The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1898-11-04
MISERY"
BY ELIZABETH F. TITLE.


THE mountains of western Pennsyl
vania give shelter to a peculiar
people. The severe winters would
kill off any but the strong. while the
rocky. mountainous farms would not
afford living to any but the indus
trious. So, in the course of the long,
cold winters and the short, unfruitful
summers, the instinct of self-preserva-
ton has made the mountaineers a
strong, sober, Woodworking, econom-
ical people, who combine the energy
of the Yankee with the stability and
prudence of the German; people who
are too practical to waste any time
on sentiment, and too industrious and
self-satisfed to tolerate shiftlessness.
Among these people Misery was born
and raised. She was child of the soil,
and grew as the crops grew, because
she had to. Growth was one of the
necessary evils that followed from her
birth. No one took any particular in
terest in her, and she certainly took
very little in herself or anybody else.
Even her mother, Il stern, overworked,
dragged-out woman, paid little atten-
tion to her. She was kept too busy
working to keep the roof over her
head, and forcing living out of the
rocky little farm, to care for less i'm
portant things, till suddenly, one sum-
mer, she gave out, and, after lingering
few days on hard mattress of corn
husks, gave up the struggle for exist
ence. leaving athree-months-oldb baby
in Misery's arms.
Poor woman! She had tried to tell
the girl what to do. You will have
to take my place, Missouri, an be a
mother to the baby, an don't cross
pap" Then, as she thought of how
heavy was the burden of work and
trouble that she was leaving to those
young shoulders, the woman's voice
was choked, and for the first time in
her life Misery saw tears rolling over
her mothers wasted, sunlen cheeks.
But this did not last long. A life of
quiet endurance and repression had
not fitted either the child or the
mother for such an exhibition of feel
ing. The woman soon controlled her
self, and tried again, as she had tried
day and night since she had given out,
to think of some way by which Misery
could get along without her. But grad
ually the look of anxiety and suffering
in the dark eyes deepened into posi-
tive despair as they rested on the
slight form by the bedside. What
could such n child do?
God only knows what'l become of
you," she exclaimed, with strength
that was born of her passionate de-
spair; then, in a quieter tone: DO
the best you can, an perhaps the Lord
will help you. Eff you an the baby
could only get along without me, I'd
be glad to die, for I'm clear done out"
Then. later and fainter: "Be a good
girl, Missouri; you're all the baby's
got" and with the despair still in her
eyes she turned away from the girl
and looked through the open window
up the mountain side to the tall pine
trees that stood motionless against
the bright blue of the sky. And very
soon, quietly watching them, she died.
After the funeral was over and the
half-dozen neighbors had gone, Mis-
ery's first feeling was sorrow and lone
liness. Her mother and their dog had
made up her world. Then, as she re-
membered what her mother had said
about the baby, she began. for the
first time in her life, to feel that she
counted for something. Something
was expected of her, something de-
pended on her. She began to be a rea-
sonable human being; her old care
less animal existence was over for
ever.
To be a mother to the babyi To
take her mothers place in the housed
That meant a great deal to Misery.
She well knew that it was the mother
who had toiled night and day to feed
and clothe the family, while in the
little village few miles below them
on the mountain the father loafed in
the tavern. She could easily remem-
ber how often she had wakened in the
night and listened to the whir of the
spinning-wheel and the steady walk