The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1898-10-12

was CAPCCtcu u ucT, SOuctuluR ue-
pended on her. She began to be rea-
sonable human being; her old care
less animal existence was over for
ever.
To be a mother to the baby! To
take her mothers place in the house!
That meant 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-
Der how often she had Weakened in the
night and listened to the whir of the
spinning-wheel and the steady walk
across the room as her mother paced
back and forth through the long hours
Now the burden Of her mothers life
had fallen to her, and she trembled
to think of her weakness.
Life had been anything but bright
to her. 1t had been hunger and cold
and hard work, as far back as she
could remember. Her mother and her
dog had been her two friends; for,
instead of making any more at the
school to which she was driven every
winter, she had only increased the dis
like and suspicion of which she had al
ways been the object, by striking back
whenever she was struck. She was
"poor McVicker's girl" to teacher and
scholar, who made the vague reproach
felt by definite snubs whenever occa-
sion offered. Her spirit was not of
the kind to stand such treatment quiet
ly. She was strong and brave, and did
not hesitate to infiict 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
dangerous young savage.
1t was the teacher, too, who had
changed her name Missouri to the
MISERY" that had chung to her ever
since. 1t was nothing but "a joke"
called forth by the expression of want
and wretchedness on the girls face;
but it was a joke that caused it's 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 puckered 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 parked 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
trifle worse than before, but still they
kept moving. The winter was long and
cold, but Misery was kept SO busy with
her homework 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 blowing, 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 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 a 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, shutting
from side to side, stunsSled against
Lion Cursing furiously. he kicked the
dog out of his way, then bent with
maudlin tenderness over the baby's