Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1902-02-19
THE ADOPTION OF ROSY.

By Rose Willis Johnson.

| lessly between his knees. He was not
hunter-he never hunted; but when
he summed himself on the wall it was
not prudent for rabbit to rise on its
launches and look at him. He never
| fired at birds. They seemed TO know
| this, and hoped fearlessly above
him among the branches.
Today they were holding carnival
| there; the sunshine lay warm on the
wall, the scent of clover made the air
sweet. There was the road, a wind
| ing dusty ribbon; beside it the pink
| capped sea of clover and beyond, a
| flash of blue where the Ohio turned
! from the town.
Why did he love the gap. the dusty
country road, the crumbling wall
with it's patches of ivy? Perhaps be-
cause these things limited his desires.
Through the gap, years ago, pretty
Young bride had walked with him.
Soon she had died and he had been
"Glum" Halleck ever since. He was
a hardworking man, as the village ad-
mitted; but he had his days of indif-
| ference, when he sat at the gap,
made whistles, shot at marks, and sui
| lenly refused to recognize chance
passers-by.
Today his solitude was broken. The
rafting of a detached bit of masonry
caused him to turn and behold small
girl laboriously clambering to seat
beside him, dragging after her large,
meek cat She was bareheaded bare
footed. clad in sober brown. Settling
herself demurely, she drew up the
dangling pussy, and slouched over in
stopped posture.
"Hello." he said, "Who are you?"
Not a word answered the intruder.
She hugged her cat and stared into
space. Looking more closely, he saw
undried tears on the brown cheeks,
an occasional tremor Of the set mouth.
He spoke more gently: What do you
want, sissy"
Still she did not reply. Halleck
shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, well!"
he growled. Cat got your tongue?
You bother me-better run home!"
But she did not run home. She sat
here; they sat there together, and
| ignored each other. By and by Hal
! leck got down GROSSLY, and went tow
down and followed him. half dragging,
half carrying the cat
Look here!" he demanded, fierce
ly. what do you want?"
Terror loosed her tongue. Moth
ing!" she gasped, stirring at him help
lessly. Don't whip me! Pm-Rosy."
He began to understand. 1t was Art
wells Rosy, the village problem. They
had buried Artwell. and were now dis
cussing the disposal of his orphan ba-
by. The minister had held out
finger to her after the funeral. I'm
afraid | can't keep her for good" ne
said. you know what uphill work
Il: Is for me. But she is so little and
helpless, surely some of you can save
her from the poorhouse-some Of you
childless ones, Think it over and see
what you can do. In the meantime I'll
give her her bowl of porridge."
But Rosy did not take kindly to the
porridge or to the parsonage. There
were children there who stared at
her and teased her cat. From the
gate she could see Halleck on the
wall, and in her childish way she had
gone to sit beside him.
80 you are Rosy" he said. What
are you aiming to do with yourself,
any way? What business had you to
be born, without a dollar ahead to
grow up on? The parson don't want
you, and the big ones don't want you,
and l don't want you! What are you
aiming to do with yourself?"
Rosy looked down. The sparkle in
here eyes suggested intelligence, de-
spite the slow-moving tongue.
"The old lady has supper about
ready" he added. Did you want to
visit me?"
Without moments hesitation, the
| plump, brown fingers clasped his. So
IS solemn silence they entered the
| kitchen.
There the religion of cleanliness
made itself felt. Rosy sat down con-
tentedly in the chair that Halleck had
used as a small boy the pride of his
mothers heart. 1t had never been
removed from it's favored corner.
Now as his mother turned from the
stove, her tired face paled why"
she faltered. why, who is this,
Davy?"
He tried to frown. ITS that bit
OF a youngster-the Artwell kid. She
has-sort of adopted me-"
A moment Mrs. Halleck hesitated !;
then she stopped to the taciturn ba-
by. Poor thing!" she said, impulsive-
ly. Poor little thing!"
Supper was eaten in the usual sill
ence-cheerful conversation had per
fshed with that young life that failed.
Artwell's Rosy ate her bread and but
ter in the old high chair by his moth
er's side, a blue mug and painted
| plato before her. 1t was on his lips
TO ask for what reason these relics
were resurrected, but he held his
peace. Still he looked at them curl