Americus times-recorder. [volume] (Americus, Ga.) 1891-current, 1912-12-06

1t was in the late autumn, yet a
summer day, when all the air was
soft with a scarcely perceptible haze
which gives October that pensiveness
which is not sadness. and yet which
tempers Joy.
Miriam sat on the porch grooming
a lullaby to her baby as she gently
rocked back and forth and contem-
plated the quietude of the country as
it lay before her in glory of crimson
and gold.
A woman came slowly up the street
and paused as she caught sight Of
mother and babe. A woman, haggard,
jaded, dust-stained, young in years,
but with youths bloom gone from the
pale cheeks and wretched eyes, fash
ing suddenly with a wild light as she
held out her arms in supplication.
Miriam shrank back in her chair
and held her baby closer, thinking
the woman insane; but seeing her
mistake, leaned forward a bit, inquir-
ing if the woman was i'll or needed
help.
mo, madam, not i'll, but it has been
so long since I've seen a baby! You
are good, you are so happy, you have
not seen sin; you don't know what
it is to have lost your baby and go
about the world with empty arms and
despairing heart. My baby is gone!
If you will only let me kiss your
baby, let me hold it just once-I would
be more fit to die"
Intuitively, Miriam saw that this
woman had suffered much wronged
her womanhood, perhaps; but suffer
ed. Pity flashed tears into her eyes
sin shocked her-but she could not
send a fellow-creature away perhaps
to death, without giving what help she
could.
Hesitating but a moment, she said:
Come, sit here beside me; baby is
almost asleep" and rising. she laid
the little bundle of warmth and fra
GRANGE in the strangers arms.
With a stifled cry the woman sank
into chair, while tears coursed down
her wan cheeks. She wept-wept with
grief unspeakable-with that agony of
an overcharged spirit, until in the full
ness of compassion Miriam put her
arm around the shaking shoulders and
tried in her gentle may to sympa-
thize.
The baby slept.
Miriam brought light refreshment,
dainty sandwiches and cool, rich milk.
Refreshed, the woman, now calm. soft
ly whispered: 'If you knew what /
have been you would despise me. You
would not let me touch your pure,
sweet baby. You have been SO good,
now let me CO."
But Miriam gently detained her. "If
it will help you to tell me your
trouble, may be able to aid you" she
said
Then the woman wept again, but
tenderness prevailed, and bit by bit
the story of young girl, born and
brought up on a farm far from the
city's whirl, lured away from home on
promise of marriage, then deserted,
came. How her baby had been born
in a charity hospital; how she had
searched and searched for her faith
less lover, only to find him emerging
from a great church with a radiant
bride on his arm; how she had walked
the streets night and day searching
for work no one would give; how rea-
son had left her when her baby died
in her arms how she was nursed
back to puny health by others who
had suffered, who gave her home
and certain rough but tender care;
how she was led on to life of shame
because she could find no other means
to earn bread, and how, sickened by
the revolving life, she had cast aside
her gaudy raiment and was on her
way to join her dead baby.
Miriam felt the truth of her story;
felt that she could not turn away a
soul so sorely distressed.
II think you were more sinned
against than shining, and God has
brought you to me. Will you stay
with me and help me care for baby?
have great need of some one who
will put love into this work, and per-
hays, after a while, my baby will
comfort you as your own"
You will take me; you will keep