Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1900-08-09

slit.
"You'rejust sorry cause I saw you,
cried the thin voice, with a laughing
break in it. "You know well enough
it was six glasses for cent.
The surgeon fumbled in his pocket
and brought forth bright new dime
and thrust it through the opening.
That's FIVE cents for water and five
cents for fine" he grayely announced.
The child laughed merrily.
81 ort to send you right straight to
jail !" she cried and laughed again ;
tLeu she suddenly added, I'm Mar
tha johnson, goin' on nine.
"And I'm Robert Meredith, going
on ffty-four," said the great surgeon.
The child looked at him through the
glass and gravely bowed; then the
blonde curls ducked down and the
thin voice came through the opening
"How do you do ?"
pretty well, thank you, replied
the surgeon. And how do you do?"
"Iain't able to be out yet, " laughed
the child. But I can sit up and eat
"And why can't you go out"
Cause dad locks me in. Dad is
tn blacksmith down to the village,
an when he goes away in tn mOrnin'
he locks everything up with me inside.
An so l just stay here an take care
O things-alI 'cept tn water. Folks
will steal that.
"And are you not very lonesome p
inquired the surgeon.
q guess l amt, said the child. Il
got my picture book an my dollies,
an l can sew an darn some, an once
in a long while somebody goes by,
like you. An then I'm always think
in pretty soon, too, it will be Sunday,
an then daddy will be home all day
An when it's most time for him to
come I boil tn 'kittle an lay th'table,a AN
then get my dear little flag an stick
it through this hole-daddy cut it for
me, an I call it my po8tofice-an
wave it, an daddy can see it way
down tn road, an then he knOws
everything is all right.
"But you run out any play some
time? ?" queried the surgeon.
The child shook her head at him
through the glass.
"No," she called, 81 can'trun. My
feet are bad"
whats the matter with your feet p
They are very bad, replied the
child. "They turn in so that when |
walk l walk on myself. The boys
call me, 'club-foot, and they laugh.
Daddy made me a little cart, and on
Sundays he draws me out if it don't
rain. And he's goin to whip the boys
if they laugh at me any more.
"Will you let me see your feet p
asked the great surgeon, gently.
"Youll laugh" cried the child.
"No," said the surgeon, gravely.
"I'll promise you I'll not laugh.
He heard her drawing chair to
the window. He heard her scramb-
ling up. A moment later she tapped
on the pane, and then he saw the dis
torted feet in their coarse yarn stock
ings poised on the window sill.
Yes" he called to her, "that will
do. Now must go.
"Oh, but you just came, cried the
child, with sharp regret.
"I'll come again tomorrow, said
the great surgeon. Goodbye, little
mouse"
There was an added spring to the
surgeons walk as he swung over the
hill, and SO on across the ridge to the
capitalists home, and fresh sparkle
frightened his bright gray eyes.
"By the way" he said, to the rich
man that evening. 81 want to borrow
the low phaeton and steady horse to-
morrow.
And so early the next afternoon be
drove down into the village, and up
to the door Of the blacksmith's shop,
and there he and the blacksmith had
long talk. 1t ended with the black
smith handing him key.
That ride in the low phaeton was
the great event of Martha Johnson 8
rather prosaic life. To cit in the soft
ly cushioned carriage by this wonder
ful gray-haired man, who knew and
had seen everything, was pleasure Of
of such magnitude, that it quite took
the cbild's breath away. She was
very quiet for time, and then she
broke forth and chattered like mag
rie. And the face of the childless