The Emmett index. [volume] (Emmett, Idaho) 1893-1925, 1897-03-06

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 patent Uncle lobe, you'll
help me out just this one time. won't
you?"
mot II had a thousand times the
amount you want"
ut isn't a large sum, uncle; try me
just once" he pleaded And II plead
ed with him.
Leave me In peace" groaned Uncle
lobe 81 am tired of 1t ALL You forget
that you are a poor waif who eats the
bread of grace In my house. You'll
either 90 the way point or choose your
own. You are no longer a childr'
"You are right" cried Philip, with
cheeks aflame with anger. 81 am no
longer a child. It's a shame that
should take aims from such a hand rs
yours. 1t has been the last time I'll
20 my way henceforth."
"And starve at III" 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 lobe.
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 it 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 ntermna-
BILE. We had no friends. Srhere was no
one to come to a house that had no open
door; no hand of welcome.
Uncle lobe wrestled with figures half
the day, the other half he devoted TO
business errands. In the evening he
read the newspapers. l was like
deaf mute
Take a good, long walk every day"
cttUgacta1 comma cfopatoI,. M. Nf;.
chell. "You look like ghost, ana are
fading awayw
Alas. there was no one. for whom |
would have exerted myself to keep
fresh and young. The sooner grew
old and gray the better would fit into
my surroundings.
For Philip l cried bitter tears. Uncle
lobe never mentioned his name.
Poor old man, he must he fond of
you both" Mrs. Mitchell was wont 20
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"
Il hate the place since Phil is gonc.r
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 1t viii be too late"
Not for you. You are young. Miss
Nreda. 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 ne
had dropped into a peaceful slumber.
Mrs. Mitchell and seemed turned to
stone when we discovered him. 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
There were no tears. no
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
a relief, rather, TO be free. | knew
about earning my bread. Free
dom was all craved.
On the day after the burial. Uncle |
Tobe's testament was opened. Philip |
and | were his heirs. He had bought |
the little home and had left us enough |
money to live in comfortable clrcum- |
stances.
p MAY God bless you.r he wrote. II
had no one on earth but your
sobbed aloud as listened "Oh. II |
be had only given Philip the money