The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1910-10-27
THE EVENING STORY
Two Promises.
(By Dorothy Blackmore.)

| Inc QdWn broke SLOWLY over the
hills and the little hay nesting below.
In the colony of houseboats scattered
| in the waters all was still save ham
mock that swung necessarily to and
| fro on the deck of one. A woman
half lay. half sat among the cushions
and watched the tender lights of the
new day play slyly on the hill-crests-
The low, tapping melody of the waves
| seemed Subtly to chant farewell to the
gray shadows that lifted, one by one,
| from the green banks.
| In the distance, as from the cup OF
the hills, puffs of smoke rose and the
whistle of a train pierced the air.
The woman started and clasped the
little one she held in her arms, more
closely to her; she pressed her tired
/ fant's own. She had sat thus all
| through the night, rocking the infant
| in her arms-Waiting for the dawn
and the train whose blue-gray smoke
now mingled with the lights of early
morning.
Was he on that train? She watched
it crawl from among the hills and
creep along the edge of the bank. 1t
whistled-or did it moan?-as it
wound its tortuous way now hidden
Every turn of the wheels brought the
child's father closer. She shivered and
drew about her the shawl that had
| all but slipped from her shoulders.
Inc DdDY Sl1TT6Q III IloI al Ills DIS IL
he too, protested the arrival of his
father-the father he never had seen.
Born on this same houseboat, he had
been, all his short life, far from the
mines of Mexico where his parent
lived.
He opened his eyes and looked into
the only face he knew-the face of the
woman who had taken him from his
| beautiful young mother.
The woman rose and descended the
narrow stairs to the tiny cabin below.
| In an hour-perhapS less-the man
| would come to take from her the baby
| she loved. And yet-she had prom
| ised the young mother that she would
send for him and had seemed to
her then to be right. She had written
miles away telling him that his wife
whom he had expected soon to join
him-had died when the son was
| born.
In the months that followed she
| had kept the baby as her own; he was
her only solace in a life bereft strange
| ly of it's all-her lover. Now, this
| baby was to be taken from her by a
man who had never seen him. She
rebelled at the thought and clasped
| the little fellow jealousy to her breast.
J At every sound of oars or every
splash of water she started and peered
| through miniature windows of the cab
| in across the harbor to the landing
nearest the railroad station. She had
written him-the baby's father-ex-
| plicit directions as to how to reach
| them. She did not want to meet him
she longed to keep the baby for her
own till the very last minute.
Boats put out here and there from
one craft or another until the busy
little bay was alive with the beginning
of another day. Matutinal fishermen
appeared and dropped anchor; enthu-
siastic swimmers took their morning
plunge from nearby households anc
yachts; saucy little launches plowec
past with noise and hustle, and odol
of breakfast coffee permeated the air
At last, from the dock hired boa'
put out and-the woman looked close
i ly-there was a man in the stern. The
boat headed toward the tiny house
boat that had lain all summer in thu
harbor. Yes-it was the expected
guest, and the woman was possessed
of an almost uncomfortable impulse
to lower her own small boat and fle'
with the baby.
She did not even go Hospitality t.
the stern to receive the stranger; sh'
had not once looked at him and We
she felt him grasp the rail and steI
: aboard. Then she listened while h
paid his boatman, being assured tina
it was the right place.
Yes-he stood behind her, even
Then she looked up.
"Rosamond!" the man cried.
Inc man CldSpSO lhe ooDJ Until Nv
cried.
"You-Arthur TurnbuIli" She coul(
say no more. Before her stood-no
the baby's father-but her own once
betrothed lover.
st came-for the baby the mai
said. not knowing where to begin. g
; promised Tom I would get the little
fellow. He-poor Tom-never sur
vived the shock of his wife's dealt
) and he told me the nurse had prom
} Used to keep him-care for him. Yo'
! st am the nurse" Rosamond said
The man looked blankly at her
There was so much to explains
much to have made clear He grope'
for expression.
Rosamond fondled the baby, TIL
thought running riot in her brain tina
she need not give him up, that n
was an orphan indeed and no one ha'
more claim than she. Then she looke'
UP at the man and a fleeing some
thing told her that the only two thing
she cared for-and which she though
moment since had been taken from
her-had been restored, though sh
seemed far from the man beside heI
r "You-were the nurse?" the MAJ
was asking.
IL Rosamond nodded.
, "And Marsdon? What of him? Di
did you not marry him?"
The woman shook her head.
: did not marry anyone" she said. "Af
ter father lost his money I learne
that Marsdon-as you call him-di
not care so much. 1t was to add t
!; his own already large fortune that h
he wanted to marry me. I'll WASH
t very Old" she added. wistfully.
g mo" the man said thoughtful!
r Were older now. The life in til
Imines in Mexico is not a cheerful one