Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1904-02-25

SIPN
makers house and Mother Nanette
sank exhausted on a chair. Now the
neighbor who served as secretary for
the old woman who could neither read
nor write, d~eciphered, with pains, the
trembling letters, the short, loosely
arranged sentences of the letter, which
was as follows:
my Dear Old Grandmother: We
were too happy; it could not last long.
| had found a good place, would soon
have come back to you again and We
would have been separated no more.
"But it was too hard. You don't know
how hard work is in Paris, always
steps up and steps down.
when the day is ended, one has
scarcely any more limbs, and ones
head swims. l would have done bet
ter to come home; there one has some
air.
81 am writing all this to you to say
that | am sick. The doctor believes
it is over-exertion and inconsistencies.
All, yes, that is it.
81 would have loved to see the village
and you, grandmother, again. And
nov it is perhaps impossible,
"My master could not keep me. He
sent me to the hospital, and the head
physician, an old man who appears
right good-hearted and wears a red
rosette, shakes his head when he sees
me-and he is never mistaken.
Therefore, dear grandmother, l say
farewell to you. 1t is bad to have to
die without your embrace, yet we are
too poor for you to come. In this let
ter you may see that your child
thought of you up to the last moment.
Your own loving grandson.
JEAN TANTIA.
Hospital of Charity, Paris"
The grandmother sat in her chair
immovable as if petrified. She did not
cry. One cannot cry when such deep
pain paralyzes all the strength of body
and soul.
Was it possible? Her grandson, her
Jean, all that remained of her family,
all that she loved in the world, to die
far from her in the great city? To die
in a hospital, without one kiss, one
last blessing? No, no; that was a
horrible dream.
She knew nothing more, and the
thoughts whirled in her saddened
brain. But, suddenly she rose and ran
into her house like a wounded animal
that fees to it's hole.
In feverish haste, without clearly
knowing what she did, Mother Nanette
had thrown the few pieces of silver
on the table; her entire means, kept
until now in a secret hiding place. Her
eyes rested motionless on these petty
savings.
She said to herself, with despair,
that it would not pay for the Journey
to Paris. All, yes, she was poor, too
poor to embrace her dying child. And
for the first time, the diligent worker
execrated her poverty.
Many years ago the journey by rail-
road from this village of Auvergne to
Paris cost 80 francs. Thirty francs!
an unheard of sum for an old woman
who earned by spinning scarcely a
franc a week. Where should she get
80 francs, the immediate possession of
which was now her only object in life?
Who in the town was generous
enough to loan her-the poor spinner
Thirty francs she must have, and she
would serve the giver to the end of her
days.
The old woman pressed her worn
fingers upon her white forehead, for
her Jean lay dying, and the dying have
no time to wait. By this movement she
pressed the thick, snowy t~resses, and
suddenly rose before her the joking
face of her hair dealer.
81 keep 200 francs to your order
think of that"
Mother Nanette rushed out. Only
stopping to close the door, she ran
across the street. She felt no fatigue
she knew only that her child, her Jean
lay dying in a Paris hospital and she
must hasten to him at any cost.
Antoine Honlin was reading at the
table and looked astounded when the
old woman entered.
1.-TWO hundred francs, you said, is il
not true?" she cried, breathlessly.
Eyes, yes" he replied quickly with
out rightly understanding.
With hasty movements the old WON
an tore off her hood.
BE quick"
Honlin wished nothing better, fol
he feared the old woman might change
her mind. Over the trembling shoul.
ders fell the wonderful silver hair, the
precious ornament of her old age an(
her former pride.
The shears cut through the white
mass and Mother Nanette could mo-
hold back a shiver as the cold instru
ment touched her. Tears flowed slow
ly down her cheeks, which the sudder
storm of sorrow had paled.
Then she shrugged her shoulders
What did the hair matter? Anything
to give pleasure to a loved child.
$50, Mother Nanette," declared thu
dealer, laughing, now we are through
put on your hood and no one will no
tice anything"
Hastily she put the hood on hel
head.
"And the money!" she cried quickly
. The man counted out the ten golt
pieces.
Nov, who was right?' he laughed
See, Mother Nanette, n should fore
tell nothing"
She heard nothing and hastenet
? away as she had come, while he,
trembling fingers eagerly grasped thu
money. Without other baggage thai
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