South Bend News-Times, Volume 33, Number 284, South Bend, St. Joseph County, 10 October 1916 — Page 7

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THE SOUTH BEND NEWS-TIMES

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THOUGH AN Iron door, eet In tta high granite wall, opened with a metallic clanking and closed again with an even sharper note. Jim Breslin. his hair cropped loo close and the Ul-flttinK suit ot brown ho wore of an all too obTioua newness, stood on the pathway blinking In the mellow October sunshine From the high elm ftbove his head swirls of yellow leas came drifting down to rustle their way to the many little wind-heaped piles in theBehind him h could hear the sharp footfalls of the warder, who had corao to the gate with him. rattling along the flag walk to the govcrnor'a ofTica. The deep, insistent humming note that filled his ears was the low roar of the machinery la the prison ehoeshop. He glanced down smilingly at the big red hands and wriata aticklng far out of the sleeves of that brown coat. They had had a hard job of it finding a suit that waa big enough for him. The rrlson tailors had done their best; thy had lengthened the sleeves and trousers l,8 as much as the cloth would allow; tl.ey had locened the seams under the aims and set over all the buttons. But even so, it was ftill painfully apparent that the ?uit was intended ortKlaally for a man of considerably lesa bulk than I3r9lln, "The pen" was stamped all over that suit; there was no donbt whatever about that. Still that nattered very little; for had not the suit betrayed hin recent place of residence, the tooclcse cropped hair would have done so, or the slouching, stilted palt when he walked, or the habit he had of half cringlngly peering sharply now and then orer one phoulder. It struck him as strange that he did not feel differently now he was ouL He had pictured many, many time? to himself standing here on tne pathway tn Just such mellow October sunshine, drinking in greedily the free air outsido tfco high granite walls; wanting to shout his exuberance, to dance, to sing, to whistle. Now that he was here, indeed, it rurprifed him that he had no inclination to do any of those things. He was a trifie bowi'.derod. a trifle at a loss Ju?t whet to do first, a trifle awed by the calmnesa with which he took this freedom he had linked forward to through so many weary months. All at once thos anticipated feelfr.ss came to him with a rush. He wanted to whoop, to prance about childishly, to sing and whistle. Something in his threat tightened until it hurt him; the meaning earn to him with all the suddenness of a blinding flash of light. He darted quickly from the curb and caught the approaching flgruro in his arms. "Mary! Mary, girl!" he was crying, as he pushed back her veil and kissed her soundly on the lips. "Well." he said, as he slipped a hand beneath fcfT arm. "it's over at last. Ain't you glad I'm out?" "Yvs. I'm glad. Jim a ful glad,' said she. "And you came up and waited outside here to go hon:e with nie. That's real good of you." he went on. He had led her back to the siJe of the street shadowed by the hlh granite wall. He felt ter body stiffen. She looked up at him with

Open House and Anniversary Sale WEDNESDA Y, THURSDA Y, FRIDA Yand SA TURD A Y We want to greet old friends and meet new ones we want you to come and see us come and try the Famous Philadelphia Candies. We desire to announce

HE BE DEAD

something almost of appeal in her eyes, yet he noticed the way her firm little mouth set itself into straight lines. "About about going homo, Jim," said she. "that's why I came p to-day. I've been tryin' and tryin' to tell you the past few times I've seen you In there; but somehow I couldn't seem to bring myself to do lt. I waited till the last minute till now." With a quick turning of her head she. .coked fixedly across the street. "I don't think you'd better come home, Jim," she ended. "It's on account of the children," she hurried on, her eyes still on that point of focus across the street. "Somehow I couldn't bear to have 'em know about about this." She indicated with a sidewi?o movement of her head the granite wall Just behind them. "I couldn't bear to tell 'em about you. And so, when they besun to get bigger and to inquiro where their father was I said I Faid he was dead. It's awful hard on you. Jim, awful, awful hard on you. But if you'd a-listened to me years ago and not got mixed up with that crowd you did and took to drinkin' and gamblin' so much and etayln' off nights" "I know," he Interrupted her. and his own voice surprised him. it sounded so much like the voice of some stranger. "It's all my fault, Mary. You put up with me longer'n most womea would. And you've been mighty gooc to me since I've been in there. You've come t see rue regular, and you've seen to it that I'va had a sight more things than most of the other poor devils across that wall ever gets. I guess I can do 'most any little thing you ask of me now. You jest want me to stay dead that'i It. ain't it?" He saw his words gave her relief. She had probably thought he would upbraid her and argue with her. Her voice was pitifully grateful to him as she answered: "Yea. For the children's sake. Jim. For Nan and Marty" "You want me to stay dead, too, don't you?" he asked, yet there was no even hinted accusation in the words just the simple question. "For the children's sake." she reiterated feebly. His boot-toe moved noisily among the dead leaves. He still continued to look at that tooshort brown sleeve and to smile. "Why, I wouldn't do anything to hurt 'era or to spoil any chances they may have. You know that. Mary. If it's better for me to keep riRht on beln' dead ain't they never heard nothin from any of the neighbors?" he interrupted himself to ask. "I moved away as soon as you was sent up." Raid she. "I never told you before. I mocvd because I knew the neighbors round about there would tell the young ones sooner or later. I uent over Bentfleld way took a little house at the foot of the hill. It's lonesome there and a long way from neighbors; but no one knows i.o we are and I lied about where we come from. I I've even took my own name, and taught the children that it's theirs. No one suspects over there about you." She could not see him swallow hard, for her eyes were turned away, nor did she realize he was making all that noise in the leaves to cover up a certain weak sniffing that seemed to be beyond his control. At length he aald. steadily enouRh:

77?e? Philadelphia, the House of Purity, has been in South Bend. 15 pears. Wer'e 15 years old and wer'e going to celebrate. We 're going to haue a Birthday Party and pour 'e invited.

Special Prices on All Candy DURING OUR ANNIVERSARY The Reduction in prices range from five to Fifteen Cents.

By "All right I guess that's the best plan. 1 won't never let 'em know but what I am dead." She fumbled in one of the worn gloves she wore. A little wad of folded notes was drawn out. "I've managed to save up this," she said, holding out the money to him. "If you're goin away somewhere for a fresh start, you'll want a little. Taln't much, but maybe it'll help." "Why no Mary, no." he said gently. "'Taln't likely I'll touch it. 1 can get along with Just myself to look out for. Besides, they gave me ten shillings when I came out. See?" He thrust a hand into one pocket of those misfit trousers and pulled out a crisp ten shilling note, crinkling it in his big fingers as he ehowed it to her. "That'll be enough to start me on." he went on. "No, I tell you I ain't a-goin' to touch that of yours. You've had it hard enough these past few years lookin' out for yourself and the young ones. What sort of a man do you think I am? Mary, you ain't tryin' to buy me off, are you, or offcrin' me this as a sort of reward for the way I've acted about it? 'Cause you don't have to do that. I'll go away somewheres and see 'f I can't get something to do and send you a little now and then to help you out " "No, no. Don't send me nothin'. Jim," she said. "We're gettin on splendid now, me and the children. I've got plenty of washln' and sewln to do, and I get real good prices for it. Then I have a little garden that helps out a whole lot. Youl'll have hard enough time gettin' on your feet without thlnkin' none of us. Just Just be like I say. Jim, dead to us. That's all I ask." "All right," said he thickly. "I'll just do that little thing for you, Mary. I'll help what I can, but I won't never bother you none, and the children shan't never know I'm alive." He stooped swiftly and kissed her asaln. Then he moved away down the quiet street without once looking back. For a moment her heart failed her as she faw him leaving. Maybe it was pity, maybe it was something Wronger who knows? that made her call after him. But at the sound of his name he lurched into an awkward, shambling run. He swung round the first corner. When she reached it he was nowhere in fight. Nan Murdock at least that was the name by which people in the vicinity of Bentfleld knew the. child looked out the kitchen window of the little weather-beaten house, nestling at the bottom of the hill. Something had happened to the woodpile. Where before there had been but a few dead limbs, picked up in the woods back of the nou5e an(j those uncut save as necessity demandeda big pile of newly cleft wood towered high above the chopping block; enough wood, indeed, to last the little family at least a month. Nan called to her small brother Marty to come and witness the miracle, and calling him overioudly in her excitement, awakened her mother, who joiaed them at the window. There lay th-- miracle wood-pile a thing good to see at !east to Mary Murdock's tired eves. There had been no sound In the night The vcdpile had J ist come there. But Mary fancied she couid guess how it had come, and her eves söftened. She opened the door the better to behold it. Three plump partridges.

RICHARD

smoothly featherLess and ready for the oven, fell Nfrom the knob to the floor. She picked them up and showed them to the two roundeyed, wondering children. Then she saw them through a sudden blinding mist. In a mental picture she saw a man in a sorry brown suit a big man, a man with close-cropped hair, running down a quiet street and ducking round the first corner; nor pausing: when she called his name; Just running, as if he had made some resolution and feared he might not keep It, if he did not get away at once. After that miracles happened thick and fast at the little house. Now the potatoes proceeded to dig themselves and sack themselves and pile them5elves in an orderly row in the cellar, all in a night and without the slightest sign or sound; now the broken well-curb mended itself and the shed put a new set of hinges on its door. Again four fat and luscious looking rabbits proceeded to fill themselves with shot and shed their skins and hang themselves on the back door knob, where earlier the three partridges had been. Little sacks of groceries and provisions began to crawl up to that back door o' nights and arrange themselves in tempting rows on the doorFtep; and as the weather grew colder cloth for little dresses and tiny mittens and stubby little serviceable shoes and once a gay silk shirt blouse followed in the train of the other things. Once Mary was snre she saw him standing Just at the edge of the woods behind the house. It was not yet fully dark; the momentary lightening of the sky that comes on Autumn nights jut before the twilight fades out completely made the little hill stand out in sharp relief, a huge bulking black shadow against the frosty ky. She fancied she could see him very plainly, leaning against a pine trunk, his hungry eyes fixed on the littio house. She could even make out that brown suit, with the trouser legs barely reaching the shoe tops and the sleeves leaving a good bit of forearm exposed. But when she breathed his name and ran toward the woods and would have spoken" to him. the shadow or the entity, whichever it was, slipped silently back amongst the deeper shadows ani was gone. Somehow It gave her a comforting sense that he was near thera. And although she never saw him there arain, she had a fooling often that he was watching from the edge of the pines. Yet she could not bring herself to want things other than they were. Those little attentions of hiß. the things he did so secretly for her and the children, touched her strangely, and now and again filled her with a glowing tenderness for him, a wonder where he was living, how he was faring, what he was doing. Hut that it was best for the children that they should never know him, that they should think him dead, she never for a moment doubted. Winter came early that year. Early in December snow lay thick upon the village. Then toward the middle of the month came to gray days of biting cold and lowering skies. At the bleak twilight of the second day it began to snow, gently at first. Just a hint of white down in the cold air; then steadily, then coldly, bitterly, bllndlngly, sharp little flakes driven like so mx.ny bullets by a howling gale. By morning it was drifted d?ep and still snowing. Palls of water from the well were mysteriously left at the back door, armfuls of

SHELTON

wood from the woodhou-e were stacked there; although, watch as they would, none of the three in the little house caught sight of the bringer of these things. AH day the snow piled higher and the wind howled the louder. At du?k, tho two children, kept indoors all day. were playing noisily about the kitchen while Mary busied herßelf with the supper. Suddenly there was a crash, a cry, a scream of agony. Nan. chasing Marty about th table, had turned to head him off. Marty, trying to turn quickly to avoid the consequences of this manoeuvre, had slipped, grasped the tablecloth and pulled down upon himself the lamp burning there. Mary turned Just in time to see the child writhing in a mass of flames. Her own cries were added to those of the thoroughly frightened Nan. What happened the next few minutes Mary is not quite sure. Bat she did know at length that the flames on the floor had been Emothered; that. In her own badly burned arms, she held a gasping, blackened child. The doctor the nearest doctor was five miles away. The roads were impassable. She loubted if she could so much as travel the half mile to her nearest neighbors In such a storm. She laid the child on the bed and opened the back door. She plunged out Into the snow. She sank to her lips, struggled round the house and was nearly suffocated by the fail fury of the storm. Weakly she manappd to crawl back to tb bouse. She was sobbing hysterically. Then something came to her like a great. calming presence. She opened the doer again. "Jim!'' she cried into the night "Jim! Jim!" There seemed no doubt whatever In her mind that he was near enough to hear her, nor was she surprised when from the edge of the woods she ?aw a sturdy figure pushing its way through the snow toward her. "Marty." she gasped, "he wpet the Tamp! He's terribly burned! I'm afraid t'a dvlng! The doctor!" "You sent a good messenger. Mrs. Murdock." he panted. "He routed ra" out two hours ago. He sail a child of yours was dangerously burned. I couldn't .cee how we were to get out here; but when I demurred about coming, he took me by the neck and fairly choked ma Into a promise of a try. at least. He carried rc most of the way." He threw off his rowy overcoat and took hr child from her arms. Mary sank ou hor knee.3 teside the figure on the "nor. "Jim!" she wa? whispering brokenly as she lifted the bli? head to her knee?. Then, pushing back the mattr-d hair and holding it almost fiercely to her, she rained kisses on the hite face. It war, some few minutes bf'fre she was aware that Nan was tugging zt her kirts. "Who is he. mamma?" fche was plainting in a fiiehtenel voice. "Who i he?" Jim Breslir.'s eye3 fluttered oprn. He trii fo struggle up, but Mary held him ihn mor tightly. This. Nan " she began. His voice interrupted her in a whisper. "No need to tell her." he fiM "I'm dead Lern me stay dead to her. ' Mary turned to the- girl with a wonderful light in those grey eye of hers "This. Van. is your f?th.i ." yhf sai l n-jily.

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