Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 57, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 March 1917 — Empty Perambulator [ARTICLE]

Empty Perambulator

Ihe utter desolation of it all! Emily Brentford sat before an untidy hearth staring at the ashes as they fell from the grate, ' ' “Why couldn’t I be let keep him?" she moaned; “he was just everything to me.” There was the pity of it Her child, the'only one, had absorbed all the love of her heart. It was pitiful and human; the child that should have been the link between them k»'pi them further apart each —day. And death had refused to spare it. The day had been hard in the mill. Jim Brentford looked at hiß unlighted house, and his heart sank within him. Jim fitted his key into the latch. “Lass, are you there?" he called out "Eh, but I’m tired!” There was no answer, and he stumbled along the unllghted passage!Jifa TSad canght the habit lately of calling in at the Bed Lion on his way home, and his steps were not steady. He knocked against a child’s perambulator and with something like an oath be sent it spinning toward, the kitchen door. Emily, with 'her hair disheveled and her eyes red with weeping, faced him, already ashamed of his impatience. “I’m a clumsy brute,” he said. “Here, let me put this back." She snatched the handle out of his hand and wheeled it to its . accustomed place. “Don’t touch it,” she said to him. “it doesn’t mean anything to you.” - They looked at each other—the man’s eyes were sad. Love had been with them such > little time ago.

There was just a moment ol silence, and then the little house was shaken by the banging of the from door. Jim Brentford had gone searching for forgetfulness at the Red Lion. * • • Six months had passed away, and in the Brentford # household things had gone from bad to worse. It was July. On the moor above Bartheldy the hyacinths carpeted the turf—sweet blue flowers *of hope. Emily had not found fter way to the moor this year. She had gathered the hyacinths for little chubby hands tc hold once; now her own arms were as empty as her heart. The woman next door came in sometimes to cheer her up and to get her help with her own seVing. “You’ve heard about Alice," she said. “No, I haven’t," said Emily. “What’s got her?" . “The river got her,” said Mrs. Lester tersely. “Her husband went off with a lass from t’other side o’ the moor —and ypu know what a silly Alice was over him. Praise the Lord tor a good husband, I says; one as brings you his wages reg’lar. They found her down by the mill pond, and the inquest’s tomorrow — and what’s to become o’ the kid the Lord knows.” She gathered her sewing into a bUDdle, and Emily stood watching her. A cotton reel had fallen to the floor, and she picked it up. “Where did you say Alice’s baby was?” she said. “At her mother’s. There’s enough children in that house; they don’t *im there, poor little InitdT* They were working late at the tt£Hl inis week. Jim Brentford did not find his way home until nearly € o’clock. Someone was singing in the kitchen. There was a laugh and an inarticulate murmuring. Jim walked an tiptoe to the door. He looked in wonderment at the tra n nrpi a tinn of his home. The kitchen was Spotless. And Emily, with her hair brushed until it shone again, walked up and down the room crooning a baby song to a child in her arms. She turned and saw him. There was a new light In her eyes. “She’s only lent me tor the afternoon,” she said: “But ,JJm. don’t 1 wish she could stay!” A man’s lonely heart went out to meet here. Jim gathered his wife and the tiny crowing burden of humanity in his arms. “Where did she come from?" he said “And why shouldn’t she |pgr, my lass? I’d welcome anything that would put contentment into your heart again." His voice broke n little; they had gone' through a bad time. Emily disengaged one hand and slipped it into his. "" “Lad," she whispered, “I’re been ( wrong; but it’s over and dons with. Jim, no one else wants her; she’s been sent to comfort me; let’s keep her here." For all answer he brought the empty perambulator from its pises behind the door, and Emily put the baby Into iL Jim’s arm was slipped round his Wife, her head rested on his shoulder, and though the teardrops stood in the eyes of both the shadow of happiness rested upon tbs little house onoe more. - - ■-