People's Pilot, Volume 6, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 July 1896 — A MATURE FRIEND. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A MATURE FRIEND.

think it must be almost time for hhn to come now!” Gertrude Fisher glanced up at the clock. It was nearly 8 o’clock. And then Gertrud e sighed. “He is not often as late as t£is,”

thought Gertrude. ‘Of course, I cannot expect him to measure time by the second,” she said. But, nevertheless, she did feel a little disappointed. “I wonder where Lydia is?” mused 'Gertrude. “Even her merry chat would be better than this dead silence and loneliness. I suppose she has gone' up to her room.” But Lydia Moore had not gone up to her own room, as her cousin supposed. She was in the little' reception-room downstairs, and George Masters was with her, the recreant for whose coming Gertrude sighed in vain: Lydia was as different from Gertrude as a dancing firefly is from the steady glow of a star or a babbling, sparkling stream from the silver surface of a lake. She was small and perfectly shaped and piquant, with raven hair and a transparent skin, and those peculiar, dazzling, brilliant, dark eyes, that are so often the accompaniment of a brunette style of beauty. She had come to Washington at Gertrude’s invitation. “Answer me, Lydia,” persisted George, holding both her small, white hands in his. “George, how Can you? What would Gertrude say?” “I don’t care what Gertrude says! I am only interested in you. Tell me—do you love me?” “George!” “I love you, little pet, better than all the world besides.” Lydia put her hands on his lips, with an apprehensive glance toward the door. “Why?” he asked. “She must not know. I should be sent home tomorrow!” “Then you will try to love me, dearest?”

She gave him a glance from beneath her long eyelashes—a glance half-ten-der, half-coquettish, and entirely bewildered. George had been wavering and uncertain before; now he lost his self-possession entirely. And while Gertrude sat waiting and wondering in the drawing-room above, George and Lydia arranged the treacherous plan which was to wreck her happiness, with calm, smiling faces, and voices which never faltered once. “Sarah, go upstairs and call Miss Moore to the breakfast table,” said Gertrude the next morning to the waiting maid. “She is later than usual.” Sarah went accordingly, but presently returned with a scared face. “She’s not in her room, ma’am, and the bed’s not been slept in.” And that was the last Gertrude heard of her cousin Lydia or her betrothed husband, George Masters, for long, sad years. What did she do? What do people generally do when the weight of a great misfortune falls upon them? They suffer and endure and live on. Gertrude did this and after the first bitterness had died out of her nature, a kindly and generous one, she even learned to think forgivingly of’George and the little dark-eyed girl she had so loved and cherished. And the bloom of her first youth passed away and she settled peacefully down into a soft-voiced, ten-der-eyed old maid. It was toward the close of a lowering day in December that Miss Fisher’s coupe, closely shut, drew up in front of one of those fashion emporiums where ladies delight in congregating. Mme. D’Aubri herself came forward to meet the heiress.

Madame would inquire. Would Miss Fisher be seated? Presently she returned in a fit of French gesticulating despair. “It was through no fault of hers; Miss Bliss, the forewoman, had allowed the seamstress to take it home to finish, as she had a sick husband whom she could not leave and they were starving. But it should be sent for immediately, and it was the last, the very last, time that a dress should be allowed to go out of the establishment.” “Never mind, madame,” said Miss Ficher, good-humoredly; “It is really a matter of no greSt moment. Fortunately I have other dresses.” And she re-entered her carriage, followed by madame, apologizing all the way. Gertrude had nearly reached her home, when she pulled the check string and told the driver to go back to Mme; D’Aubri’s. Mme. D’Aubri was astonished at the second appearance of Miss Fisher. “The address? I will obtain it of Miss Bliss,” she said, “if you will kindly wait.” Presently she came back, rustling behind the counter, with a bit of paper, which she gave to Miss Fisher with a low courtesy. Gertrude gave the paper to her coachman, with directions to him to proceed directly thither.

recognized that .it was among friends, and therefore exhibited its good nature and cunning expressions of happiness and satisfaction. By and by, it had passed from one officer to another until each one had had the honor of seeing the chubby fingers dabble and play with the brass buttons and glittering star. , Old Dougherty was the last one to Whose care its babyship was given. He put it on the‘floor and the white shoes pattered up and down the* robm while the “goo-goo-goo” continued, as if the babe were anxious to have its entire audience completely aware that while the tongue was not educated, the small feet were accomplished. “I’ll bet my hat,” ventured the sergeant, as he looked through his wire cage. ‘TH bet my hat it will be a mighty scared woman that comes for this kid.” “I’d give me month’s salary,” said Dougherty, “be Jabers, if Oi had its loike.” Then brushing his gray beard against the pink cheek, he took up the bundle of white stuff and carried it to the window, where the sapphire eyes looked out and blinked merrily at the passers-by. The sergeant sniffled and blew his nose vigorously. He had suddenly remembered that, many years ago, Dougherty had lost his three children in some frightful accident. The plump fingers ran along the window glass and she white-hooded head nodded at the stream of people that hurried by. But no one noticed, and Dougherty was about to plan some new amusement, when a well-dressed man caught sight of the baby’s face and then, nervous and excited, ran into the sta-tion-house. “How came this child here?” he demanded, almost fiercely, as he took the little creature into his arms and pressed kisses on the dimpled fists. “I am the child’s father. Tell me, quickly, how came she here?” “Number 746 found it in the middle of the street,” answered the sergeant, referring to the register. “It was at the corner of S and M , in the busiest part of the shopping district.” “My God! It’s a wonder she wasn’t crushed.death by the cars or trampled under horses’ hoofs.”

There was a hurried opening of the station house door, the rustle of silken skirts, and a white-faced, trembling woman appeared. At the sight of thO man and child, she stood as if too bewildered and paralyzed to speak. Then, the bundle of lace and the white hood and the small shoes began to squirm, and, in another moment the baby was running foward its mother, who now was softly weeping. She clasped the child in her arms, and the sergeant noticed that Dougherty drew his rough sleeve over his eyes and then hurriedly left the room. . It seemed strange, thought the sergeant, that the mother and the father of the- child appeared so distant. He was still more bewildered when the child’s father lifted his hat and said: “Shall I take Muriel to the carriage?” and the mother answered, half audibly: “If you will be so kind.” Then they thanked the sergeant for his kindness and passed out into the sunshine. At the carriage door the man assisted his wife into the vehicle and then handed the baby to her. She nodded her head in silent thanks. He again lifted his hat and was soon lost in the crowd of passers-by. * .« • ♦ * • • That night a woman with a heavy, sorrowful heart knelt by the side of her baby’s cradle and wept bitterly. For the first time in several weeks she had been faoe to face with the man whom she had loved and married; the man whose child she had cared for so tenderly,, with true motherly affection and devotion. Had she but taken the opportunity to bid him return; had she but begged him to end the wretchedness of the past month! Had her lips but obeyed the commands of her heart —could she for once have murdered her pride and q£tended her hand to him! How different might their future be! Such thoughts flew through her mind with agonizing, tormenting quickness. There was no world outside her own heavy heart. Her head fell among the down coverlets of the cradle and she sobbed aloud. She did not hear the soft step behind her. She did nbt know that some one had entered the room until an arm was about her and a beseeching voice was saying: “Glare! wife! I have returned to beg forgiveness. Please be friends again; I cannot exist without you—please—please.” “It was such a silly quarrel, wasn’t it, dear?” she said, struggling closer to him and raising ner wet eyes to his, “and yet we we- so stubborn —I’m sure we’ll never quarrel again, and even If, we do, you won’t go away, will you, and we won’t wait a whole month to make up, will we?” The tiny creature in the cradle moved. The small arms reached out and clutched at the silken hangings of the canopy. Two sapphire eyes opened and looked at the man and woman to whom the happiness of renewed love had come.

“Is my dress finished, madame?”