The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1901-05-17
CHAPTER II.-(ConiInued.l

jacket from unuef MS neau ana phSHlhE
It to Mary, said Take it to Bill Bender
he offered me shilling for It, and a
shilling will buy milk for Allie and crack
ers for mother-take It."
NO Frankly" answered Mary, you
would have no pillow. besides, I've got
something more valuable, which ! can
sell. I've kept it long, but It must so to
keep us from starving" she held to
view the golden locket which George
Moreland had thrown around her neck.
"You shan't sell that" said Frank.
"You must keep it to remember George;
and then, too, you may want it more some
other time"
Mary finally yielded the point. and
gathering up the crumped jacket started
In quest of Billy Bender He was
kind-hearted boy, two years older than
Frank, whom he had often befriended
and shielded from the ieers Of their com
panions He did not want the jacket for
It was vast deal too small; and it was
only In reply to a proposal from Frank
that he should buy 1t that he had casual
ly offered him a shilling. But now, when
he saw the garment, and learned why it
was sent, he Immediately drew from his
old leather wallet a quarter, all the
money he had In the world, and giving
1t to Mary, bade her keep it, as she would
need 1t ALL
Half an hour after a cooling orange
was held to Franks parched lips, and
Mary said, Drink, brother; I've got two
more, besides some milk and bread" but
the ear she addressed was deaf and the
eye dim with the fast-falr1ng shadow Of
death. "Motherl mother" cried the lit
tie girl, "Franky won't drink, and his
forehead is all sweat"
Mrs. Howard had been much worse
that day, but agony made her strong
Sprlnging to his side, she wiped from
his brow the cold moisture which had
80 alarmed her daughter, ehafed his
hands and feet, and bathed his head, un-
til he seemed better and fell asleep.
Fast the shades of night came on, and
when all was dark In the sick room Mary
sobbed out, "We have no candle, moth
er, and If | go for one, and he should
die"
The sound of her voice aroused Frank,
and feeling for his sisters hand, he said,
Don't so, Mary; don't leave me-the
moon is shining bright, and guess | can
find my way to God just as we'll"
Nine-ten-eleven-a then through
the dingy windows the silvery moonlight
fell, as If indeed to light the way OF the
early lost to heaven. Mary had drawn
her mothers lounge to the side of the
trunde bed, and in a state Of almost per
feet exhaustion Mrs. Howard lay gasp
ing for breath, while Mary, as if con
scious of the dread reality about to oc-
eur, knet by her side Once Mrs. How
ard laid her hands on Mary's head, and
prayed that she might be preserved and
kept from harm by the God Of the or
phan, and that the sin OF disobedience
resting on her own head might not be
visited upon her child.
After a time a troubled sleep came up
on her and she slept until reused by
low sob. Raising herself up, she looked
anxiously toward her children. The
moonbeams fell upon the white, placid
face of Frank who seemed calmly sleep
ing, while over him Mary bent, pushing
back from his forehead the thick clus-
terng curls, aud striving hard to smoth-
er her sobs so that they might not dis
turb her mother.
Does he sleepp asked Mrs. Howard.
and Mary, covering with her hands the
face of him who slept answered:
Turn away, mother-don't look at
him. Frankly is dead. He died with his
arms around my neck, and told me not
to wake you"
Mrs. Howard was In the last stages of
consumption, and now she lay back, half
fainting upon her pillow. Toward day
light violent coughing fit ensued, and
she knew that she was dying Reckoning
Mary to her side, she whispered Il am
leaving you alone in the wide world Be
kind to Ella and our dear little Allie,
aud go with her where she goes. May
God keep and bless you my precious chill
dren-and reward you as you deserve, my
darling"
The sentence was unfinished, and in
unspeakable awe the orphan girl knelt
between her mother and brother-shud-
dering in the presence of death, and
then weeping to think that she was alone.
CHAPTER III.
Just on the corner of Chicopee Com
mon, and under the shadow of the cen
tury-old elms which skirt the borders of
the grass Diat called by the villagers the