The Lexington intelligencer. [volume] (Lexington, Mo.) 1901-1949, 1909-05-08
He could not resist the second ap-

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like my daddy used to-"
The child squatted on the hearth
rug, and with perfect self-possession,
took off the dreadful cap and laid it
on the fender to dry.
Its my best" it explained.
The man and the child looked at
each other. In the child's eyes a
merry confidence dawned slowly, like
sunshine, and two smiles met.
do You ever" the man asked,
doubtfully, shave a bath ?"
Saturdays" the child answered,
promptly.
"Could you-if I turned on the
water for you-could you give your
self d bath?"
"Course I could" it said, "if you
was to soap me back"
He turned on the water for it, and
he did soap its back.
He liked the child from the mo-
ment he saw its smile, but he did not
love it until he had held its body in
his arms.
And the thin arms hung round his
neck like a necklace of price.
When the necklace loosened at the
touch of sleep, the man gathered the
child in his arms very closely, and
sat quiet, a long time, looking into
the fire. And at last he laid the
child in his own bed, and went out
to buy things for it.
He bought clothes and toys and
pleasant sweet foods, and his fancy
busted itself with a life that should
be quite different from any that he
had known or dreamed of. For
hours had gone by now since he had
found the child in the cold shadows
OF the staircase, and the hope he had
not dared to look at had grown to a
strong certainty that babe him look
in its face, unafraid, with glad eyes.
The mother had meant to lose the
child. She would not come back.
Certainly she would not come back.
The child was his own. And what
would he not make of his own-what
not do for it, be to it?
They had closed the gates Of the
inn before he went out, and they
opened to him as he returned. He
looked up at the tall house; it did
not seem the sort of house to which
such a gift would come. His arms
were full of lumpy parcels, and the
stairs seemed longer than usual, but
here, at last, was the black door with
his name Whitley painted on it. He
had to set down all the parcels on
the stairs while he found his key.
He threw all the parcels on the
sofa and turned up a light. The fire
had burned clear again. What a
pleasant room it was for a child to
wake up inl He would set out the
food and the toys and the clothes,
and then bring the child in and hold
it in his arms till it woke to all the
little intimate joys and surprises he
had prepared for it. Moving very
softly, so that the Weakening should
not come too soon, he unpacked toys
and sweets, and warm, pretty gar
ments, and laid out everything on
table and chairs. Then he turned
all the electric lights, and laid a
mateh-hame to all the candles that
never we're lighted. The old furni-
ture gave back the light as a mirror
gives it. The things he had bought
to please the child made spots of
merry, crude color on the back
ground of the dark room, set in the
low key of a life from which youth
bad long gone away.
The room being thus TRANSPORTED
10 the lit shrine of youth and love
and the heart of the child, he went
to bring back in his arms the child
Itself.
And the child was not there. His
bed lay smooth and neat on its pill
ow, neatly folded, the garment that
ne had seen the child wear as, after
he bath, it sat before his fire. The
was gone, its clothes we're gone.
All was as though no child had ever
,een at all in those dark rooms.
Then the heart Of the man was
Wild with anger and fierce resent
nent, az is the heart of a man robbed