Hutchinson gazette. [volume] (Hutchinson, Kan.) 1895-1902, 1899-05-25


year."
"You knew him. tkshf' I cried.
startled, being unaware, you see, till he
spoke that / had uttered my thought
aloud.
"Yahl yahl" burst out Jern, "reckOn
l did, marSteri used to long to him,
me an all my folks" Ah
"Youl Paul Dumarcie's slavel And
Helena now7" ja. ,n,
mo, sir. Mlss Helen never would
own wedem Toll us to 80 North, and
when she cum stick to her close, you
bet, But 'spect own myself, now"
replied Jem with another laugh and q
mixture of negro patols and Yankee
slang In his speech,
"You do, Of course Jem," for his last
remark was half question: there are
no slaves here But was Captain Du-
marcie in the armyT
eyes, sir. Long Of the Confeder-
ates. When he killed, Miss Helen
come North to get his body, and, oh,
how she weep when she find no been
buried many daySl She nebber 30
back any more. She been here ebber
since, and Jom with her."
"Ahp said gBut am very
thirsty. VIII you bring me drink,
Jem2" l would not question a servant,
but I had received information enough
to think about for one day,
Helen was o widow, them How
lonely she was, and what hard, hard
life after the years OF luxury she had
enjoyed In her southern homel
A few days afterward, when / was
nearly well enough to be discharged
Helen spoke to me Of herself. She told
me of the dreadful parting that was
Anal, OF her journey northward when
tldlngs OF her husbands death came
and finding only the grave where hif
mutilated remains were laid days be-
fore.
my little Phillip died but a month
before" she sald "and had no longei
any tie to bind me- My dream OF love
and homo was past. Stern, sorrowfu
realities presented themselves. Intel
ligent nurses we're wanted, and ] re-
solved to take my place among them
My life is dedicated to the work."
But, Helen, you need not sacrifice
your life. You are looking pale and
worn. When my mother comes to take
me home, 90 with us. You know how
welcome you will be-"
II thank you, Charley" she an
swered, as II something in my words
had recalled our youth, calling me by
the old, familiar name, "but my worh
Is here; l cannot leave It, After the
war is over, perhaps, II I live til
then"
Her tone was very sad, but she
looked up as she paused, and touch
ing smile, full Of resignation and hope
dawned over the marble pallor Of bel
face. She rose up and went away,
When my mother came she added
her entreatles to mine, and even some
thing OF tho authority which her age
and long friendship justified. But
Helen, with warm thanks, put heI
aside, as she had done me. Her work
was there, she said; she could moi
leave 1t. And so we left her to her
patient rounds and mournful duties.
l went home q crippled man. No
more Of outward striving life for me
no dreams and successes, no ambitions
to be realized, The future seemed a
drear blank / fell into morbid state
thoughts lntroverted self prominent
bitter, uncharltable, unreasoning,
supposed l was grateful to Helen, but
often found myself wishing she had
let me die. And, as could not yet
hold pen in my left hand, l made
that an excuse for not writing to her,
when either Of my sisters would gladly
have written for me, and often did
write on their own account, and
thanked her over and over again for
preserving to them the brother who
had been too sullen and bearish to
deserve such kindness ever since his
return. Helen answered brlehy-her
time was so occupled-but she said
little about herself.
It came upon us all with great
shock them when, about two months
after my return home, the papers
brought us tidlngs Of her death.
Faithful to the end, she had never
left her post, even to die. When she
could no longer resist her weakness
and disease she lay down in the great
bare room. and upon the very cot
had laid on to die. There poor, faith
full Jem watched her, with all WON
ans tenderness, to the last, and kind
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