Troy weekly news. (Troy, Idaho) 1897-1933, 1906-12-21

" T was New Years eve. Downstairs
in the parlor was Baby Beth's
Christmas tree, just as it had been
arranged a week ago-blsque doll,
toys, glittering balls, marvellous sugar
dogs and bears and "elphunts," candy
apples and hearts, popcorn, colored tapers
just ready to be lighted-and upstairs
Baby Beth was dying. All week long,
with the fierceness of a tigress fighting
for her young, Margaret Thorne had
fought for her child's life. From the mo-
ment that the first hoarse cough smote
upon her ear and Beth had said, NAM
ma, it hurts me here when 1 toff," she
had lost no time. All that doctors,
nurses, servants, friends-mother love
could do had been done, and now in her
darkened chamber the mother sat with
her baby on her knees and waited. To-
ward night a change had come. The
harsh cough ceased, the painting breath
came more quietly.
Didn't she seem easier?" she had ask
ed, and the doctor had answered briefly,
Eyes" Then, after an interval of wait
ing, Wasn't her breathing less labored?'
The doctor made no reply.
Doctor" piteously, don't you think
she is betterW
DR.. Lemoyne turned away. He had
practiced many years, and witnessed
many a scene like this, but to his kind
heart each one was new.
MY child" he said, ''she will never be
any better-she is dying"
Margaret Thorne made no cutlery, shed
~l,o no m 81
all after life for tears" to-day she had
her baby. She bent over the child and
half stretched out her arms with the i'm
pulse to take her and go somewhere
anywhere-away from everybody. 1t was
the instinct of the wounded animal. Then
she fell into the monotonous swinging mo-
ton of the knees, familiar to mothers,
patting her little one softly the while as
if she were putting her to sleep.
1t was heart-breaking. The women to
whom the child was only dear little
baby who would be better off in heaven"
as the phrase goes, crept about the room
weeping softly with aching hearts. At
ter time Margaret looked up.
Doctor" she asked, chow long?"
81 can hardly tell" he answered, "but
only a few hours at best, l think"
She turned to the women.
"Send for her father" she said briefly.
There was a slight stir of surprise. Sig
nifcant glances passed from one to an
other behind her bowed head. Then they
went out to do her bidding.
The message was quickly sent and as
quickly answered. The case brooked no
delay. Margaret Thorne heard the ia
miliar step In the hall, then in the room
below. A moment later he came in. The
women spoke to him in the sympathetic
key of the sick room and the doctor ST.
lently wrung his hand. Margaret looked
up with a slight movement of the head,
but did not offer him her hand.
Margaret" he said, sit was very good
of you to send for me-"
at was only right" she said, her voice
hardening In her efforts to steady 1t; she
is your child, too"
He made no effort at conversation, and
SO they sat. the silence of death upon
them. II grew oppressive. The women,
one by one, stole out OF the room' anu
the doctor finally muttered something
about going into the library to lie down,
telling them to call him If there should
be any change. The two were left alone
with the dying child.
1t was a strange scene. Eacn neid a
baby hand; each with burden OF grief
unutterable bent over the little form and
watched the Pickering life go out; and
each shut up and double-locked and bolt
ed the heart that the other should NOT
know what was therein. They were Dui