The Morris County chronicle. [volume] (Morristown, N.J.) 1877-1915, 1909-08-24
The FOUNDLING'S LUCK
BY Miss Alva M. Peterson.

OF the typewriter and looked up
brightly to greet the young, rather
overworked manager, who came to-
ward her with handful of letters.
Good afternoon, Miss Bethel"
said he, sinking into the Morris chair
at her elbow, "it's deucedly hot to-
day, isn't it,"
1T is, rather" she assented smil-
ingly, and then changing the sub
ject, you were going to write to
Greene to-day about the prospective
Hour situation, you know"
Yves; patents up fifty cents a
barrel; late spring crop and specula-
ton to boot! nice state of affairs!
Looks as If we would make money
this year, doesn't it, Miss Bethel?"
Cheer up" she laughed. and bent
her head over her notebook, for the
manager had begun to dictate.
''P-please sir"
Stenographer and employer looked
hastily up from their work. A thin,
ragged little boy stood before them.
his fingers nervously twitching at his
very shabby cap.
What's the matter, boy?" asked
the manager abruptly.
"P-please, sir-please, sir, IL
want job"
"A job? Do you live here?"
Mono, sir, IL don't live here.
/ amt got no home. My father and
mothers dead, and amt got no
home, SIR"
Where do you sleep?"
Anywhere, sir, anywhere"
A tear trickled down the lads pale
face and he looked beseechingly from
one to the other. The girl had
shaded her eyes with her hand so that
it was impossible to tell, from any
expression on her face, what her
thoughts were, but the manager took
up another Letter and heaving sigh,
said lightly well, we haven't any,
thing to-day; we've got all the help
we want"
The girl gave an involuntary start
and for a moment the manager re-
garded her curiously. 1t was only for
moment, however, and without an
other word, girl and employer took
up their work just where they had
left it. After awhile the manager
arose from the Morris chair and went
to his private office. The girl turned
to her machine and a ceaseless,
steady clatter of the keys began.
When the hour was 400 she had
finished her work and stood looking
out rather sadly into the sunshiny
world without. The manager came
up behind her. She turned round
quickly.
Why so sad, Miss Bethel?"
"Oh. was only thinking of that
poor little boy" She tried to smile.
The manager bit his lip.
You think me a brute, Miss
Bcthel?"
A flush mounted the girls cheek,
but she ventured no reply.
do you, Miss Bethel?"
Mo, not exactly"
You see, in business, one can't
feed all the paupers," he defended.
yet feeling somehow that his speech
carried small weight as an argument.
Yes, / suppose So" said the girl,
but we would think differently were
we the paupers. But goodness, what
is that! Fire! Fire! See, the mill
is on firei"
A volume of thick smoke rushed
through the Office door. Acting
quickly the manager picked the girl
up in his arms and carried her safely
to the street where throng OF peo-
pie had already gathered. A fire bell
changed noisily, engines came tear
ing down the street, a half-dozen
were already there, and firemen were
bravely climbing the ladders into the
doomed building. Inside were fifty
mill girls. Heaven help them! How
would they ever get out? Already
the stairs had crumbled into ashes.
The spectators groaned as they saw
the roof fall in. Immediately every
thing was deathly still; everything
save the cracking of the too dried
timbers. Some brave man was dar-
ingly leading the mill girls from GER
tain death. One by one he lifted
them out of the window, handing
them to a firemen who stood ready
to receive them and throw them into
the net below. It was a hazardous
task and long, and once or twice 1t
seemed that The flames would devour
the fplucky young fellow" as some
one in the crowd called him. Sud-
denly a tumultuous cry pierced the
air. 'she last girl had been thrown
into the net and although the mill
was fated, every life had been saved.
1t was indeed time to be thankful,
and the girl, whom the manager had
saved. breathed a silent prayer.
While the prayer still fingered ON her
lips a deathly pallor stole over her
face. Where was he-the mana
ger? Where had he gone after he had
saved her? God help him! He was
the man who had saved the mill
girls, too! He was in the mill, prob
ably dead by now!" A cry escaped
her; little ragged boy came running
toward her What's the matter
miss? Kin help yer?"
Yes, boy, yes! He--he-the man
ager, Mr.. Wilbur, is in the mill! Tell
some one, oh, tell some one!"
Like an arrow the boy darted
through the crowd and fairly raced
up the now deserted ladder. Cries OF
stop there! Stop there! Are you
crazy." followed him, but the boy