Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1913-01-10

l. O4.O1
parture Miss Black went about her
morning tasks with several new
wrinkles in her funny little face. She
had changed much in the last week
Often when Val was not by, she looked
worried and perplexed, as If some ha-
RAISING matter lay heavy on her mind
After putting her household goods In
order, she took up Vars paper Of the
night before-an evening paper was
about the only luxury which the young
fellow INDUCED in-and adjusting her
glasses, searched its columns greedily
hastily, and with visible trembling
Every item of foreign news she read
,again, and yet again. 1t was habit
into which Miss Affry had fallen OF
late. One might have thought the old
woman had suddenly developed an alb
normal curiosity regarding the affairs
of the world beyond the great ocean.
However, this morning she found
nothing, Of a disturbing nature In the
sheet, and putting 1t away, half in re-
lief, half in disappointment and with
the air Of one whose expectation Is only
postponed till the morrow, Miss Affry
limped up the stair to Mercy Dilrs lit
| tie room.
The girl sat at her window, golden
head bent as usual, over her sewing;
patient fingers flying through 1t with
marvellous rapidity. The small, close
room seemed like furnace. No Won
der that Mercy was growing pale and
thin in such an atmosphere, and at
such employment. Outside, the mid
summer sun glared pitilessly down
upon the CITY, and the pavements burn
ed the feet Of the unlucky pedestrian.
Mol Dill was not in the room, but on
the tiny stove stood little pot of tea
and a plate Of toast, which this long
suffering daughter had reserved for her
breakfast.
Mercy" said Miss Affry. starting up
before the young seamstress, like
good natured gnome, you are just
killing yourself. Val Is quite miserable
about you. You look like spirit. Put
on your hat and come with me for a
breath of fresh air. will help you sew
all the rest of the day to make up for
the time you lose." ..
A gleam of joy came and went in
Mercy's pale face.
You are very good" she said, CRATE
fully, but do not think ought"
Fiddle de dee! you must. will
bring you back in an hour or two. You
will die, Mercy, If you go on like this"
Mercy was aluctant, but Miss Affry
was firm, and in the end the two set
forth together-the little hobbling,
rheumatic woman, and the shabby girl.
with her pale, beautiful face and odd,
superior air. The recreation which
Miss Black had undertaken to secure
for her lodger was of very mild kind.
but Mercy, starved as she was of the
simplest pleasures Of life, was not like
ly to disdain 1t. Waving her cotton sun
shade at a passing street-car, the old
spinster entered it with her charge, and
was carried southwark to that spot so
precious to the poor and lonely--the
public garden.
In an arbor Of cedar-wood they sat
down together-Miss Affry. being
cripple, could not walk much. The
place had no other occupants save
some social English sparrows. All
around them great beds Of flowers
| Haunted their deep, hot colors in the
sun, and filled the air with odors. Swans
sailed lazily on the ripping water like
gigantic lilies, and the stately palaces
Of the Black Bay, the home Of Boston
aristocracy, stood complacently up In
the Termed midsummer glare. The turf
was velvet green with recent showers,
the violet sky was spotted with white
fleece. With a long breath, with quick
tears of delight overspreading her
splendid eyes, Mercy looked around.
oh" she said once, and then was 81
lent.
Miss Affry fed the sparrows with
some crumbs from her pocket She
also observed that the Black Bay pal
aces fixed Mercy's attention more than
anything else in the picture.
How grand they are!" said the girl.
at last. How happy the people must
be who live there! Suppose some poor
body-one like me-should come to
such a home-wouldn't it be enough to
craze one with joy-like stepping from
earth into heaven, you know?"
Very likely" answered Miss Affry,
practically, but those things happened
only in story books. Were you born In
this city, my dear?"
Il don't know" answered Mercy sad
ly; my mother never told me"
That is strange"
She hung her golden head.
mo, it's because she doesn't like to
think of her past life, or speak OF IT.
She says she was once a lady-perhaps
she was-perhaps she feels shame and
remorse sometimes, and will not let me
see how she has fallen. When l was
a child and asked her questions about
myself she beat me; now she cannot do
that but she gives me black looks and
keeps silent"
Don't you remember anything about
your childhood, Mercy-your early
childhood. I mean?" pursued Miss Af-
fry, with interest.
a,o1
bare attics where she and suffered to-
gether," shivered Mercy. Even now
can scarcely tell how we lived. Some
, times she was a harwoman-some-
times she washed and ironed, while
sold trifles about the streets, or gather
ed rags or bits of wood and coal on the
wharves. Now and then she would let
me go to school, but not often-Oh!'
with a rush of wet to her long lashes