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The Herald, 1907-10-25, Page 3atZMINVEMERNMEMODZSIMaZazziazabl Witc162EMENNEENTEXCMSMENNit '(cs. Since the refusal of her relatives to Assist her, it became necessary for Ellen to reflect end .Ideeide—or rather. for rather Goodrich to reflect and decide for her—upon what should be done for the support of the family. Ellen was skilful in various kinds of needlework; slte was alto a good scholar. After much consultation, it was arranged that Ellen thould give up her home at the end of the next quarterand remove to Lown, and that, in the meantime' Father Goodrich should go thither andtry to interest some of the ladies of Ms congre- gation in his poor young protega, So, after having remained., in the neighbor- hood for a fortnight, Father Goodrich took leave of 131Ien and returned to town. And the young widow was left with her children in her sylvan home to be nursed beck to health of mind and body by the holyinspirations of religion, the peaceful ministrations of nature, and the healing influence of time. And thus nearly three months went by, velum, one evening, the seventeenth of July, Ellen sat on her doorstep, soothieg her still delicate boy to sleep, and herself soothed into peace by the beauty of the sylvan scene, and the still- ness of the evening. Suddenly a shadow fell upon her, and she raised her eyes. Norah stood before her. With an ex- clamation of surprise and joy, Ellen sprang up, put the boy down, and caught the wanderer in her arms, cry- ing: "Oh, mother! is this you, sure enough! Oh, mother! I am so—so glad—so—" And Ellen burst into tears. Norah did not return her embrace. Norah could not; her arras were locked tightly around something that she carried on her bosom; but she said, faintly: '`Ellen, move out of my way at once, and let me eome in and sit down, for 1 am almost dead!" And Ellen, with affectionate and anx- ious trepidation, pushed the door wide open and drew forward the ola cushion- ed chair. And Norah sank into it heavi- ly, and with a deep groan, and uncov- ered the sleeping child and laid it on her knees. =en drew near and gazed with surprise and. curiosity and tender interest, and. then exclaimed. interroga- tively: "A baby, my another! Why, where on earth did you get it froze? Whose is it?" But instead of answering these ques- tions, Norah only sighed and groaned, but presently said: "Ellen, if you have got afan give me one, for this poor little wretch is nearly suffocated with heat." Ellen took down from the mantelpiece a spieled turkey wing and handed it to Norah, and, while the latter was fan- ning the child, Ellen kneeled down by It to take a nearer view. "Poor little thing! how pale it is, mother! Is it sick? Whose is it?" "Her mother and father are both dead. They died with the fever that broke out on the ship in which they sailed front Ireland. They left no other chil- dren, may this baby, and I took it to save it from the poorhouse," said Norale And as Ellen still looked astonishea and wondering, she added, impatiently: "1 wa'n't going to let my nephew's child go to the poorhouse{ You would not eatpeet me to do such a thing, would you?" "No, surely not. Hush, hush, my dar- ling baby! Yptl shall go to your Minnie by-and-by (When you go to Heaven)." "Well, Gone Grove was my nephew. You have heard me teak of George drove?" "Yes—no; I don't knew!" "Oh, yes you have! You forget! Well, George Grove, poor fellow, with his wife and child, were coming over to this country, and they took the fever and died, and -when the ship got to A I took the child to keep it off the par- ish, as I said. And another time I will tell you more about it. I am too tired now. And there comes the old yeoman - with the milk," said Norale in a wearied tone. And Ellen, who, of all human beings, was the most Simple and credulous, an the least suspicious, took the babe with her, and went for the fresh milk. And Norah, who felt no remorse for the theft of the child, experienced a pang of -wounded pride in feeling herself forc- ed. to invent a falsehood to eonceal that theft. flay a passed, dueing which little Maud, infant -like, at intervals, suffered to be toriused, 'and then remembered and wea.ned for her mother. But at the end of the week the vision had faded in the baby's memory, and in another week Ellen had won her love entirely to her- self. And from this time the child's vigorous organization rebounded into fine health. The time drew near -when Ellen was to leave her sylvan home. Ellen spoke of it to her mother-in-law. But Norah was totally passive and indifferent; she seemed to have lost all care for ail things in life. Her looks and manners gave Ellen great anxiety. The wretched woman would ,sometimee sit for tbe whole day without !speaking or eating, and, when night came, instead of going to bed, she would. wander forth into the forest and be absent till morning. And Ellen at laat noticed, with sta.rtling ter- ror, that these eccentric habita alwaya recurred upon the change of the moon, increasing in erraticism toward. its fall and abating with its wane. And the poor young widow could no longer dou.bi that her arietehe4 mother was a lunatic. She was a harmless one as yet, but as her malady increased Ellen feared very much what might be its consequences to herself and others, especially as there was no one to look after and. take care of her except Ellen's self and old Abi- pity the least attention. The little one was sitt,ing, flat upon the floor, and looking around with e helfetaxioae, heal - frightened expression ea einieteximme. Augusta atooped and patted the child eneouraginaly on tlie head, and. impaired of one of the women whent it was. The womaii could not info= /ter; she said the !Mild had arrived with e new set of fever patients that morning, and. that the superintentleut had not yet seen her, Augusta was lookiug at the little one with deep interest. It wits e. beautiful and intexesting ohild, with a, very fair complexion, delleate feet -ems, dark -blue eyes, and. clusters of pale, .golden hair curling around a broad, fair forehead, and its innocent gaze was raised with Lull confidence to the lady's pate, sweet face. Augusta's ere were suffused with gentle tears. "She reminds me, somehow, of little Maud," she said. "Yes," replied Daniel Hunter, lookin,g tenderly and thoughtfully at the dint "She is about the ege our sweet Itinud would have been had. alio lived, and she has a,lso her complexion, but Maud's features were cast in a nobler mold than this little one's." "Yes, but she has the same colored hair and eyes and complexion, and hate to see her here hi tb.e poorhouse," said Augusta, lingering, still lingering, and lookiug back as they passed the fair child, They went their rooms, spending two or three hours in going from ward to tv,ard, visiting the patients, advising with nurses and consulting with physi Mans. And on their return they passed once more through the convalescent ward, where the beautiful child still re- mained. A Sister of Charity, who was the daily atten.dasit of this ward, ap- proached to welcome and speak with Mrs. Hunter. When they had exchanged their greetings: "Can you tell me, Sister Martha, who is this little thild?" inquired Augusta. "Ahl it is a very aorrowful case, madam. A whole family brought in this morning apparently dying of the pesti- lence—this little one the only member left unstricken," "A whole familyl had hoped to hear cases." Ellen deferred her departure for still another quarter, upon account of the autiunn fevers taint prevailed in the city, and to whieh she shrank from exposing the children. This second delay brought the first of November, by which day all was arranged for the removal of the lit- tle family. Her landlord kindly aesisted her in settling up her businesa in the neighborhood, and tran.sperting her fur- niture to the eity. And. the good. priest —"good shepherd of sheep," indeed—en- gaged, a small, cheap house in town for the poor widow and Mir children and came down into the coun.try to Atend them thither. By the middle of Nevember they were settled ia their humble nevr home. Abl- shag had insisted on coming to town with the young family, that were as dear to her as if they bad been her own children, a,nd, indeed, it would have been very difficult for Ellen to dispense with her services. Ellen's only friend in the city was Fa- ther Goodrich, and it was through his kind offices that she obtained. as much needlework as she coulcl posaibly do. And she worked steadily from the ear- liest dawn of day till twelve or one o'clock at night, while old Abishag took care of the house, the children and. the lunatic grandmother. But, ktlast alas! what could olie frail pair of woman's hands do toward supporting a family of sin, *hen house rent, and * fuel, and. lights, and. food, and clothing were to be purchesed for them all? Ellen worked very hard, but without making her fam- ily comfortable, without doing more than just keeping their souls and bodies together. Toil and. privation are long in doing their work, and so three years of wretched penury passed asvaa before El- len's health and strength utterly- failed. It was the year that the great pesti- lence broke out in the city. And that manna found Ellen herself in the in- firmary, her children in the orphan asy- lum, her mother-in-law in the lunatic hospital, and poor old Hag in the alma - house. Sweet Hely:nil of no more such est? Old thank you, Mr. Hunter! Oh, Yes! 1 will take ben indeed, poor or- phan!" said. Augusta, etoopixig at once, awl lifting the child to her imeem. "I will speak to tbe superintendent and oommissioners upon the sabaiet, Au- guste, and in the meantime you had bet- ter leave the ohild in the care of good. Sister Martha, until you min have what- ever is proper prepared for her." "Yes, but see how she bugs me," said Augusta, unwillingly relinquithing ber child to the Sister, and promising to come back in her carriage to take her away in the afternoon. They returned home. And Augusta would have been happier than she had been for a long time, but that her heart unjustly smote her for the adoption ot the orphan, as it had been an infidelity to the memory of sweet afaud. But she soon reasoned herself .out of the irra- tional and inhuman feeling, and gave herself up to the antieipated pleasure of cherishing and. loving the motherless tn.. fent. And in the afternoon she went and brought the child home. CHAPTER XII. It is dangerous to take anything for granted. Augusta. had. received several high probabilities as truths. In the first place, she had not considered it possible for the Sister of Oherity to err in the smallest particular of her accouut of the O'Leary family. And yet the Sister was mistaken in eupposing that the children of Ellen O'Leary had been conveyed. to the dead ward. It is very true that El- len had been taken to that place, and that in regard to the children such had been the first intention of the overseers, but their purpose had ben changed upon further observation, (if the little •pati- ente, and they had. been placed in the sick ward, when their fever soon took a favorable turn. And in the second place, when hearing the repeat of the medical bulletin in coining to the very natural conclusion that each one who had been taken thith- er to die was dead and buried—had left the dead ward only for the grave. It is true that all the occupants of the dead ward save one had died and were buried; but Ellen O'Leary was that one. It is also true -that the lay many hours as one demi., but she revived from that come, anti gave signs of returning life and conaelouenesse and when her nurse knew teat the dread crisis was past and that sne would live, the was conveyed into tne sick ward. A few days after this Ellen was well enough to be removed from the sick to the convalescent ward. Here she found two of the children running about and amusing themselves, only very gently and. quietly, as if the hushed air of the place subdued them. But where was the third? Sylvia Grove; but where, ohl where was her youngest born, ner darl- ing ebild Honoria? Deed, .perhaps, and they would not tell her! The pang that seized. her heart at the thonght almost threw her back into illness; it was only for an instant, and she calla Sister Mar- tha, whose hour of attendance ithempen- ed to be, and, in faltering textes asked fort her youngest thild, adding, as she bent eagerly forward, and fixing her pleading eyes upon tate Sister's face: "A whole family, madam; a wretched, starving family, found abandoned in the last stage of the fever, and brought here by the commissioners this morning." "Oh, Heaven! How many of them were there, then?" inquired Daniel Hun- ter. "Five in all, sir—a woman with three children, and an old colored nurse." "And. what is their present state?" "The sick 'woman and. 'the two chil- dren, sir, are already removed. to the dead ward—the old negress is recover- ing. This child, as you see, has net been stricken yet." "And what is the name of this wretch- ed family?" "O'Leary, sir! It is altogether tin greatest ease of suffering that has mime under my knowledge cawing the reign of the fever. This poor venue was a widow, sir, the widow of al.ette0Iieery who was executed:" , A stifled slusielt from• Auguste *rested Sister Martha's speech. • Auguste had started. and ahuddered at the first breathing of the name, and now she ex- claimed: "Ellen O'Leary! Oh, God! Olt don't! don't! don't say it was Ellen O'Leary!" "That Was the poor young woman's name, Mrs. limiter. You knew her?" "She was an old acquaintance! dust Godl How terrible are the trials and vicissitudes of life! Where is Ellen and her children? Are they still living? Let me go to them at once," said Au- gusta, in great agitation. But Daniel limiter silently drew her arm in his, and Sister Martha answered: "Not for the world, nuidere, must you go to them. They are already removed to the deed ward." Augusta dreemel her hes- oand's shoulder and wept aloud. Daviel ilunter attempted ue consola- tion beyond pressing her head. - But Auguste felt her dress softly clasped by infant anns, anti, mishit; her head from its resting plase and looking down, she saw the little child half em- bracing her, and lifting its sweet, eympa- thetie face to hers. She dried her tears, aad. platted her hand in. benedietion in the little bright head. "Poor little one," she said.; "sweet lit- tle one—with all her poverty and. suffer- ing, she has known nothing but love; Lor see how sympathetic ana how fear - lees she is--thet aleo reminds me of our Maud." Daniel Hunter was looking down upon the child also. "What will be done with this orphan, Sister Martha?" he aeked. "She will remain at the alms-h,ouse un- til she is old enough to be bound out, like the other pauper children I suppose, eir," answered the Sister, sadly, Daniel Hunter and Auguste were both contemplating the child. with deep ee terest. On hearing this reply, both rais- ed their eyes, and their earliest, quee- tioning glances met — the identical thought was in tae nande of both—both spoke a,t once. "She is fatherless," said Daniel Hun- ter. "She is motherleesa" said. Augusta. "And we .are childless," coneluded both together. They looked again ini each other's faces. Auguste's beart was palpitating ansiously, her color came and went. The child's gentle lia.nde still olaspea her deess, while she looked up with innocent, unconscious eves to her face. "Will you take her, Augusta?" tequir- ecl Danial Hunter. "Take b-erl May 1? Oh! Mr. Renter!" exclaimed the lady, graspieg the hand that still beld• here nnd looking anxious- ly, entreatingly itAis fade, and hanging with hope and fear woe his next words, They cameo very • et/entitle through gravely !smiling lips. "alma tertainly, Augusta, 'ff,ft will add. to your aappinees." "I may take her! Can you. be itt earn - CHAPTER XL The pestilence was at its very height. The city tvas emptied of half its popu- lation. Private business was stopped. Not only the theatres and coneert-rooms, Mit the very schools and churches were closed. Deabh and his consort, ierror, reigned. Only the drug stores, the hos- pitals, asyltuns and infirmaries remained in. full and in active operation—only the hereie medical faculty, the devoted Sig ters of Charity, and a few benevolent gentlemen and clergymen., continued at their posts in the plague -stricken city. Among the most devoted to the suf- ferers were Daniel Hunter and Augusta. They went everywhere—into the most squalid alleys of the eity, into the most crowded wards of the hospitals. They were withous fear. Nor, indeed, for them was there any danger—their phys- ieal organization, their strong and steady nerves, their fearless souls, ohm. tua1ly repelled the influence of conta- gion. The fury of the pestilence was already abating, and people were lifting their pankestrieken heads with som.ething like a feeling of security, and. the terrified fugitives from the city were thinking of returning, when one day about this time, Daniel Hunter and Augusta went together to visit the infirmary attached to the aims -house. In passing through the women's convalescent ward, they noticed a little, fair-haired, blue-eyed child, who was certainly out of place gam, yet to whom no one seemed to 411), 00000 00 0440 The effect of malaria lazts a long time. You catch cold easily or become run. clown because of the after effects of malark. Strengthen yourself with Scott's Evaulailon. It builds new blood and tones up your nervous system. ALL DRUGGISTS; 500. AND $1.00. 414444.4 • 10440410.42). 440 SCIATICA CURED. Mrs. Chas. F. Haley Restored by D. Williams Pink Pills. "I waa utterly helpless with sciatiese I could not move in bed without aid. 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You can get Dr. Williams' Pink Pills from any medicine dealer or by mail at 50 cents a box or six boxes for $2.50 from The Dr. Williams' Medi- cine Co., Brockville, Ont. "Tell lite, oh, tell me at once! Do not keep um in suspense, even if the is dead! I have suffered so much that I could bear even than" But Ellen's throbbing, tinmat and quiv- ering lips and. pale face contradicted her words, and -the Sister hastenedto say: "She is not dead, poor dear; no, by no means. She is very well; she has not even been sick." With a arm) sigh of relief, Ellen sank back in her chair, inquiring: "Where is elle?" "Where you can get tier amen if you with her, ray dear, though 1 mould ad- vise you to let her renuth where she is." "Where?" "A wealthy ancl mint estimable lady of the highest rank, who has no children of her own, has to:ken her away, with the intention of adopting her, my dear." Without rn,y leave!" nelnirneri Ellen, all the mother's instinct of posseseion flashing from her eyes. "Ma dear, you can get her again if you want here-cf course, you can. When the lady took her from this place you were—" The Sister sividmil.y paused; slo could not tell Ellen that at the element the "You were very low. We—the—lady —it was very kind in her to wish to take the orphan, you know." "You all tlinught that I was dying, and she wished. to adopt the destitute child. Yes, it was very kindl Ohl it was very kind," said Ellen, deeply moved." (To be continued.) %pr. A good Cook for family of two. Highest wages paid. References required. Write FRS. JOHN M. EASTWOOD, 4 - Tonsorial Consolation. Frank Schwin is a commercial travel- er, arid in his wanderings goea through Michigan towns. He was in need of a shave one day, says the Chicago Inter - Ocean. Re walked about the main thorough- fare of the little town awhile when his eye met the original legend: "Raise 10 cts. or Whiskers!" There was but one tonsorial chair and Id was occupied by a stalwart fellow, evidently a blanket:title The barber made a latter, paced all over the countenanee of the recumbent lileekemith. stropped the razor vigorous- ly and sailed into bie work. After he -had struggled long and dan- gerously over his patron he felt con- strained to say: "Ain't 1 hurtin' you?" "No," answered the Plutonian gentle. man. "I seem to be workin' hard. without get& there," commented the village barber further, "Oh, just go on,' eneouraged, the black- smith. "You're doin' all right, for them you ain't cuttln' off you're cripplin' so much I guess they'll never grow again!" * - BABY'S HEALTH Baby's health a.nd happiness de- pends upon its little stomach and bowels performing their work regu- larly. If these are out of order Baby's Own Tablets will cure the trouble quicker than any other medi- cine, and the mother has the guaran- tee of a government analyst that this medicine is perfectly safe. 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Vegetable With an Ancient Lineage. Asparagus is the aristocrat of the foo. plants. None other has so aistim mashed a lineage, for its records reach back almost to the beginning of authen tie history. It is mentioned by the eanait poet Cratinus, who died about 425 B.O. The Romans held aparagus in the high- est esteem, the elder Cato treating at length, in his "De re Rustica," still ex- tant, of the virtues and correct cativo., tion of the plant. Pliny, writing about 60 A.D., bas a great deal to say of as- paragus. He says: "Of all the products of your garden your ehief care shoidd be asparagus." The consumption of champagne 123 England is decreasing rapidly.