Rensselaer Republican, Volume 20, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 December 1887 — NAN'S CAPITAL. [ARTICLE]

NAN'S CAPITAL.

“Nan, Nan, I say! Whar is that gal? Wnz they ever eich a pesky good fer nothin’as it is!” “Cornin’, mammy;” and Nan’s ong legs wriggled down the trunk of the tree where she was perched. Christmas in these parts did not mean a thick, soft, white covering for earth and a whizzing blinding hurry in the air. It did not mean much of anything to Nan,and a e had been trying, in her dull way, c penetrate its mystery. Leaning again t the tree,she dug her toes into the grouD 1 apparently deaf to her mother’s scoh - ing. Very pretty she was, with the light filtering through the leaves and brightening the yellow of her hair; very pretty and wretchedly vacant. “Mammy, do Christmas gifts come to the likes of we? Does they ever come to we-iins?” “La! child, - what you talkin’ ’bout now? We-uns never seed Christmas. It’s for the rich what don’t need it; gif’s to them what has; toil and hunger to them what hasn’t,” said the woman bitterly. “Capital—thet’s ease an’ comfort an’ plenty. Labor—thet’* toil ’itbout much pay, grmd an’ cramp an’ manage —but, a! child, you don’t understan’.” Tben to herself: “Sakes! she don’t understan’ mothin’. Pore witless thing kin only dream an’ wonder ’bout her betters ” “An’ mammy, whar Christmas is does they have pfetty elothes an’ heaps to eat an’ everything?” “Sho! child,they bean’t no Christmas. Some ’lows it were the day the Lord were horned, bnt I don’t b’leve it,” said the woman, doggedly. “He’ would make it pore folks’ day es thet was bo.” “I’d like a heap to go whar Christmas is,” eaid the girl, wistfully. “’Pears like we uns is mighty pore an’ low down. Low we’se pore white trash, sure ’nuff /But we doesn’t keer, doss, *e mainmyT“Wush yer pap’ud come,” answered the woman, heedless of the questions. “ Wush he didn’t hev nothin’ to do with them air strikin’ fellers.” a , She walked to tne rickety gate and stood gazing anxiously down the road, shielding her eyes from the light of the I December epn. The little shanty stood a few miles ’from The little town where the husband had worked and whence he had gone home on Saturday nights with the meal and bacon; bnt aihee the labor ronbles had began he bad allied him-

self with the strikers,"making one of the many whispering of wrongs, man’s injustice. For two days he had not been home and the woman although accustom - ed to being alone had become worried, f , rt Nan! yo’ throw ver bunnit on yer head, an’ jest rnn down to whAr the : train passes, an’ aee if yo’ can see yer pap,” she said turning toward the girl/ He’s uncommon late. Like’s not them air other fellers what he’s cavortin’ ’round with, has -had the bottle. Yo’ know yer pap’s mighty hefty ’bout tiltin’ the bottle. Lord knows he’s lasy ’miff ’bout ev’rything else! Hurry, Nan, most train time. Sun’s elidin’ past the door.’^ The girl started stupidly as if not fully comprehending, then swinging her bonnet by the string, dragged slowly along, turning before she reached the road to ask: “Will Christmas come to we uns, mammy?” But mammy was not there to ans wer or chide, so Nan pursued her way, turning over and over, in her pooT stupid brain, the why ’s and the wherefores of this world’s doings. She was twisting this way and that the meaning of the wrords “capital” and.“labor,” which had dropped froifa her mother’s lips. To the woman the one represented the oppressor, the other the oppressed, and in some ; manner a glimmer of this meaning had : lighted the almost hopeless vacuity of | Nan’s mind.

“Gap’tal —Thet’s Chrjsanas’ gif’s an’ things,” she whispered to herself. ‘ Labor—Thet’s, thet’s we uns. Labor .is what daddy talks ’boot when pennies is sca’ce. Cap’tal is what , mammy mntnbies ’bout when meal as sca’ce. Cap’tal owns the railroad and the keers, pap says. Pap ort to know I reckon. Then counting on her fingers, one, two, three, four; ease, plenty, comfort, whatever they be, an’ Christmas, ttiet’s what cap’tal gits, and a great big nothin’ is what labor gits.” So, reaching her own simple conclusions, Nan came in sight of the railway. Up and down she looked for signs of dad but'the six feet «f rags and good nature was nowhere to be seen.

Something else met Nan’s ~ eyes. Something whieh, even to her stupidity, spoke. It must have been instinct which told her that the brush and rails on the track meant death and disaster. She started forward quickly then drew back as the evil in her whispered, “Capital owns the keers, Nan.” A moment she wavered, then as the distant whistle oi the traiu came fayatly from the hollow, she rushed forward, and laying hold with her strong arms strove to lift the timbers. Evidently, Outrazed labor had dowif its work well. .Pull and' tug as she might, the heavy rail i ref ised to budge. Closer came the whistle of the train. Now she could hear the rumble and roar! Now she could see the smoke as it flew around the bend! No w she flew, down the track a mad thing, swinging her bonnet and lifting 'ber wnak voice against the roar of the engine.

“Tvaek’s kivered! track’s kivered! yo’ll be kilt, shore!” ®o it came, fast toward the figure on the track, now motionless with f-arand horror. Down the roadway a tall man came bounding; shouting at the top of his voice, “Nan! Nan! fer God’s sake, git offen the track.” Nan got off; but not until the snsine lifted her with cruel force and hurled her, bruised and broken, to one side. But three feet away lay the timber undisturbed, and the'pitying men gathered about, glanced reverently from the wood to Nan, knowing why she lay there. With the grayness overspreading her face, she lay looking into the face of the man bent over her. “Yo' done thet, Nan,” he gasped. “Yo’, yo’ saved ’em. Oh, God! an’ I put it thari I hated them an’ I killed yo’, my pore hurt baby!” Nan only smiled, and, taking -bis roughened hand, whispered, “I’se goin’ where Cnristmes ip, daddy. Somepin kindo tells me Caristma3 is waitin’ fer we’uns. Somepin kindo whispers, ‘Nan, yo’ an’ labor’s quiis; yo’re goin’ where there’s heaps o’ cap’tal. An’ tell mammy I know it is toe day ihe Lord were horned, arter all, cos it’s pore trashes’ day, shore nuff.”J ‘ Ohrißtmas—gif’—daddy!”