The record-union., 1898-05-01
A HAMElESS HEROINE.
Written for the .Record- Union" by
Mono AbiniIioI 80.

l.dQ SOne-@ les, the BfOtHefS anu Sio :
ters were now raised, they no longer
needed her care. One by one they had
married and left the friendly roof, that
| the woman standing there by the Win
dow, with wildly throbbing heart, lost
in memories of the past, had provided
for them.
The children whom she had promised
her mother on her dying bed that she
would take her place to them, and care
for them, ana raise them, TO whom she
had given her young life with all its
promise of love and happiness, no Ion
ger had need CT her. Now, at thirty
eight her life was her own.
| How strange it would be, unused The
woman, with no one to plan for or 20
think about. All that was now over.
She was free to do forever more as
she pleased Faithfully she had kept
the promise made to her mother. Eigat-
cen years ago this very month since
she had given up all that makes life
dear and worth living, and turned her
! footsteps into the. path that duty bad,e
her follow, putting out of her life a
love deep and tender, lest it interfere
with the duties she had taken on her
self to carry. Now she was alone.
|
that were broken and dropped at twen-
ty, and weave them again into her life:
Alas! no, too many Of them We're gone,
and many, too, Taveled, and with 4
weary sigh for what might have been, -
the woman drew a chair to the window
and seated herself thereon. She bowed
her head in her hands, convulsed by a
passion of sobs and tears. Long and
l. fn,4Ixy -1a "a bn taor a har
good; as thunderstorm clears the air,
SO did her outburst of weeping relieve
the long, weary strain that she had put
on herself till the event was over.
After her grief had spent itself, the
woman raised her head wearily and
leaned back in her chair; while her
mind Travelled back over the years that
were gone till it came to that even
! ing of long ago. How vividly it all
arose before her. That little mining
town, nesting on the banks of one Of
the branches Of the American River,
hemmed in by lofty mountains, wood
ed to their SUBMITS with oak, pine ce-
dar, spruce and tamarack In the early
fifties it had been a place of consider
able Importance, but at the time in
which it unfolds itself to- the woman,
parted.
A narrow road, barely wide enough
for a team, with turnouts here and
there along it's outer edge, where, when
two teams met, one stood till the other
passed, connected it with the outside
world. There she had gone as teacher.
1t was her first school. She had given
satisfaction; and at the time of the
/ hn nj of Stn on hpr
year The school kept all summer, as
| is the custom in mountain towns, where
the winters are severe.
l. She remembered how proud she was
when she got the school; and how big
her first months wages looked to her.
How glad she was to be able to help
her mother-a widow, whose sole means
of support was a small annuity from
property in England and which ceased
. at her death.
How clearly it all came before her.
! The little schooIhouse, almost hidden
in grove of alders and NAPLES, close
to a willow fringed stream that ed
died and purled over messy rocks as it
went on it's way to the river. The hills
behind were white with the bloom Of
the chaparral. while from the river
banks was waited the perfume of the
sweet syringias and aZaleas.
How bright and fair the morning of
that day had arisen, whose evening
had gone out in such utter darkness for
her.
! School had just been dismissed and
| with many a shout and hurrah the
children had dispersed in their various
directions and quiet had settled down
on the place. After sweeping and get
ting the schOolhouse in order for the
! next day, for at that time, and maybe
it is the custom yet, keeping the school
house in order was part of the duties
Of the 'schoolma am Locking the door
| she turned into one of the paths that
! radiated from the steps, which We're
followed and worn smooth by the COM
| ing and going of the children's feet.
| After school she nearly always tool,
! a walk; sometimes alone, and some
times. one fingered by her side. who was
called in the vernacular Of the place,
the schoolma' ANS fellow"
He was waiting for her that evening
at the turn of the HILL where the river
| came in sight. He had a bunch Of
| choice azaleas that he had picked near
the head of the ditch which supplied
! the miners with water. He had gone
that afternoon to do some work on the
tank there and seeing what fine ones
| they were had gathered. large bou
quet of them, The woman had them
| yet A deep sob that seemed wrunS
| from her heart at the remem brance
| broke from her lips as she thought Of
them. Frank Gerun, as the young fal-
low was called had been a devoted ad-
mirer CT the teachers from the begin
i ming. Admiration soon ripened into
! love. 1t was not long, then, to the tell
ing of the old, old story, which was
first told in Paradise. and that will be
told while there are men and women IN
the world
/ Frank was a stalwart, brown eyed,
brown haired young fellow; forcetul
and energetic. He impressed you as
one who was bound to get ahead i'll the
| world.
The term before they were enga~ed,
but marriage lay long way off, for
Lena, that was the teachers name.
wished to have her sister next her.
whom she was now educating, teaching
so as to help her mother before she
married 1t would be quite awhile be
| fore that would be, however, as there
| was a wide space between her sister
and her She was the only child when
her father came to California leaving
her mother behind him; it was several
wears before he could send for them
then three children had come in quick
/ succession; an interval, then, Of some
years when baby Lille came. She was
only few months old when her father
died Now she was little over three
years.
Although the path the young teacher