The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1901-10-24

giving full particulars.
There were four girls in her class.
One was Mary White, another was a
young woman from Mrs. Dale's store,
the third was girl about thirteen, and
the fourth, the one person whom faS-
tidious Mrs. Post disliked, although she
tried hard to combat the feeling, was
Katie Mason, the maid-of-all-w at
the hotel in the town, the place where
men went in sane and sober and from
which they emerged fends. 1t was not
because Katie was working girl that
Mrs. Post did not like her-not at ALL
Della would have loved any one, with
out stopping to think whether they
washed dishes for living or spent their
time in elegant leisure, if they were
only clean. This unfortunate girl was
not only untidy in her person, but she
was repulsive in her appearance. Try
as she would, Mrs. Post could not bring
herself to touch her. But she soon
learned that the one joy of Katie's life
was to come to Sunday-school and be
near the beautiful lady. The gentle
voice, the well-bred manner, the perfect
toilette, were new to her, and seemed
to lift the minister's wife into the
sphere of an angel Each Sunday Mrs.
Post prayed that she might be able to
say something to help this poor girl,
whose eyes had first seen the light in a
wOrkhOuse, aid whose miserable life
has been passed in hard labor amid the
lowest surroundings.
Ryan's hotel stood on corner of the
main street of the village, and its flick
ering lights burned all night long, while
+1,o 81 Oh,
fling cards and clinking glasses. Katie
again at dawn doing the heaviest drudg-
cry.
One day Mrs. Post came in with her
arms full of spring blossoms and turn
ed the parlor into bower of beauty.
isn't it lovely?" she exclaimed, hear
ing her husbands footsteps behind her.
Very lie replied, absently. "Delia,
there's a man here who wants you very
much to come down to Ryan'S hotel.
There has been an accident, and Katie,
the girl in your Sunday-school class,
has been hrrt-badly, judge
she's a-goin' fas'," responded the
man, touching his hat awkwardly. He
was the barman at Ryan's But" as
he said to a crowd of friends later, 81
knows lady when l sees her, an that
there preachers wife's one, you bet!
She turned as pale as a rag, an the
minister, he seq: Now, darling, you
don't need to go. I'll CO. 'O' course
I'll CO. she seq, an l sez kind O. quiet
like, She's a calm for you, men, But
you better believe l didn't tell 'er how
she was hurt, nor how she looked. 1
just couldn't"
So it was that Della Post went into
the presence of the dying girl without
knowing that she had tripped on the
cellar stairs when carrying lighted
lamp in her hand and that she was
burned beyond recognition.
1t was an awful sight that the mex
perienced girl saw when she entered
the garnet where the drudge was per-
mitted to sleep. There were good rooms
in the house; but although the innkeep-
er's wife had no wish to be unkind to
the injured CIR, it had not occurred to
her to have her carried into one Of
them.
go, Homerv' exclaimed the minis
ter's wife, clinging in desperation to
the mans strong arm.
Then there came moaning cry from
the shapeless figure upon the bed.
Bring Mrs. Post! O, bring my teacher!
| love her so''
Without another moments hesita-
ton, Della went forward and gathered
the poor, disfgured head in her hands.
She had shrunk from touching Katies
hand before; now she stopped and kiss
ed the bit of forehead which was not
covered with bandages.
81 am here, Katie, and l am going to
stay with you," she said.
In spite of her husbands protest,
Della remained in that dimly lighted
room all night. The pain which poor
Katie suffered was indescribable, and
her means were so piteous that Mrs.
Ryan retired to the kitchen, where she
could not hear them, leaving the minis
ter's wife alone.
| Mr.. Post waited down stairs, and his
brave wife sat by the sick girls bedside,
holding one bandaged hand in hers,
while she murmured comforting words
or sang in low, sweet voice. Her hus-
band heard it in the middle of the night
and thanked God He had given him
such wife,
Father, perfect my trust,
Strengthen the might of my faith;
| Let me feel as l would when my feet
Are slipping over the brink
For it may be I'm nearer home,
Nearer now than think.
It was not till the next evening that
Katie's weary feet slipped over the
brink of time into eternity. AS her
sufferings grew worse, she chung more
tightly to the soft white hand and list
ened to the loving words which the
minister's wife spoke. Mr.. Post hardly
recognized Della in this woman whose
tender ministries helped the wounded,
stricken, homely girl to die in peace.
Mrs. Mcpherson and some other
ladies Of the church came in during the
next daY. and they were amazed at the