The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1897-04-23
TOMS WIDOW.
BY ANNA SHIELDS.

sewing in her cozy sewing room, most
folks notice that tidy"
The tidy in question was a night
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 set black that was
enough to set anybody's teeth on edge.
''Do-do you admire it?" l asked,
fearful of giving offense 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 n voice mild as new milk:
My dear, l think it's the most unut-
terably hideous object / ever beheld
III the whole 20 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. Craign was al
most stranger to me. My husband,
who was a missionary preacher, was
making 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. l was soon made to feel
at home in the dear old lady's motherly
care, but it is easily understood that |
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. l should say, for 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 il 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, nv dear
for my son. there walked in a little
mite of figure that should have taken
for a 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 nv
face, said:
~ am Daisy, dear mother. Toms
widow 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 INV heart.
the little, winsome darling. and | loved
her as my own. SO. my dear. if l tell
You of my trials with her. do not think
it was from want of love"
was sure II was not, for the dear old
lady's voice was full of tenderness.
1T was lonely for her for one thing
said Mrs. Craine, "f..r her mourning,
and IT was deep-hearted sorrow. kept
her secluded; and as there was no need
for her to employ herself usefuIly, she
began to plan delightful surprises for
me She was possessed by a very de-
mon for fancy work. While she exer-
clsed IT upon sofa cushions and foot
stools with distorted dogs and dislo-
Gated cats embroidered in Berlin wool
upon them, | endured in patience. al
though my old-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 l 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,
eel in every species of work that came
up to waste the money and time of
idle women. This old house, " hich was
in my husbands family before the rev
olutlon, 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
Croaued over, was the potichomanie
transformation of a pair of Venetian
glass vases that my son Henry brought
from Europe for me. They stood i'm
the spare room, and never was a seTy-
ant allowed to touch them, the ex-
quisite, fragile beautiesi Imagine nv
horror when Daisy exultantly led me
to the room and displayed her handi-
work. My lovely vases! Inside of each
one was pasted a colored landscape cut
from paper, over which a garland of
leaves was warned 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 bow could | be
cross to Toms widow?"
Gould you never get it off ?" asked,
pitifully.
Never. My vases were ruined. The
next really dreadful deed, varied by atroc-
tiles of minor Importance, was Daisy's
discovery of my great-grandmother's
wedding-dress. a white-brocaded satin
that we cherished far more than any
old gold, but which Daisy ruthlessly
cut into pincushions, embroidering
each one and producing them triumph
antly for n Christmas surprise The
girls were here-my girls-and my
sons and their wives. and there arose
such howl sent the wee blue-eyed
mite to my arms in sheer terror. 1t
was at that party that Willie Norman,
whose brother is my kate's husband.
first saw Daisy. Long after the others
bad forgotten the pineushions, / saw
Willie in corner with Daisy. evident
or. my dear, though Willie is the dear
est fellowi He came over quite often
after that (they live at Fernwood. ten
miles from here). and was kind enough
to discover all sorts of latent talent in