The Van Buren press., 1898-10-29


ways been the object, by striking back
whenever she was struck. She was
poor MeNieker's girl TO teacher and
scholar, who made the vague reproach
felt by definite snubs whenever oeca.
sion offered. Her spirit was not OF
the kind to stand such treatment quiet
". She was strong and brave, and did
not hesitate to infict punishment on
those who deserved it. Bruised limbs
and heads appealed to the sympathies
of the shocked teacher and enraged
parents, until Misery was pronounced
a dangerous young savage.
1t was the teacher, too, who had
changed her name Missouri to the
"Misery" that had clung to her ever
since. 1t was nothing but "a joke, :
called forth by the expression of want
and wretehedness on the girls face;
but it was a joke that caused its vic
tim many a fit of rage and helpless
| fury.
But, dark as her childhood had been,
| it seemed to her, on the day after the
burying. that it looked bright beside
| the darkness of the future. She had
taken the baby in her arms and had
gone out behind the house to little
hill, whence she was looking down the
road for the first glimpse of her father.
She had been working hard all day
and had just finished getting supper,
and this was the first chance she had
had to think since her mother had died.
| Her forehead was puekered in deep,
anxious wrinkles, and the tears were
standing in her eyes. She quickly
brushed them off as they began to roll
| down her cheeks. She had no time
for crying. Sorrow is relieved by
tears, but not worry, and her worry
was so great that her sorrow had to
be kept under. She thought and
thought over the great question OF
keeping soul and body together in the
baby, her father, herself and the dog,
until the dog barked at her father COM
| ing up the road, and she hurried down
to the house to put their scanty meal
on the table.
In the time that followed she
showed herself made of the same stuff
as her mother. Things went on a
trifie worse than before, but still they
kept moving. The winter was long and
cold, but Misery was kept so busy with
her housework and knitting and spin
ming for the neighbors that she paid
| little attention to it; besides, the dog
and the baby were company for her.
In the spring she managed to get her
father to do some plowing, and she
sowed and planted. In the fall they
both worked in the field together, and
McVicker seemed to have improved
somewhat in his habits.
And so things were looking brighter
to her that fall than they had since she
could remember. The baby had
learned to talk, and followed her
about from morning till night with
the dog Together they were toler-
ably happy company. But one day
the baby was plainly not well. To-
wards supper-time Misery looked
anxiously for her father to come from
the village, that she might send him
for some medicine. She waited at the
house as long as she could, and then,
taking the child in her arms, walked
down the road to meet him, with Lion
at her heels. She walked as far as she
dared, for a cold wind had come up as
soon as the sun had gone down, and
she feared the child would be hurt by
being out too long. Back to the house
she went, fear for the child, and ter
ror lest her fathers long absence was
owing to relapse into his lately
abandoned drunken habits, making
her heart ache with anxiety.
AT last he came, but he was no soon
er in the room than she wished him
away. He was drunk, and, shuffling
from side to side, stumbled against
Lion. Cursing furiously he kicked the
dog out of his way, then bent with
maudlin tenderness over the baby's
cradle, attempting to take it up.
The baby cried, and Misery saw that
her father was getting into a rage. 4
louder scream from the baby, and Nc
Nicker's heavy hand was lifted to
strike it; but, as it fell, Misery
snatched the child up to her bosom,
and Lion sprang at the hand and
caught it in a tight grip. McVicker
threw the dog off and seized heavy
iron poker. With a scream of horror,
Misery saw her father take deadly aim
at the brave dogs head Involuntarily
she started to go to him, but before
she could cross the room the dog was
lying on the floor gasping out his last
breath.
For one instant she stood over him,
her eyes stretched painfully wide open
with horror; then, with the child in
her arms, she turned and ran from
the house. Down the mountain road.
through the dark. with a cold wind
blowing hard against her, she ran on
till she was exhausted, and then
walked as rapidly as she could till she
saw the lights-very few were burn
ing yet-in the village.
The awful desolateness of their situ-
alton struck her as she wondered who
in the village would take them in. She
knew the baby needed something from
the doctor, so at the doctors door she
bravely knocked, although the dark
ened house told her that they were all
in bed and would resent being dis
turbed to attend to Misery McNicker.
who's there, an what do you
want?' came from an upper window in
by no means encouraging voice.
please, sir, it's Misery McVicker
an the baby. The baby's sick, an I've
brought it down from the mountain