Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 216, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 September 1913 — The Tiny Shoe [ARTICLE]

The Tiny Shoe

In the grate the fire had burned down to aehee and the lamp on the library table, for lack of oH, gave only a feeble light; but Clarkson was unconscious that the glow of the fire was abeerft and that the room was fast growing dark. -Nothing was hi his mind now but the thought that after the morrow he and Floy would be as strangers—after the morrow they would probably never meet again, for all the business necessary to the settling up of their affairs would be done by their lawyers. It had been six years since they first crossed the threshold of this room—she a shy bri of 19 and he a happy bridegroom of barely 22. He could see her now as she had looked that night. As her joy-flushed face and her scarlet lips, wearing -*■ that eager smile, came before his vision his heart cried out that they were to live apart. He reproached himself that he had not forbidden Floy to leave him, but they had gradually drifted apart and he had been too proud to say a word. If little Doris had been spared to them everything would have been different, but she had stayed with them only two short years.

Floy was upstairs, and unt. now he had heard her soft footfall overhead as she walked to and fro, attending to some of the last preparations of packing. But there was silence now. He wondered what she was doing. SLe could hardly have finished so soon. He rose from his chair and stepped out into the hall. The pain in his heart deepened ~as Ms eyes fell upon the dimly outlined boxes that stood there. They contained same of the smaller household goods and in the morning they ■would be sent away to be stored. He had not been able to bear the thought of selling them. Perhaps he had entertained a faint „ hope that the separation would not take place, hut it was too late now, and that hope had died. CBarkson made a move as if he would ascend the stairs, as if he would go to her, but the next moment he went slowly back Into the library, As he sank wearily into the chair by the cheerless fire be noted half-con-scionsly that Frico, Floy's spaniel had como Into the room and was tossing something about. But ho paid no attention to it until some moments later, when the little animal brought the object over to him and dropped H» at his feet. He started as his eyes Ml upon a tiny shoe. With a cry he picked it up and examined it It had been white once, but now it was sailed and scarred. Their baby girl had worn It Suddenly a thought flashed into his mdnd which brought him to his feet. How had Frico gotten the little shoe? Intuitively he knew what the silence upstairs meant now. He would go to Hoy, and he would not let her go amaiy. This time he did not hesitate. The door of her room was half open and Clarkson heard a sob. It was as he thought. Sitting on the floor was Floy. She had taken out oae of the bureau drawers, and beside bar were scattered small garments and toys. She was fondling a little dress, and her tears fell upon it How could he intrude upon this sacred scene, he asked himself. He made a movement as if to go away, but slight as it was, Floy heard it Looking up she met his eyes, in which afi the love of his heart shone. Involuntarily she put out her hand. He went to her then, and knelt beside her. “Forgive me, dear," he ■\ hlspered.

“It la I who should be forgiven,” ■he-sobbed. '"Then you lore me still, Ploy? You won’t go away?” “Never, dear husband,” she smiled through her tears. “I-I thought you didn't care any more —for me.” ’Tve never left off loving you—•von for a second,” he answered. After a few moments he placed the little shoe in her hand, and told her how he had come by It. "Do you think—she knows that everything is right—between ua?“ ■he asked, brokenly. “Yes, Ploy, I'm sure she does — somehow I feel she’s very near,” he replied with reverence.—Catherine MacDonald.