The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1900-08-14

utter a word of complaint. No one
to take her part, not one single friend
in all the wide unfriendly world
around.
So. no wonder the heart of Little
"Tot" was made happy when the
warm spring time came bringing its
grass and trees and birds and bios
SONS. It CHANGED that was teach
ing the district school in the neigh
borhood. One morning the door Of
the school-room was unceremon1ous-
ly opened and a rough locking man
with bare brawny arm thrust the
little waif in through the half
opened door, and, closing it without
a word took his departure. l looked
up at the shy half-frightened crea-
ture, and the pair Of eyes from be
meath the crude sun-bonnet that mel
mine, presented a picture that is
indelibly impressed on my memory.
Artists can never duplicate it.
Pictures like this one r created,
not copied. Nature, in artistic
genius hangs in tremulous splendor
on the delicate harebells' her crystal
dewdrops yet, on the face Of this
little waif she had penciled even a
fairer picture. The eyes only SO i'm
pressed me! Large violet eyes
fringed with long dark lashes in
which something akin to the tear
drop glistened eyes so like those of
the fawn entrapped in the meshes OF
the hunters net and without hope OF
escape. I went to her, placed kindly
my arm around her, spoke to her a
few soothing words, showed her to a
seat near by, gave her a pretty pic
ture book, and soon the little
stranger began to feel quite at home.
During the remainder of the term
she came as she could be spared, al
ways with the same shy timid man
ner, the same soul-beaming eyes and,
often, bringing me a bunch of viOlets
plucked by the wayside, would steal
up behind me and without a word
place them beside me on my desk.
Fresh bouquets were often sent me
from the gardens of rare plants in
the homes of friends but none did [
more highly prize than the little
crushed punches of violets gathered
and brought me in the tiny hands so
Injured to the rough tasks of life.
Later in the season, when the flowers
and birds were gone and I wa plan
ming out the articles of comfort L
could add to her scanty wardrobe
before the winter months, imagine
my surprise when there came to me
the message that I was wanted at
the sick bedside of my little friend.
The summons sank into my soul
like a leaden weight. I knew the
child's hold on earth was slight, and
yet, what need had I to mourn?
fastening to her bedside I found the
little sufferer in the delirium of
fever uttering incoherent sentences
about her books and school, and look
ing often wildly about her, calling in
clear distinct tones, Teacher
Teacher :" The face was livid and
agonized and the beautiful eyes
seemed ready to burst from their
sockets, I placed my cool hand on
her throbbing brow, bathed her face
and attended to all the little wants
of the sick room.
By and by, the fever abated, and
the little sufferer returned to con-
~sciousness. She expressed great
satisfaction at my presence. Then
for some moments with eyes closed
she lay passive and quiet. Presently,
opening them full in my face and
reaching out both hands with d look
of ethereal beauty in tones of the
sweetest s0ftest cadences, whispered,
'ECome in the morning"
These were her last words. She
sank into a peaceful slumb6r from
which she never awakened. When
in the morning, I repaired to the
room with some flowers and deli
caci6s they were not needed. I
found only a still waxen form, white
and passionless. I placed flowers in
the hands that had brought them to
me so often and, when we had slip
pered the dainty feet and robed the
mortal form and placed it in the