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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wroxeter Planet, 1909-07-01, Page 5• t All Ullexpeeted €ollfessioll; Or, The Story of Miss Percival's Early Life. CHAPTER XII. "Low typhoid," was Dr. Mel - rose's verdict when he was sum- moned to prescribe for the over- worked girl, who after recovering from her swoon, had been obliged to go to bed. "Typhoid !" almost shrieked Mrs. Cushman, in a tone of consterna- tion. "Heavens ! are we to have ti at in the house, after all that we have just gone through! The girl must be sent at once to some hospital." The physician . regarded the wo- uian in undisguised amazement. "I do not think that will- be nec- essary—she is not ill enough for that, and. Miss Malvern, who has been with you as nurse so long, will take excellent care of her," he re- plied. "Oh, but I can never have a case cf typhoid fever in the house; we will all be catching that the same as we caugti t the diphtheria," Mrs. :Cushman objected, with a shiver of fear. "Besides," she added, with a frown, "Miss Malvern's bill is already something enormous, and —really—I cannot afford to keep her any longer." Dr. Melrose flushed an indignant crimson at this exhibition of heart- lessness and selfishness. "Madam, do you realize that Es- ther Wellington saved the life of your - youngest child, and without a thought of the risk she ran ?" he sternly demanded. "But for her resolute act, in the hour that I be- lieved was her last, Daisy would now be lying beside her father. Es- ther has literally worn herself out in your service, and you now owe it to her to give her the very best of care." "I—I know the girl has done very well, and. of course, I am thank- ful to have Daisy well once more," Mrs. Cushman whined, with an in- jured air; "but I am sure I shall did of nervousness to be in the house with typhoid fever; and — really—I think Esther would be bet- ter off in some hospital." Mingled anger and disgust rend- ered the physician speechless for the moment. But he soon found his tongue again. "I agree with you, madam," he said, curtly, as he abruptly arose, "and I will attend to having Miss Wellington removed from the house with all possible dispatch." And, two hours later, poor, friendless Esther was lifted into an ambulance and taken to the Roose- velt Hospital, where she was giv- en one of the best rooms in the in- stitution and competent nurses for both day and night, while Dr. Mel- rose attended her as faithfully as if she had been worth her hundreds of thousands and he hoped to reap a fat fee, upon her recovery, instead of simple gratitude. Let it be said, however, that he did not mince matters when mak- ing out the Cushman's bill, upon receiving which the penurious wi- dow groaned aloud, and angrily ex- claimed : "Good gracious, what a bill ! And there is no knowing how much more it would have been if I had kept that girl here as he wanted me to do !" But the knowledge that she had in- curred the contempt of the emin- ent physician rankled more bitterly in her heart than her anger at his heavy bill. The latter she could wipe out with the magic of her gold —the memory of her meanness nev- er ; neither could slie ever hope to regain the respect of the man. Time passed, and poor Esther, although she was not dangerously 111, found her patience taxed to the utmost. The fever was of a low type, but exceedingly .obstinate. fifer- vital- ity had been so completely exhaust- ed, during that terrible ordeal at the Cushmans', that nature now ex- acted the tax upon it ; thus near- ly three months elapsed before she was pronounced well enough to leave the hospital. Dr. Melrose kept her there long- er than he would have kept most patients, fur he knew that she had her own living to earn and he was determined that she should recover her normal strength before be- ginnieg her treadmill round of ex- istence again. "Are you going back to Mrs. Cushman's when you leave here ?" he asked her, one day, shortly be- fore <he told her when she would be discharged, and wishing to hear something of her plans. "No, sir," Esther responded, while the hot blood mounted to her brow, as she recalled the stinging blow that had been administered to her on that never -to -be -forgotten day when Daisy had been taken ill. "Have you laid any plans for the future? Have you any friends to whom you can go 1" the gentleman continued. "No, sir," she said. again : have no friends, and I expected, when I came to New York, to re- main with Mr. and Mrs. Cushman indefinitely. But I do not mean to he a nursemaid all my life, and so I am going to try for something better, as soon as you will let me out of my prison," she concluded, with a wan little smile. "That will be very soon now ; but have you no relatives anywhere ?" queried the physician, a frown flit- ting across his brow. It seemed such a pity to him that one so young must be thrown en- tirely upon her own resources in that great city. "None except the Cushmans," Esther began, . unguardedly, then stopped short. "The Cushmans !" " repeated her companion, astonished; "are they relatives?" Ne I should not have said that," Esther hastened to explain, "for" they are nothing to me real- ly. I have no claim upon them, for they are connections only by marriage. Mr. Cushman's father married my grandmother, who was a widow with one daughter, so that he and mamma were brought up as brother and sister, although there was no tie of blood between them. Mr. Cushman was very fond of my mother, and for her sake he consented to become my guardian after I lost my parents—" "And made you a drudge in his family," interposed the good doc- tor, with curling lips. "Oh, no, indeed !" cried Es- ther, flushing; "Mr. Cushman had sailed for Europe before I came to New York, so I never even saw him. The news of his death came on the day of my arrival here." "Then it is to Mrs. Cushman that youare indebted for the life of toil and abuse that you have led in her family." Esther flushed at his way of put- ting it, and it showed her that he had not been unobservant of the treatment she had received. "Well, of course, she could not bo expected to care very much for me. and, after Mr. Cushman died, she said she must curtail expenses, so the nurse was discharged and I had the care of Daisy," she ex- plained, adding, "but I can never gc back there—I must . find some other home—some other way to earn my living." "Curtail expenses, eh !" sneered the doctor. "Humph ! I happen to know that John Cushman dieda very rich man. How old are you, Esther?" "I shall be eighteen next May." "What can you do? How do you propose to earn your living, when you leave here?" "I can sew very nicely," Esther replied, as she lifted a dainty piece of work from the table beside her. "This is an apron for a little girl —I have made several since you allowed me to do something to pass the time away. I have thought that when I leave here, I would take a. room in some respectable but inexpensive locality, then go to some of the wealthy families in the city, show these aprons as speci- mens of my work, and solicit or- ders." "H'm ! I am not sure but you'd make a success of the business, if you could get a start," said the physician, reflectively. "What would you expect to get for such a thing as that?" he added, and eyeing the pretty apron approving- ly. "Well, this material is very fine, and the trimming is nice; it is all handwork, too, and I think I ought to have between two and three dol - Jars for it," Esther thoughtfully returned. "You say you have several al- ready made ?" . "Yes—I have ti've completed awl more begun." "Well, you just let me hove them. I'll take them home to ' ne wife. We have some little fo.e; at our house, and if Mrs. Met.ose thinks well of the aprons, I will bring you your first order to -m ,r - row, and I'm sure she can re iom- mend you to other people who will give you their patronage. Beside 1 know a wholesale dealer in laces and trimmings who can supply yeer needs in that line at a very low fig ure—if you find the business a suc- cess—and thus reduce the cost of materials considerably." "You are very good," Esther re- plied, tears starting to her eyes at, this evidence of the man's genu- ine interest in her; and going to her dressing case she made hes lit- tle aprons into a package for hire to take to his wife. And this was how the Young Apron -Maker of Dominick Street— as she afterward came to be de- signated, began her venture which ere long, developed into a thr•v ing business. The good doctor's wife was so de- lighted with 'the dainty garments which Esther sent er inspee• tion that she gave a' • r for Si with the promise of ;i . work when those were computed.. Dr. Melrose, interesting himself still further for his young patient, found a comfortable room for her with a poor, but worthy, family, whom he had often attended gratui- tously, and who were sadly in need of the money which a lodger would bring to them, and a week from the day of her conversation with the physiscian, Esther was discharged from the hospital and took up the burden of life for herself. When she went to get her trunk from Mrs. Cushman's this lady — whoiby the way, had not consider- ed t worth her while to go even once to visist the young invalid dur- ing her sojourn in the hospital — appeared to regard her return as a matter of course. "Well, Esther, so you are en- tirely recovered at last," she ob- served, in an indifferent tone, after coolly returning the girl's saluta- tion. "Yes, although not yet quite strong," she responded. "H'm !" with a searching glance at the pale, young faoe, "your com- plexion is vastly improved, at any rate ! I would not have believed that you could ever become so fair —your sickness has cleared your skin i- e-:derfully !" Estl:: r flushed slightly at these remarks. She was secretly very happy over'' the changes referred to, for .her'. skin had become as smooth and flawless as a piece of creamy satin --all her previous sallowness hav- ing entirely disappeared. "And your short hair is rather becoming, too," pursued Mrs. Cushman, regarding the prettily shaped head with its nevi growth of glossy, wavy ebon hair with some curiosity. "I suppose the nurses in the hos- pital couldn't afford the time to take care of the great mop you had, and so cut it off." "No ; that was not the reason," Esther returned, the delicate pink deepening in her cheek. "My hair became so thin from the fever, Dr. Melrose said it would all fall off, and it would be much better to cut it ; and it is growing again very nicely." "And curly, too ! And—why ! what have you been doing to your teeth? Have you had false ones in ?" exclaimed Mrs. Cushman, as, for the first time, she observed the straight, white lines of pearls that gleamed between the girl's scarlet lips. _ "Dr. Weld has straightened them for me," Esther answered ; I thought you knew I had been hav- ing the work done—it has taken many months, but he removed the last pair of clamps the day before yesterday." "H'm !" was all the response the woman vouchsafed to these expla- nations ; but she added to herself, after another critical survey of thea girl, "the minx is .greatly improves' —if she had a little no flesh on her bones and would s,,:..cighten up she would actually be pretty." Presently she observed, with a long -drawn sigh : "Well, I am not sorry to have you back again, Esther, for there •s an ocean of sewing to be done. The seamstress I have had lately was no good—I've had to keep an eye upon her all the time in order to get anything done right." "But I am not coming back here, Mrs. Cushman," Esther quietly re- marked. "Not coming back ! What do you mean? Of course you are coming back—where else would you go ?" exclaimed the woman, in a voice of dismay. "I have simply come to pack my trunk and take it away," the girl replied. "I have hired a room from a widow and ani going to take in sewing. I have several orders already." Mrs. Cushman flushed hotly at this intelligence," and • then grew white with passion. She had realized, to he, ",orrca, during her long absence, how valu- able Esther had been to her. She • had never had a seamstress who sewed so nicely or could so readily turn her hand to almost anything. Then, too, the mending which Es- ther had industriously kept from ac- cumulating had been steadily piling up ever since she went away. Besides, Daisy was a different child—she had taken a great dis- like to her new attendant, and mourned continuously for her kind and gentle companion. Mrs. Cushman had not forgotten her abuse sof Esther, nor the cruel blow she had given her ; but she knew the girl had not a single !friend in the city, and she did not .believe that she would have the courage to start out alone to flee single-handed her battle with the I world. "You will do no such thing," she 'retorted, in an arbitrary tone, when she could control herself suf- ficiently to speak. "Of course you are going to remain with me --you are under m" authority until you are of age, and I can compel obedi- ence from you." "No, madam, you are mistaken," Fsther observed, as she arose and addressed her companion, with quiet dignity ; "I should have left you the day you so inhumanly struck me, but for Daisy's sudden illness. You have no legal author- ity over me—you have simply as- sumed that you have because my father requested your hesba.nd to act as my guardian ; but if you had, I should break it." "How, pray?" sharply interposed the woman. "I should appeal to the law. I have heard of such a thing being done where guardians were cruel and unworthy of their trust. I would reveal your heartless treat- ment of me—" "You could prove nothing." "Dr. Melrose could testify to some things, if I failed to prove others;" Esther calmly returned; "he known how I have served you —he knows that I saved the life of your child, after he had abandoned all hope ; he could tell how you re- fused to allow me to remain in year house and have a nurse to give me proper care, when I fell ill fr-cim leng watching and overwork ; he knows, too, that you have not once visited me or betrayed the slight- est interest in my welfare during my long illness. But it is useless to talk of these things or to argue the question of my going, for no- thing cau change my determina- tion. I have come for my trunk, and henceforth intend to take care of myself." She did not even wait for any re- ply from her companion, but im- mediately left the room and ran swiftly up to her own chamber to put her belongings in order for re- moval, while Mrs. Cushman, in no enviable frome of -mind, sat where she had left her, chewing her cud of disappointment and realizing; all too late, that she had made a serious mistake in the course she bad ,pursued with her husband's ward. She was yet to awake to a far more bitter realization of the fact later on. Her packing done, Esther tried to find Daisy, for whom she had long been heart -hungry; but the child had gone out for a walk, acid so she went on downstairs, and was about to leave the house in search of an expressman when the ringing of the hall bell warned her that (some caller was outside, waiting for admission. At any other time she would have gone down to the basement and out of the area door but she was (tired from her recent work, and did not feel equal to the exertion; po she stepped aside, whilst the maid opened the door, when, to her astonishment, she heard a deep, rich voice inquire "Ye Miss Esther Wellington at home Z" (To be continued.) • n• +++++#+-0-4-4-i-4•+4t 4-4-4-4-4-4e+ + + The Farm 4+♦ f+++++++++++++++ ++4 IMPROVING THE PIG CROP. Many men have started out this year with the avowed intention of doing better by their crop of pigs than they have in the past. By doing better, we mean giving closer attention to the 'feed problem that the pigs, when mature, will have made favorable growth at a low cost, and at the same time have developed strong frames, especially in the case of those pigs which are intended for breeding purposes. The objection of weak pasterns and poor f e t is ,growing greater every veer. Vie breeder is keenly awake to this fact, and the feeder is fast coming to see that he loses on the poor footed hog. It will be well for every man who desires to bring his pigs through the season in good form and condi- ' tion to ngure on supplying some of those foods which are known to have a favorable influence on the development of the framework of the pig. It is needless to say that corn alone will not serve the pur- pose. While it is true that corn, in conjunction with good pasture, makes a diet for the growing pigs which can hardly be improved on, it often happens that the pasture contains little to attract- the pigs, and in that case tney are sure to lie around the yards and stuff them- selves with grain in preference to seeking the grass and the exercise in conjunction which is so essential to health and thrift. Experience has conclusively proven that the best bone building foods are those rich in proteilei and mineral matter. Skim milk, of course, stands at the head of the list, and it will pay to lay in some tankage, shorts, and possibly bone meal, as well as some pure mineral matter. The Nebraska station has secured very gratifying results from the use of bone meal in pig feeding tests. A ration of corn nine parts and a bone meal one part proved superior for bone building to any ration that was fed. In fact it was found that it produced a bone wall twice as thick as that found in the bones of pigs which had been grown on corn alone. When tankage was substitute 1 for bone meal the re- sults were nearly as good. It cannot be expected, however, that the feeding of foods hearing large amounts of protein and min- eral matter, such as have been men- tioned, will change the conforma- tion of any part of the skeleton ; or, for example, make a pig stand straight on its pasterns. This im- provemer t will have to be made through selection, using no male or female that is faulty in feet or pasterns. It might be argued that if careful selection were practiced, it would be unnecessary to consider the diet, since strong boned breed- ing stock with short upright past- erns would naturally impress these good points on their progeny. On the contrary, it can be sail that men have been trying for years to breed poor footed hogs out of their herds without giving atten- tion to the balanced ration prob- lem, and they are practically where they started. We generally find that when men feed little or no grain and do not care to hasten the growth of their pigs, the quantity of bone is very satisfactory. In cases of this kind, the pigs have been compelled to take a great deal of exercise and nature wisely recognizes the need of motive power, and uses the food to build up frame and muscle. But there is a good deal of time lost in growing pigs in this manner. While time is nothing to the hog, it is to the owner, alar, when he pro- poses to force growth, he should plan so that he forces it evenly ; that is, the pig is not made fat at the expense of his growth. THREE KINDS OF COWS. All cows may be grouped into thre classes. The first of these will take a certain ration of food and will turn it into choice cuts of meat. When properly bred, animals of this kind reproduce the same character- istics in their offspring. This is a trait that has been developed by centuries of breeding—this idea of turning food into meat. The second cow is of a different temperament, and the food that is given to her is immediately turned into milk. The process is impossible of explanation. It is a mystery that has baffled the closest study. Just why one cows should change her food into meat and another into milk has never been explained. Both these cows are eminently profitable. It is the height of folly to undertake to combine in a single animal the two tendencies. They are diametrically opposed to each other. The third cows is the unprofitable cow that takes the same food and turns it to no account whatever. It is the development of neither meal nor milk. 'leis is the cow that no one should depend upon in any sense of the world, and yet she finds a place in nearly every herd in the land. The ingenuity of man has given us the mean of locating her, and if we would only use the test more generally she would soon de. crease in numbers. It isn't all that she is unprofitr able, but the feed she consumes a1 a loss might go to some cow that would make it profitable. After breaking a.$5 bill the piece: are soon lost.