The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1908-07-25

of replies. 1t had been more thai
two years since he had been called t
attend her husbands funeral in th
little town in a distant State. Sine
then he had not seen her. She hat
wished that they might live together
but he could not leave his work here
in the city, and it was not to the
children's interest to bring them tc
live in the dingy, noisy fat. Hel
letters were SO full of unselfish affec
ton and brave hopes that the i'm
practical brother had not read between
the lines suffering, deprivation and
longing. He had vague idea that
his sisters income was small, but felt
that his duty was done when he sent
an occasional check as birthday or
Ghristr-.e1 -e-.se..ztrssss~e.--A--
the truth was that he himself was
sadly in need of financial aid, and
barely kept the wolf from the door
by his earnings. But today the letter
lying open on his desk was different.
Dear boy" it began in writing,
which indicated that the hand trem
bled as it formed the letters. 'Just
now as was lying here on my lounge
thinking of you, as I do every day,
determined that I must see you.
No matter how busy you are, you
must come to your poor, fond sister,
my dear. I have tried, o how have
tried, to endure without you; but I
need you so that can't go on with
out you any longer. 1 have been i'll
for very long time. At first I
thought I should soon be we'll again,
but now / know it is different, and
the children and I need you. Come
to us, dear, no matter the cost, for
you are all we have"
Sinclair sat staring at the letter for
more than an hour. Then he arose
hurriedly and began to pack his suit
case. "I'm coming, dear Sissy" he
said as he left the dingy room.
On the afternoon of the second day
Sinclair alighted at the little railway
station. He had not announced his
coming, and no one was there to meet
him. Summer twilight was lowering
over the town as he walked down the
main street. Two little girls came
out of the postofice as he passed.
One of them turned at the next cor
ner and as the other looked back to
wave good bye to her Sinclair started
at the sight of the dark eyes and ten
der mouth, so like the little girl in
the picture. Dorothy" said he as
he stopped to kiss the pretty child,
"don't you know your Uncle Clare?"
"Uncle Clare?" cried the little girl
as tears of delight glistened in her
eyes. 20, Uncle Clare, I'm so glad,
so glad, because mother will get well
now, and she's wanted to see you so.
I've just been to the postofice to see
ofsyou all the while. y
Sinclair followed the little girl to
the small, dingy cottage from whose
windows faint light shone.
SIS this it? Your home? Where
is the pretty place with the rose
vine?"
"We've sold that, you know, and
mothers been working so hard sew
ing. Everybody says that's what
made her sick.
The full moon was shining now
and as Sinclair turned in at the picket
gate he noticed a seamstress's sign
tackled on the door. Then it was SO
much worse than he had thought.
But had he taken time from his
writing to think? o, no he had
loved it better, and had neglected.
But now he has entered the bare lit
tie room, whose only illumination is
the summer moon. Its soft light
falls across the faces of sleeping chill
dren (poor little ones no mothers
gentle hands have tucked them in
their beds this evening", and there
on the white lounge before the win
dow, looking silently up at the skies,
is that wan face. Are those sunken
eyes hers!
30, Sissy, Sissy; didn't know.
Why didn't you tell met" said the
man tenderly as he fell to his knees
beside the couch.
"Clare, dear little brother you've
Gomez" said the feeble voice as a
smile of Joyous affection lit the face.
"God has sent you to me, dear boy,
before it was too late. I have tried,
dear, to bear my burden alone, but l
was not strong. I have often writ
ten you how 1 longed to see you and
begged yor to come; but I didn't
tell you that we needed you, for 1
knew your own struggle, my dear.
o, how 1 have thought and dreamed
of you and prayed for your success
But you have come, dear Clare, and
now 1 shall be happy, so happy.
Hold me in your arms, dear, and let
me feel that you are very near me.
am too weak to say much now, but
you will promise not to leave me
never, never to leave me or my little
children again? Promise, and I shall
fall happily to sleep"
"Dear, dear Sissy, how could I evei
leave you? What is my work OF
what is life without you?''
"Then l shall be happy, very
happy
For many long weeks the frail wo
man faltered between life and death
Sinclair, true TO his promise, never
left off watching at her bedside; ant
at last, when the crisis had passed
and the old physician announced tha
life had won in the dreadful struggle
his Joy was unspeakable. For few
years he remained at the little cottag
writing and sending his stories ava,
to various publications. To his sur
prise, they met with new and hithert
, unknown success. The editors wrot
/ that there was new strength, nev
. meaning in them. The old, vagu
: midnight glamour had given place t.
the clear, full beauty of midda