The Emmett index. [volume] (Emmett, Idaho) 1893-1925, 1915-02-18

physician diagnosed the cOnQltlOn rs
being right porely." he knew that the
specter OF tuberculosis which stalks
through these badly lighted and ven
tilated houses was stretching out Its
fingers to touch her shrunken chest.
This had meant that Sally had to fore
go the evening hours to study, be-
cause of the WEAKNESS that followed
the day OF nursing and household
drudgery Autumn seemed to bring
to her mother a slight improvement,
and Sally could again sometimes
steal away with her slate and book,
study.
! She would not be able to write that
Christmas letter. There had been too
many Interruptions in the self-imparted
| education, but some day she would
write. There would probably be
time enough 1t would take even Sam
son long while to become an artist.
One day, as she was walking home
ward from her lonely trysting place,
she met the battered-looking man who
carried medicines in his saddlebags
( and the Scriptures in his pocket, and
who practiced both forms of healing
through the hills The old man drew
down his nag. and threw one leg over
the pommel.
"Eyenin', Sally" he greeted.
"Evenin', Brother Spencer How air
yer
'Torable, thank We, Sally" The
body and-soul member studied the girl
awhile in silence, and then said blunt
ly:
we've done broke right smart, in
the last year. Anything the matter
with ye?"
She shook her head. and laughed.
1t was an effort to laugh merrily,
but the ghost of the old instructive
blitheness rippled into it.
I've jest come from old Spicer
South's," volunteered the doctor.
He's ailin' pretty considerable. these
days"
Whats the matter with Unc' Spi-
cer?" demanded the girl, in genuine
anxiety. Every one along Misery
called the old man Unc' Spicer.
II cant jest make out" Her in
former spoke slowly, and his brow cor
rugated into something like sulIen-
ness. He amt jest to say sick. Thet
is, his organs seems all right, but he
don't pear to have no heart fer nothin'.
and his victuals don't tempt him none.
He's Jest puny, thet's all"
"Fll go over thar, an see him" an
nounced the girl. I'll cook chicken
thet'll tempt him."
The girl spent much time after that
at the house of old Spioer South, and
her coming seemed to waken him into
a fitful return of spirits
81 reckon. Unc' Spicer," suggested
the girl, on one of her first visits,
I'D better send fer Samson. Mebby
hit mout do We good ter see him."
The old man was weakly leaning
back on his chair, and his eyes were
vacantly listless; but, at the sugges-
ton, he Strengthened, and the ancient
fire came again to his face.
Don't We do hit" he exclaimed, al
most fercely. q knows ye mean hit
kindly, Sally, but don't ye NEEDLE in
my business"
IL didn't low ter meddle." fall
tered the girl.
"No, little gal" His voice softened
at once into gentleness. 81 knows
we didn't. l didn't mean ter be short
answered with we either, but thar's
jest one thing l won't low nobody
ter do-an' thet's ter send fer Samson.
He knows the road home, an. when
he wants ter come, he'll find the door.
open, but we hain't a-goin ter send
after him"
Wilfred Horton found himself that
fall in the position of a man whose
course lies through rapids, and for
the first time in his life his pleasures
were giving precedence to business.
Horton was the most-hated and most
admired man in New York, but the
men who hated and snubbed him were
his own sort, and the men who adj
mired him were those whom he would
never meet, and who Fnew him only
through the columns of penny papers.
Powerful enemies had ceased to laugh,
and begun to conspire. He must be
silencedi How, was a mooted ques-