El Paso daily herald. (El Paso, Tex.) 1881-1901, 1900-06-18
nay TURN Of LUCK.


ly visitors for the asso lated charities
one winter, and in my rounds l made
| some curious friends.
Among them were Mr.. and Mrs. Spar
| row, an old couple who rad known pros
perity in other days. They had been en-
ricbcd by the silver bonn ut Virginia
City in the remote days of her greatness,
but their mine had filled with water ow-
ing to their bad fortune in cncountcring
an underground streRn. and they had
been ruined. The mir was still there,
but it would take $4,000 to get it in
working condition.
"And that money will never come 10
u.s." said old Mrs. Sparrow sadly. Il
have knowledge of that. 1t has been
told me-"
you are fortunate if You have friends
who can look into the future, | replied
lightly. She reproved me gently.
You speak iGnOrantly,' she said
"And it is natural that you should. But,
unlikely as it may seem, l have friends
who can sec into the future even as they
can remember the past from the begin
ming of time"
"You interest me, MIS-. Sparrow" 1
confessed.
She arose from the black wooden chest
on which she was sitting and lifted out
both arms full of closely written manu-
script. These she put upon the well
cleaned deal table. She laid her hands
reverently upon them, and then, looking
me straight in the eyes, she said in her
queer little singsong voice:
Nights when l and my husband sit
here lonely, remembering how we have
been bereft of all that makes life dear,
a peculiar comfort comes to us. For the
room is filled with the spirits of the dead.
all eager to know us. Some of them are
simple people. but others have been great
in the worlds history. Some of them
died only few days ago, but others
have been dead thousands and thousands
of years. We had one man here who
helped to build the pyramids. These peo-
pie are all grateful to me for helping
them to return to earth. They say that
the living are selfish and few of them
ever help the dead to return. And then,
to help Mr.. Sparrow and me pass the
time. which sometimes hangs heavily
upon our hands, they tell us stories"
'Tell you stories, Do they speak?' I
interrupted.
mo, not audibly. But l sit down at
the table. take n pencil in my hand and
write the words that come to me. The
most wonderful tales are told me- Old
mysteries which historians have puzzled
over have been solved for my amusement.
I have been told of the most ancient
things and been given insight into recent
scandals. And here in these many pa
pers are all my wonderful stories written
down.
But why don't you sell them?'' in
of mind. rs there any need for you to
be SO poor with all these in your head?
The world wants good stories and is will
ing to pay for them"
''It would be a sacriege," she cried, her
old cheeks flaming. "Do you imagine I
would betray the confidence of my
friends"
I could not persuade her to hold any
other view. Nor would she even read the
stories to me.
but when I die she added, they
shall be yours. You are a writer. and
you will be able to get some ideas from
them. I have perfect confidence in you,
and know that you will never use the
true names of the persons who figure In
these narratives"
But will not some of the stories lose
their interest if you make that stipula-
ton. Mrs. Sparrow?''
'"The dead are defenseless." she replied.
"There is even more occasion for being
loyal to them than to the living
i had talked about the matter out of
polite Indulgence merely. 1 had not an
idea that the sketches had the slightest
value. They We're. without doubt. l opin-
ed, the verbose maunderlngS of TINS lone
~ old creatures brain.
The associated charities kept Mrs. Spar
row and her failing husband supplied
with necessaries all that winter. and had
thoughts of advising that in the spring
they be sent back to old friends in the
west
But they frustrated my amable plan
by dying within a week of each other,
both of pneumonia. 1t was I who saw to
I,~,, \ = 10,
wooden headstone, which bore their
names. And it was l who saw to the
among neighbors equally
poor of their pathetically few effects.
AS for the black chest with the manu-
scripts, kept that for myself, as I had
been given permission to. do.
I was an unknown writer then. 1 de-
served to be unknown, i suspect, for,
while I possessed an eager impulse for
lacked originality. My mag
nation was hampered with n convention
II point of view. / stood for the usual,
he approved, the desired.
Now l have n reputation as the writer
IF singular and haunting stories. My
name is identified with all that is in
yenious. weird and mysterious in litera-
ure know well that my name has
,nly to appear in the prospectus of a
ma gazine to increase the sale OF that is
ne extraordinarily. The announcement
# a novel by me means that the first edi-
ion will be sold before it leaves the
,ress. But / cannot say that j am hap
". Indeed l sometimes think of myself
Is the most miserable of women.
For my reputation Is not honestly won. ,
The work for which / have received this |
.redit and fame is not mine. 1t is the !
work of many who have passed into /
pirit land.
And when l meet them there as l sure !
y must some day, how shall / be re- |
eived ?-Chicago Tribune.