Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1914-09-13

got her once before, about a year after
she'd fell down the cellar steps, which
brought her trouble on. We'd ought to
have kept her screened then, her nanny
and me; but, not KNOWN about the law,
we let her play out with the other children,
back there in West Virginny-and one day
an officer come and took her away to the
'sylum
4He said we was too poor to give her
proper care. We was poor, Nanny and me.
along of my drinkin'; but we fed our little
Ruby more than the 'sylum people did. We
kept her cleaner, and never skimped her
clothes in the wintertime, or made her
sleep in bed that was alive with vernin.
When l found those things out, Mister,
could hear that child crying for her NANNY
in my dreams; and always bein' hand to
do what l thought was right, regardless of
the cost, l stole her back one day when she
was playing in the 'sylum yard, and we lit
out that night for the West.
4She's been a care. I've been her daddy
and her nanny both. I've made all her
Clothes and her doll clothes too. I've done
the cooking and kept the house-and kept
it right; though you wouldn't think so from
the way it looks now. I've run the farm.
In twenty years we never spent night from
under this roof, or took meal out till last
Christmas time. I've bought books to
study up on her case" He nodded toward
bullet-ridden shelf of books.
3But | don't count it hardship, mind
you. She's paid me back hundredfold-
something she mightn't have done if she'd
been clothed in her right mind. She's
drawed me closer to God. She saved me
from liquor. I've never fell but once since
her nanny died. That was last Christmas,
when was upset about her gifts not get
tin here; also worried because l thought
the law was on our trail again.
Il built that high fence to keep her in
when was out in the fields; for like mis-
chievous child she was fond of running
away. She got out last Saturday night for
the first time. l missed her at daylight,
and didn't find her till about eight o'clock
She was setting down by the creek, looking
at the pictures in a newspaper. My heart
jumped; for l knew she'd been to some
house, and when l looked at the label on
the paper | saw it come from Search's'
HE paused and passed his hand over his
Il bandaged head, as if it ached. Bates
mopped his brow and glanced at the notion
less figure on the bed. 1t was she, then,
whom the dogs had trailedl 1t was she who
but the grisly thought sickened him,
and profound pity for the hapless and
unsuspecting father swept over him. Then
Jan monologue began again.
Il was afeerd somebody had seen her
l knew she'd attract attention; for she
don't dress like the women around here
She always loved pretty clothes, and l al
ways kept her in plenty. So l was on my
guard, and when l seen you coming with
your dogs knew it was her you wanted
Mister the first break came in his
voice, @if you had known her, you'd never
have wanted to take her to the sylum
She'd fade in 'sylum like a spring beauty
tore up by the roots. She lived on sun
shine and fresh air and flowers, just like
bee or a bird. The little she ct seemed
skasly enough to keep her soul and body
together. She wasn't like any other crazy
person you ever saw. She never did any
body or anything harm. I never knew her
to mash bug. She was always happy,
laughing and singing all day long and kiss
ing me hundred times, and always bring
ing in young things, like kittens and pups
and lambs. I've known her to take off her
clothes to swaddle cold lamb. She was as
pure as drop of dew, as sweet as rose,
and she had the privileges of angels and
goddesses and babes.
Seems strange, Mister, to call person
like that crazy. Seems like she ought to be
called a saint Seems like, if we're children
of our Heavenly Father, that the ones who
u 4 ..