Ottumwa semi-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1899-1903, 1900-07-10

eSo-h
ink and then sat there, thinking, think-
ing, Of his baby. He recalled every
little look, it's smile, it's new habits,
added day by day. His heart swelled
at the thought Of all that he had
dreamed for his boys future Was
God good? Was it true. this gospel of
comfort he had been preaching these
three years? Why, then. was he not
Ycomforted? The baby had died Thurs
day. night.
Three days now, and yet the world
expected him to go on with his work.
write sermons, make calls, attend TO
the thousand little details that must be
remembered or some one would notice
and begin to complain. How could he
take up the. burden of life and carry
it? How could he regain his old enthu-
siasm or help Dorothy? Were they
not both smitten to the dust by this
heart loss? He found himself saying
all this and even half fearfully asking
himself if Dorothy had not made a
mistake to share her life with him.
What could he offer her? What career
tie place?
The ink had dried on his pen, and he
sat there holding it, unable to write a
word. Dorothy had gone out to the
well. and when he missed her step in
the kitchen and glanced out of the
window to see her she was sitting on a
bench he had built under the cotton
wood in the yard, the only tree on the
place. She had left her pail at the
well and sat there looking Off toward
the little knoll which lie had shut out
of his sight when he drew down his
curtain.
He sat down with groan. and for
moment the world seemed utterly
empty and useless to him. He had sat
there for long time, feeling all the
while that his place was by his wife's
side to comfort her, but hesitating for
the first time since their marriage as
to the right thing to do or say, when
q knock at the. door reused him. He
knew some one must have knocked
several times. He went through the
sitting room and opened the door.
A little old woman stood close up to
the door. and farm wagon and horse
were out in front Of the fence.
You don't remember me. Mr.. Kirk p
said the little woman in voice so
thin and feeble that Malcolm was In
stantly reminded of call he had made
in the spring on family living on
what was called 1.-THE Forks" eight
miles from Conrad. in very desolate
ravine between two ridges of land that
formed almost the only hill country for
miles around.
Yes. ! do" he. replied. st is Mrs.
Barton, isn't tip
The woman's face lighted up family.
Eyes. and I'm in trouble. great trou.
BILE, Mr.. Kirk, and want you to help
me-"
Malcolm stared at the shabby, dusty,
WORKOUT figure. and instantly it fash
ed into him that she had probably not
heard yet that his baby was dead. Her
next words told him that was the fact.
'i've come straight here from home.
My boy. Mr.. Kirk, have you seen him ?
He left the farm Saturday with the
double team and load of hay. l
haven't seen him since. know he is
in some saloon, drinking or drunk, and
the money for the hay all spent. Oh,
Mr.. Kirk, for Gods sake help me to
find him and get him home again! For
the love of your own baby that you ex-
pect to grow up into good Christian
man to comfort and bless you help me
to get my boy out Of this hell and save
him, for my heart is broken when l
think Of how he was once as innocent
and happy as your own baby"
Ito be Continued.)