Washington standard. [volume] (Olympia, Wash. Territory) 1860-1921, 1899-01-13

idiii iiai bCcil sHut OuI iIht d nay Jaw
':She S in there" said Donald "They
say she 8 like Il crazy woman. III so in
with you"
He tied the horse to a post and shield,
cd Anne through the curious crowd.
After some imperative knocking and
promises Of help to the woman shrek
I ing abuse from within the door was
guardedly opened, and they stood before
E"t Evans slater.
Anne shuddered at the face. The
forces in soul that damn seemed to
have set fire to all the softness in the
woman and left their flames blazing in
her hollow eyes. With lank gray hair
falling to her shoulders and veincd
hands clinched at her sides she stood at
bay i'll the desOlate room, bitten through
with grief, an epitome of hatred, famine
and fear. Unnoticed Donald swiftly
made a sketch of her and at q sign from
Anne slipped out, leaving her TO her
difficult task.
In the warmth of her sympathy and
gratitude for the visible help she brought
the beast in the sufferer was conquered,
and with wild weeping she told the
story of her life. She had been born on
a sheep farm in Scotland near a river
winding through valley and had left
it to come to her brother when his wife
died. Anne saw the lost home plainly
as the homely sentences sketched it-a
place of perfume, light and healthy
sleep. She realized the gloomy change
to this black valley with Red Evans,
the morbid slave; his daughter pretty
and wild, ready to sell her soul for a
trinket and at length flying away in
shame, and the younger son, Joe, q
picker boy, choked with miners asth-
ma.
IAN yell write what tell ye. miss.
Yell spek the truth. Yell belize mex
people bit sorry. Aye, aye" she said,
nodding at the dead ashes on the hearth,
yell say our hearts are breakin, that
shame an hunger's emo to mex men
distraught, but, ah, miss, We won't mex
'em feel it; ye can't mex 'em feel it
I'd ha' to tex my heart out an put it in
side ye before We could know what dc
an what I Gamma tell ye, miss
Anne could not utter one of the COM
forting, philosophical things she had
fancied at her command. She let her
hand rest for an instant on the forehead
where care had set skein of tangled
lines, gave circular glance in the
hopeless room and went out. her heart
affrighted.
Donald was not among the crowd,
but she went on, expecting him to join
her. He did not appear, and soon she
found herself close to tho mine around
which the struggling village was built.
Before her stood the high, coal black
ened building similar to a wooden
lighthouse which miners call a breaker
She knew when the mines were work.
ing big cars were impelled up to this
height from the Businesses of the earth.
that there the coal was broken, sorted
and sent down through iron grooves to
waiting cars. A feeling Of curiosity i'm
PEELED her to 60 up. 1t would be strange
to stand in high breaker, look out on
level with the hills. fancy the riveu
coal leaping down the rafters, and there
write her notes Of the morning.
Passing the silent engine houses and
empty furnaces, she went up the steep
ladders to the top. On the last step she
paused, made suddenly aware the break
or was tenanted. Donald was sketching
some one. Moving to one side, unseen,
she saw the model was little Joe Evans,
the murderer's son. He had assumed
his working position beside an empty
shoot, his head lowered, his hand OK.
tended, as if picking the refuse from
the sliding coal. He had evidently di.
gested the fact that his picture was be.
ing made for newspaper, for there
was exaltation in his face. Hidden in
the shadow, Anne leaned against one OF
the posts and watched.
1.-THE air must be filled with dust
when the coal comes tumbling down be.
fore you" Donald was saying, and he
whistled softly as he waited for a reply.
"It's that what gives us the asthma, -
said Joe, backing up his words by q
most awful cough.
"Got anything on under that rag OF
q coat?" asked Donald cheerfully.
Lets see."
The child's blue pallor went crimson,
but in half fearful way he opened the
jacket and barred his puny chest.
"All right" Donald nodded. 81
wanted to know; that's ALL" And he
commenced whistling softly, while
Anne's heart grew hot. This was ar.
tistio savagery run amuck.
"How old are you, Joe?'
"Nine."
"What do you think of all day as You
sit picking the slate from the coal?''
"Nuthin!" His violet eyes We're vapid
wells between grimy lashes.
"Do you know what the sea is, Joe?''
He shook his head negatively without
any interest.
1.-The great, shining sea where ships
sail-cever saw that. Joe? Just turn
your head little the other way-so
Often hungry. I suppose?"
Joe smiled wanly as if at a Jest
There was no need to affirm self evi
dent truth.
1.-THE coal rushing down the shoe,
without moment Of rest must make
your head ache, I should Think"
Joe forgot about the proper angle 70,
showing off his knife blade Chin and
drawn eyelid. He dropped his head tc
his scrap Of a hand, ornamented by
knuckles and nails beyond redemption.
His eyes looked up with unquestionine
patience.
ut always aches. It's achin now"
A sigh came from his dry mouth, and
1t had the effect Of q clarion call on
Donald. The apathy went from him.
He flung his book to the floor. His face
was twitching. His eyes burned.
by -, child, how terrible you
are" Kneeling, he brought his face to
level with Joe's, his hands graspine
the boys shoulders.
"Don't be afraid, Joe. Don't cry.
I'm not mad" he said, a sob creeping
between his set teeth. "Oh, you poor
little chap. you sad eyed little slave
Oh, hungry and sick and old and only
8, picking the coal the whole day
through. thinking of nothing and
breathing death! Joel Joel Where is
uour God ov,l 49,