Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 January 1914 — HER LITTLE MIRACLE [ARTICLE]

HER LITTLE MIRACLE

By ANNA 8. RICHARDSON.

It was pretty generally understood that the Billy Daltons %ere drifting apart There waa no particular reason for this state of affairs, save the lack of something better to do. . You see, they had. Just enough money *6 that Billy did not have to work, nor Janet to worry about making both ends meet They had danced their way through- several seasons into a lazy, good-humored and comradelike engagement, thence into matrimony. After that Billy had continued to lead cotillons and Janet to dance them —but generally with other partners. Matters between jthem had reached the'' point where tne rumor-laden society papers had suggested covertly that when Billy went to England and Scotland, where he had nothing in particular to do, Janet would probably take up her home in Nevado, or South Dakota, there to remain until Norman Stanley returned from Africa, where he was fighting ennui by hunting big game. It was even whispered that Billy Dalton had insinuated to Stanley that It was rather better taste to stalk big game than another man’s wife, especially when the other man was perfectly willing to make it clear sailing for hiß wife if it would make her any happier. *Of course this sounds a bit strong on paper, particularly to the old-fash-loned folk who still believe that marriage is a contract for life and not a mere episode. In the set to which the Billy Daltons belonged the aquation was accepted as a matter of course, and when Janet asked a lot of people down to their Long Island place for the automobile races and the weekend, no one thought of refusing just because the Daltons might separate within a fortnight after the gathering.

Such was the situation when the Dalton car broke down on the Jericho Turnpike, and its occupants, Janet, Mrs. Greenwalt, Joe Jeffreys and “Marsh” Huntoon, decided to cut through the woods to toe Dalton place and leave the car for a farmer to guard until the mechanic who handled the Dalton garage could be dispatched to the scene of the accident.

Perhaps it was not entirely impatience which led them to take the short cut through the woods, but the call of a hundred autumn voices, in rustling leaveß, rich, warm colorings and the chatter of squirrels laying up winter stores. And thus it was that they suddenly stopped in their tracks and listeded to a sound that was not of the woods, but of toe nursery, the plaintive wail of a child. Janet it was who found it —a bit of whitefaced, staring-eyed humanity rolled up snugly in .a great shawl of Iceland wool. * she held the baby in her arms a nd tried to silence its wails with uncertain and awkward little pettings, the quartette held a conference. The child was too young to have walked there. Mrs. Greenwalt said it was not a day over two months old. It was too far from the road to be heard by passing travelers. Ah—there., yas the answer—a wisp of pa>per, tied to the end of the shawl. “Please take care of little Elsie, ft was not her fault that she came into toe world —and I can do no more.” “I’ve always said that the government ought to regulate the question of marriage among the poor,” remarked Mrs. Greenwalt severely. “Here is a case in point.” “You are jumping at conclusions,” said Huntoon dryly.. “Let’s take it to the town marshal —’’ “And what then?" asked Janet, without lifting her gaze from the child’s face. The baby had clutched her finger with its tiny fist and settled down as if it had found anchorage. “Oh, there are asylums and homes for youngsters like this. You’d better hurry along home with it before it begins to howl. One of your men can take it to town before dark. Shall I carry the little beggar for you?” “Oh, no—she’s not a bit heavy and she is quiet now. She might cry if we changed her position.” They trudged on through rustling leaves and soft Indian summer haze, three of the party chatting gayly; two, the young wife and the baby, looking into each other’s eyes as If searching for a new key to the problem of life. Sometimes Janet wished that the child would close.its eyes. She did not like to meet their trustful, clear-eyed gaze. “Have you disposed of the youngster?” asked “Marsh” Huntoon, as they sat down to dinner that night. Janet started and looked across the table at her husband. He lifted his eyebrows inquiringly. "What? Don’t you know that our party was Increased by one during our ride this afternoon? Rather a small ‘one,’ but, my! what lungs it has.” Janet drew ifi her breath sharply. ‘1 wish you would not talk any more about it -at present, good people,” she said trying to speak lightly. Tve started inquiries in a quiet way. I don’t want to* s>ing to * et into the papers—because if no one elaims little Elsie, I .think I —l shall keep her.” “Keep her!” gasped Mrs. Greenwalt. "Why, my dear girl, the place for s child without a name is a foundling asylum.” Janet spoke very softly, yet every word was heard, so complete was the silence. “I shall give hey a name, because — onco —just once—l saw a line of chilArea walking, rp*» and rows, by twos,

from an asylum. J can’t send her there.” - Mentally, she saw again those clear* trusting, blue eyes. “And I know you will all be kind enough to keep this very quiet until —” there was Just a slight, tense hesitation, “until we decide what shall be done.” Naturally, it was talked about, however. In boudoirs and at clubs thequestion was raised as to what name little Elsie would acquire. Was it not bad enough to be facing a divorceresidence in the far west without acquiring an unnecessary incumbrance at the crucial moment? Within the Dalton bungalow onLong Island stranger things were happening. No clue to the baby’s parents, had been found. When Billy Dalton dropped down occasionally, as he had been doing for a year past to keepup appearances, his first question was “Anything new?” and this always meant “anything new about the baby’s, history.” And little Elsie would look up at him with reproachful blue eyes, sb if asking: “Why do you care?"' And the worst of it was that Billy Dalton began to realize that he did care. Janet had changed, and, with an odd sort of jealousy, he realized that it was little Elsie and not he who had brought about the marvelous and altogether desirable change. She wa* no longer bored. How could she be, with Elsie cutting a new tooth every few days, and such wonderful hampers of clothes to be bought, all fipe handkerchief linen, narrow Val and convent embroidery? A more fastidious customer had never entered the shops which specialize on layettes, and, with her own hands, Janet made covers for down pillows, Bilk-tufted afghans and other,- foolish things—while the tongue of gossip wagged gayly over the whole absurd episode.

One frostly December afternoon Daitnn ran down to the bungalow and found Janet standing at the window. The low spreading evergreens on the west side of the house were powdered lightly with snow, and Janet turned to Lira with kindling eyes.” “Uilly, I shall have a Ghristmas tree for Elsie. She is so bright for her age. I do believe she will notice it.” j “Quite likely,” responded Billy with assumed carelessness, as she laid aside his storm coat. “But in making your plans you seem to have overlooked one important fact. As yet Elsie is not really yours. The law —” Janet turned on him sharply. “She Is mine by right of —everything. I found her and I love her." “Yes —but you must formally adopt her. I thought perhaps you’d better see to that before I leave. I’ve changed my plans a bit I’m going to meet mother and Grace in Rome for Christmas. The mater has not been feeling very fit. I am not fond of England in winter —and —” Janet crossed to his side and her hand rested lightly on his arm. “Don’t you think you’d enjoy much more seeing Elsie have her first tree? And—-and I think I need you—more than your mother does!” Something rose in Dalton’s throat and threatened to choke him. It was a sensation he had never felt before — not even during the good-natured, lazy run of his wooing. Janet wanted him! He thought had not cared. Now he knew that he had cared all along. But It was characteristic he did not express his fierce joy in words. He held Janet very close and whispered: “Well, I rather did hope you’d give the little beggar the name of Dalton. It’s a pretty good name, after all, eh?” Norman Stanley heard the new* when he landed in London. He sent a lion’s skin, capflired by his own hand, for little Elsie to roll upon. Then he went to the Nile country for the winter. (Copyright, 1913, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)