Jasper County Democrat, Volume 12, Number 69, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 December 1909 — THE DIAMOND HORSESHOE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE DIAMOND HORSESHOE.

A Mother Does Not Lose Faith In Her Son. By AGNES G. BROGAN. (Copyright, 1809, by American Press Association.] She was the last one to enter the train, running breathlessly up the steps and pausing for a moment in the doorway—such a bright and happy picture, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, that the passengers glancing in her direction half smiled sympathetically as she beamed upon them all.

The porter, showing his white teeth, hastened to lead the way to the only vacant seat, and the man behind anticipated her movement toward the window and pressed the spring and let in the fresh October air. The little old woman who had been sitting unnoticed close to the window drew a long breath gratefully. She was a shabby, worn little old woman, with

wrinkled face almost hidden in the depth of an old fashioned Quaker bonnet. “Is the breeze too strong for you?” asked the girl, smiling down Into the bonnet, and then, seeing the great tears which were flowing down the furrows on the tired little face, she added impulsively, “Can 1 help you in any way?” “I am afraid no one can do that, my dear.” replied the little old woman painfully. ”1 am going on a sad journey today.” It was evident that her need of human sympathy was very great, but she checked herself suddenly, embarrassed at the realization that she bad been on the point of confiding in a stranger. With an expectant look in her soft eyes the girl waited. “Perhaps,” she suggested feelingly, “you would like to tell me all about it.” For a moment longer the woman hesitated, and then, reassured by the kindly interest in the girl’s face, began her story. “It’s my son," she quavered. “He to in great trouble, and I’m hurrying to him. it is years since I’ve been on a train, years since I’ve been in s city, and It will ail be very strange and bard for me. He doesn’t know I’m coming, Henry doesn't, but if bis mother can help him she is going tn be right there. Just yesterday it happened. He was going in on this very train to the city, where he lives. The car was filled, as it is today, my dear, and he sat beside a lady just as we are sitting. She wore one of those dresses, he wrote, that are fastened way up the back, and through the fastening was pinned a diamond horseshoe. She was leaning forward all the time, looking through the window, so he remembers the horseshoe very distinctly as it flashed and glittered in the sun. Well, why they should say be did it—those men—l can’t understand, unless they were anxious to blame it on some one when the lady missed it. for It was gone, the diamond horseshoe. There one minute and gone the next, and the men, two of them across the aisle, say that Henry—my Henry, who is as honest as the day—unfastened the pin and slipped it into his pocket. Quick as be was. they declare, they saw bim do it. The trainmen were called, there was great commotion, and there be had to stand and bear it all—the prying eyes, the disrrace. Ob, they searched bim well, but no pin was found. 1 could have told them many miles away that they would not find their stolen ntn upon my boy. So”—the grief stricken voice choked bitterly—“they locked him up there in the city. He had no money to give a bond, and this morning early they are to swear his honesty away—the men who say they saw him to do it and the lady who lost her diamond horseshoe. But if a mother’s prayers can help”— She could go no further. She saw her boy again as when she had first seen him the day he was born. She saw bim as. having kissed her. he toddled away to school. She saw him as

be began to grow from boyhood to youth and from youth to manhood and remembered how proud she bad been of him. What a fine man be was gotag to be! ' And now where were all these hopes? In a twinkling they had vanished. With misty eyes, the girl leaned forward gently. The little band in its dainty glove was laid upon the toll worn hand in its cotton one. “Tell me more about your boy,’’ she urged softly. Almost eagerly the old woman continued: “He has always been such a good boy, poor, like his father and grandfather before him, but bonest always and honorable as tbey were. His father wanted to paint pictures when he was a lad. but bad to stay at home and work on the farm instead. It bad been a great disappointment until the day of his death, so when Henry wanted to be a painter 1 let him go. He has had bard times. I’m afraid—be is looking to poor and white and thin—and when our neighbor called to see him there in the city he found him living in such a crowded place way up near the roof. But that’s for the skylight. Henry says. Artists like to be high up. and I’m not to worry." She paused and regarded the girl questioningly for a moment The girl nodded understandingly, and the other resumed: “But things were beginning to look so bright. He was to paint a rich man’s picture as soon as be'could earn enough to buy the necessary materials—canvas. brushes and -things. And now to be locked up and branded a thief!”

“I am glad you have told me. and I thank you,’’ said the girl very softly. “If Henry’s mother has such faith in him everything is certain to come right You must let me help you. I know the city very well, for it is my home in the winter time. When we arrive the carriage will be waiting, and we will drive immediately to the courthouse.” If the accused artist had seen them as they entered the courtroom be might have found in their faces—the wan, pitiful countenance of his distracted mother and the glowing features of her young companion—inspiration for a picture to be called “Hope and Despair.” but his head was bowed low and his face was buried in his hands as he sat waiting for his case to be called. Seating the little old woman in a secluded corner, the girl hurried forward and asked a court attendant to permit her to speak to the Judge. The man conducted her to the bench, and his honor signified his willingness to hear her. ‘lf the case of Henry Burrows has not yet been called,” she pleaded, “will you please have it dismissed? I am Miss Stanfield, the person who lost the diamond horseshoe, and I do not wish to appear against him. You will remember that nothing was found upon him when he was searched. There has been a great mistake, and the horseshoe is now safe in my possession.” So saying, she unclasped a pin from the laces at her throat and laid it upon the desk, a curious golden horseshoe, with the diamond nails flashing brilliantly.

With a puzzled expression the judge scanned closely for a moment her flushed, eager face and then motioned to two men seated together in the room. “The witnesses.” he said impressively, "are positive that the man unclasped the pin.” Quickly the girl turned to the men. “This is the pin. is it not?” she asked. “It Is a design one would not forget easily. There has been a great mistake.” Then, with lowered voice, she added: "If her son should be pronounced guilty it will break his old mother’s heart. Think of that, gentlemen, before you act.” Silently and with respectful admiration the men regarded her. “1 see." said one of them finally, "that it is ail a mistake, as you say.” A few moments later “The case of Henry Burrows dismissed!” rang out through the courtroom, and the old woman turned excitedly to those near by and cried jubilantly: "1 knew it! My boy, my boy!” The girl stood looking up into the white, tense face of the young artist. “Why did you do it?” he demanded curtly.

* Without flinching the girl looked straight into his eyes and answered. “The faith your mother has In her son should never be permitted to grow less.” With a quick sob the man bid his face from ber gleaming eyes. “It never shall be!" he declared. "Do you believe me?” In answer she held out her hand. Then he spoke again: “It was the madness of despair. When 1 saw them coming to search me 1 threw the pin through an open window. It must have fallen into the marshes or into the water below the bridge. How. then, can you have It today?” They were standing quite alone, but the girl almost whispered ber answer. “There were two,” she said—“twin horseshoes. My father gave them to me." As she was going be rose to his feet and raised his right arm as if he were registering a vow. “Some day I shall return it to you.” he said. Again the girl put forth her band. “1 believe you.” she said simply and went her way. And the memory that she carried out Into the sunshine of the morning was the perfect content on the wrinkled face of the old mother as her son led her tenderly from the courtroom. The young man kept his promise. One day two years later the girl re celved a little package by post. Opening it, she removed some cotton, and there below lay a diamond horseshoe oin.

“THIS IS THE PIN, IS IT NOT?" SHE ASKED.