Democratic Sentinel, Volume 13, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 July 1889 — PLEADINGS OF A CHILD. [ARTICLE]

PLEADINGS OF A CHILD.

By Harriet Lane Wallace.

“Hetty, be you mad—gone clean out pf your senses? Remember, if you •marry tbat scamp you are nothing to me. I would rather see you in vour coffin!” So saying, Hepsy Trotwood broughtdown her hand with a decided thump upon the kitchen table, thereby scattering a dozen or more rosy-cheeked apples upon the floor. Mrs. Trotwood had quite forgotten that she was a deacon’s wife when she lost her temper in the midst of making apple dumplings for the good man’s supper. “But, auntie, I love him,” was the apology, given while a soft blush rose to the girl’s face. “Love him? Fiddlesticks! Don’t talk to me about love!” And again Mrs. Trotwood’s gray eyes flashed disapproval. Tall, thin, hard-featured, the deacon’s wife was a woman from whom little mercy could be expected; still, within her heart this childless woman built a shrine, the idol of which was Hetty, the child of her dead sister. Her life had one object in view—to see Hetty a great lady. She gave the girl the advantages of an excellent education. Her wardrobe far outshone that of the neighboring farmers’daughters. It was the intention of Mrs. Trotwood to make her niece heiress to her wealth, of which she possessed a goodly amount.

Hetty was the acknowledged belle for miles around. Never was there a gather of young folks without her presence, and many a country swain would Lave sacrificed, considerable for a smile of encouragement. She was the apple of the old deacon’s eye. ‘'Mother,” he would say to his good wife, “I must send little Hetty to brother John’s, in the city, or else she will be falling in love with some great hulking country fellow, not half good enough for her.” “Nonsense!” would his wife reply. “1 he child never dreams of such a thing.” But the child did fall in love, and with none other than the student of the village doctor, handsome, good-hearted, penniless Dick Barry ; and this falling in love was the cause of Mrs. Trotwood’s burst of indignation. “To think of it!” she would sav. “Our Hetty marrying this penniless youth!” The old lady’s fondest hopes, all her air castles, would be completely cast to the earth should this marriage ever take place. The apple dumpling proved a failnve. The deacon and his wife ate their meal in silence. Hetty was not present. She was having a good cry down by the garden gate. Very lovely she looked in the dim twilight, in a dress of soft texture clinging in graceful folds to a round, shapely figure. Was it any wonder that Dick Barry lost liis heart to her ? The young man, who had resolved never to take unto himself a wife until he had attained the dignity of M. D. and made his .name in the world, forgot his firm resolution.

He was coming up the big country road, whistling a merry tune. He met his lady-love with a kiss. “Oh, Dick!” sobbed Hetty. “Aunt Hepsv says I can never, never marry you!” And she cried as if her heart would break. Poor Dick tried to console her as best he could, departing at length, reassured of the girl’s love and confidence. Hetty returned to the house, wrote a dainty little note, left it on the deacon’s desk, and kissed the old couple so fondly that they began to think they were unjust in their accusations; that the dear child would never so far forget them as to marry without their consent. But the little note found the following morning told its own story. Their the country for miles around rang rvitli gossip: “The deacon’s niece had run away and married Dick Barry.” Mrs. Trotwood closed her heart, putting away the books, birds and dainty little treasures belonging to her avayward niece, never again mentioning her name. The Deacon, groAvn suddenly old, missed his darling. There Avas no one noAv to get his slippers or kiss aAvay his cares and troubles. Many a time he Avas tempted to pay a Ausit to the little white cottage doAvn the road, the cottage where Dick Barry took his bride; but the thought of his wife’s wrath kept him aAvay. To the young couple adversity and cares had come. Poverty had entered the door, but love had never floAvn out of the Avindow. Dick Avas obliged to give up for a time his cherished hope of entering his profession; he Avorked in the mill, in the evening deA'oting his leisure hours to study. The young wife bore with patience her cares, although the roses were fast leaving her face. A baby came, almost unwelcome.

Poverty casts a damper over all onr joys. The old village doctor shook his head, almost despairing of the young mother’s life. Her mind wandered: she kept calling for Aunt Hepsy. The young husband, struggling with piide, sent for Mrs. Trotwood, but the old lady was determined, and refused to see her niece. When the white crape emblem of sorrow hung upon the cottage door she was still unmoved, though she watched from behind hexdrawn curtains the village sexton carry away the wee coffin that held Hetty’s baby. Then the country folks declared that old Hepsy Trotwood was cruel and unjust. Days, weeks, months, years rolled by without bringing reconciliation. Hetty was the mother of a second baby. The young woman frequently passed her aunt’s house, and the little one, who was beginning to talk, would ask her who lived in “the pretty house,” referring to the deacon’s. On learning it was “grandma’s,” she would laugh with delight. One day in early June, Hetty, busy with her household cares, forgot to closely watch baby, who wandered down the road in the direction of the deacon’s house. Mrs. Trotwood sat by the open window. It was her sixtieth birthday. “Dear me!” she sighed. “How old I am getting—sixty—and the deacon is five years older; time to begin to think of passing away. If the Lord calls the deacon fix-st, I shall be left alone—alone!” Anti the woman bent her head in sorrow. “If Hetty had only married to suit me—and yet Dick seems to be a clever fellow, after all. How cruel I have been, after all these veai-s! Will Hetty forgive me now? Yet she blighted mv fondest hopes,” she murmured, while the old stern look stole over her face.

Suddenly the patter of little feet was heard, and Mrs. Trotwood saw standing in the open doorway a little child, a lovely, laughing baby, with hair like spun gold and eyes as blue as blue hyacinths—eyes that she had seen the counterpart of many a time, and which left no room for doubting that befoi-e her stood Hetty’s baby. “Is you grandma?” asked the child in a sweet, lisping tone. “Grandma.” The word was like magic to the childless heart. Then Hepsy Trotwood did what she had not done for years—cried as if her heart would break. One cannot close the doorway of his heart against the pleadings of a little child. Hepsy Trotwood had a heart, after all. **** * * . Five years have passed. The deacon’s family and Hetty are reunited. Prosperity has come to the young folksDick’s hopes are realized. On the front door of one of the most substantial dwellings of the town is a glistening door-plate bearing the name, Richard Barry, M. D. r Mrs. Trotwood has made a new will, by which she will leave her entii-e fortnne to Hetty’s baby.