Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 December 1883 — The Broken Pane. [ARTICLE]

The Broken Pane.

It was spring time. The buds were bursting into blossom— the birds sang joyfully as they built their nests —the green grass was hiding the ugly scars of winter. A child's pale face peered through a broken pane out upon the glorious sunshine, and the soft wind kissed her cheeks and whispered: “By and by I” Outside the house was life and health and happinness. Inside was sickness, sorrow and poverty. Child though she was, the shadows had settled down about her as the fog gathers round the, ship which the rocks thirst to destroy. There were children there, but no childish laughter. The sunshine streamed into the bare rooms, but it warmed no heart*. It was a poor widow’s struggle against that gaunt, grim shadow whose other name is poverty. Hunger and cold and rags dwarf the body, and give the face the look of one hunted for years by an implacable enemy. Despair will waste whoever dares enter the struggle, and anxiety leaves its mark so plainly, that np one can mistake it. The child of 12 had known nothing but shadows, grim, silent, stealthy shadows, stealing upon her young life to rob it of every happiness. Even as she looked out upon the glorious world she felt that she was no part of it. It was around her, but beyond her reach. It was midsummer. Every tree was a thing of beauty —every flower a silent tribute of praise to the Creator. The grass had become a velvet carpet —the blossoms were young fruit—the sun was sending his warm rays into the darkest corners. The world was joyous under the blue skies of summer as .the pale face again looked from the broken pane. Out in the world around her the children shouted in their glee, In the dark old house children hungered for bread—the same struggle for bread — the same burdens and anxieties and bit-

terness of heart. The child had grown paler, and the haunted look had chased every other expression away. Her eyes saw the trees, the flowers, the streets, the busy world and its happiness, and her ears heard the summer breeze as it softly whispered: “By and by." What would it bring? What is the by and by to those hunted by hunger and striving against poverty? One day when the north wind .shrieked and moaned and the snowflakes whirled and flew, another face appeared at the broken pane. It was that of a boy who could not resist the temptation to look in. On a poorer bed than he had ever seen—in a room so cold and bare and cheerless that he shivered as he looked—lay the corpse of the child who had looked out upon the spring and summer. The snowflakes which strayed in at the broken pane were no whiter than her face. There was no smile to cloak its coldness, but around the mouth were lines to melt the heart. It was as if the dead were whispering, “Snow and poverty and despair have beclouded and cut short a young life. Have pity!” The soft winds had whispered: “By and by!” It had come. In life the tears in that boy’s eyes would have lightened her sorrows and made her heart byaver. They had come too late. —M. Quad.