Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1909-06-04
GOD! GOD!" SOBS RUSSIAN
EXILE, OVER WIFE'S OPEN
GRAVE IN POTTERS' FIELD

Out among the unmarked graves of Pot
ter's Field lonely man strained his tear
wet face up to the young June sky and
shook mutely like a leaf in storm.
That was Tuesday morning at 10
o'clock. The mans name was Petro
Mystreditch, a Russian exile, who had
wandered to Georgia six weeks ago. In
the freshly broken earth above which
he half knelt. half staggered lay wo-
man. He had met her little less than
a year ago, when he first set foot on
the wharves of New York. Her eyes were
wondrously blue then and her hair was
full of sun. Her words had been the only
words he had ever really understood IN
the strange land. A baby a boy with
dark eyes like the fathers. had come
to them and then had slipped back into
the dark unknown. And now. But
here is Petros story, as he told 1t to the
priest and the ministering women of the
Associated Charities. He told IL above
the grave with sobs and wild gestures
for a language.
THE CARS RED LAND.
Fleeing from the blood-red land of the
car, Petro Mystreditch reached Ameri-
ca in the first flush of last spring. Work
was what he wanted and the chance to
work in peaceful security. He made his
way down to the farm country of New
Jersey There he met the woman who
became his wife She was an English
woman and though she could not speak
word Of Russian and he only very few
words of English. they knew what each
other meant They heard that far toward
the south was rich land called Georgia.
where peaches made the hillsides beau
tiful and where men to tend the orchards
were wanted.
They cine together through an employ
ment bureaus agency to peach orchard
near Rome. They had been there scarcely
two nights, he says when a calf on the
place fell sick and died Petro was ac-
cused of having poisoned the animal.
HE'LL KILL YOU"
1.-The boss is going to kill you because
the calf is dead" the other laoorers told
him.
"BossY' he stammered, He had never
heard the word before.
Master" someone interpreted, and
then picking up a hoe, initiated the move
ments of a gun being fired into mans
heart.
At this very moment the Wife was i'll
in the little room where they slept The
master seemed to be angry. He had ex-
pected both husband and woman to work.
But now she was useless. She was
dead expense with her COMPOUNDED III
ness. And so, they came and took her
away, he declares, and sent her to At
lanta where she was put in Grady hospi-
tai Petro never slept that night. With
the first dim touch of sunrise he stole
forth, gained the highroad and sped
southwark.
CROUCHEs IN PRISON.
Before sunset he was arrested, hurried
back to the town and lodged In Jail.
There he lay two weeks, wondering, fear
ing, crouched in a corner of his prison.
In the meantime, the baby had come
and gone. The wife lay moaning in her
loneliness. A strange disease called pei
lagra seized upon her blood.
"Petro, my man. Petro," she kept call
ing through the darkness of the night and
the days pitiless sunshine.
The Associated Charities learned Of
the case, in fact they had secured the
mother a place in the hospital, and
through their influence won the Rus
SLAMS release and brought him TO At
lanta. Pushing their efforts further,
they got him employment on the farm
of Dr. Alex Keys near Battle Hill.
That was last Sunday morning. The
stranger was happy in the good free air
and the kind treatment Of his en-
ployer and happier still when DR.. Keys
told him that in the afternoon he should
go to see his wife. She lay very stil1
and patient on the white bed when he
entered. The attendants left them alone
and they talked in choking whispers for
a long time. The baby was gone, but
then she was there and life was big.
LITTLE FLOWER GIRLS.
hat night she died.
Just behind Petro as he knelt beside
the new grave stood Miss Margaret
Laing OF tho Associated Charities;
Father Kennedy and two little Catholic
girls with some fresh roses in their
hands. The service was said and the
mound with it's few white blossoms for
a wreath was raised. Then in storm
of weeping, the man sank forward and
Selling the hand of Miss Laing, kissed
IL after the fashion of his own country.
God, God, God, was all he could
say.