The Virginia enterprise. [volume] (Virginia, St. Louis County, Minn.) 1893-19??, 1910-07-22
g &c --fz-f f-f-t II # 4F-4-4-T93
AT Seventeen or Seventy
By Jeanne O. Loizeaux

Bent and trembling, Grandma Simp
son held her coarse, gray shawl more
closely from the rough March wind,
and trudged along in the slush, search.
ing every inch of the way for the lit,
tie folded paper she had dropped. It
was late twilight and her eyes were
aim. Besides. she was afraid to go
nome-Lfz, her daughter-in-law, was
none too gentle.
I thought was holdin' it tight, -
she said aloud. childishly, but when
got to the store, it was gone. What'll
do?"
A step behind her made her step
as1de-whoever it was would want to
pass. But old man Best did not pass.
He stopped to peer kindly into the
wrfnkled face-this was the widow OF
his dead comrade.
Did you lose something, Mary3
Aain't it pretty raw for you to be out
with your rheumatiz?" He stopped
and leaned on his cane, a bluff, brisk,
kindly man a few years her senior.
He lived a few houses farther along
on the humble street: he owned his
neat, sailor-like home, and was &C.
counted rich because of his small
pension, and because he paid no rent
that burden Of the poor.
He had seen little of Mary Simpson
since she went to live with her SON.
John. Liz-John's wife-was slattern.
~ and the children noisy, which the
old man could not endure. He seldom
went there; but now he saw trouble
thing that called for help.
Did you, p'raps. find a paper?"
Grandma Simpson asked, tremblingly
Liz sent me to the store with Johns
pay:check for the week-she was
afraid to trust the children-and
somehow lost it. I dassen't 60
home without it, William. I thought
/ was a-holding it tight. but it's gone. u
We'll, amt that too bad?And in
this March wind, it must have blown
on. It's too wet to hunt for it-and
too dark! I'll tell you what you do
you go home; and I'll turn out and
hunt for it at first light for you. You
tell 'em will and it'll be all right. u
She shook her head. and he saw on
her cheek the bitter, scanty tears Of
the old. He knew what &c and lone
Illness were, and tried to comfort her
You'll get your death O cold out
here, and p'rhaps it'll be found and
returned in the mornin'-folks is hon
est about here"
1T won't be found" she answered
gloomily, IAN Id rather die n hear
what Liz'll say! John amt home an
she's tired an CROSS She's got too
much to do an I'm burden even
without losin' money for 'em. An 1t
does seem, though hate complainin'
as if l never could stand her slack
houseeepin' an the children's noise
An there amt corner can call
my own anywhere. Couldn't you &C
back with me an tell them it might
have happened to anyone?"
The old man turned Immediately.
"Of course I'll go! No-wait. You
come on to my house and I'll stir up
the fire and you can stay there and
make some tea for yourself, and I'll
go along and tell them. Would that
be easier? I know how it is to be
blamed for losin' things! I'll tell them
1 found you huntin' for it and you
had one o. them spells with your
head and I took you to my house
And when John gets home from town
he can come after you"
Grandma Simpson, Frightening al
thought of temporary freedom, fol
lowed him without word. He led hel
into the trim, three-roomed house with
the garden behind, where he had flow
ers in summer. He lit bright. kero
sene lamp, stirred up the fire In the
kitchen stove and put on the kettle
you get you some tea while I'm
gone. What did Liz want from the
store? You can tell me and I'll gel
it and take it to her. Say Mary
why not? Yes; let me make it good
It's fifteen dollars, amt it? I cans
we'll as not!" He stopped, new
thought in his head. His heart wal
sore. All year, he had been saving t.
visit his daughter in Denver; and jus
today she had written him that he1
husbands people had come and coult
he wait till next summer for his visit
Tho letter was kind, but it hurt. HI
would use some of the money to hell
Mary out.
They needn't to know about thu
check at all, unless it's found-Davit
would have done as much for me-" h
said of her dead husband. 1--WE wa!
always friends. What did Liz want?'
Unbelieving Joy lit the old woman!
face. Tidy and trim as a girl In he
clean gray calico, she took off he
shawl and warmed her hands at tn
fire.
You're a good man, William! Sh'
wanted some sugar and potatoes, ant
bacon-and two loaves Of bread.
can bake lovely bread, but she won
let me!-my children never ate ba
ker's trade! I'll get your suppe
while you're gone"
The old man departed, and grand