked
pitifully.
'Nevcr. My vases were ruined. The
next really dreadful deed, varied by atroc
tties of minor Importance, was D:isy't
discovery of my great-grandmother
weddingdress, white-brocaded satir
that we cherished far more than any
old gold, but which Daisy ruthlessly
cut into pincushions, embroiderinl
each one and producing them triumph
antly for n Christmas SURPRISE Tbs