The Message
of the Bells V
| New Year Story |
By ELIZABETH PRICE
Sun clouds scudded gustily across the
eky, hidi'ng the peaceful face of the
moon, whose radiance touched the edges
of her somber veil with a fringe of sil
ver. The great gray tower lifted its
head far aloft in the midnight stillness,
and the wind moaned around its rough
hewn corners a requiem for the dying
year. Within the tower sat the old bell
ringer, waiting for the stroke of 12 from
the clock, and, as he waited, his thoughts
■drifted back to the years long buried in
the dimness of the past—the years when
his floating white hair had been crisp and
black, when his long, slender fingers were
strong and supple and struck from the
midnight chimes music of entrancing
beauty.
Ah! lifo hiul been worth the living
in those far-oK happy days. People had
predicted a wonderful future for him, and
In spite of the poverty that retarded his
progress, and a great ambition possessed
liim. Obstacles were pushed aside, diffi
culties overcome, as he worked by day
■and studied by night, and the bells in
the tower spoke marvelous things to the
many who listened, and who, listening,
praised. Their praise was sweet, but
Klspeth's was sweeter, and, when one
New Year's eve, he told her of his love
and won her promise to be his own, his
heart beat with a rapture lhat thrilled
through the chimes that night till listen
ers wondered and children came back
from dreamland to hear.
Oh, happy memory! Oh, long ago!
It was on another night like this that
Ruprecht was born; and the joy which
■beamed from the pale young mother's
face was reflected in his own, as he left
her baby on her bosom and rushed to
the bell-tower to make his chimes a
paen of praise to the Father who had
filled his life with blessing. How they
loved him—that baby—their only one—
their all! How he and Elspeth had
watched each new development—how
proudly guided the first tottering step;
low carefully repeated the first lisping
word! How joyfully they trained and
taught him, while the father, too busy
In his strirjele for their maintenance to
realize his great ambition, transferred it
uncomplainingly from his own future to
that of his son! Nor had their hopes
been vain. The boy studied —improving
■every opportunity with untiringzeal, un
til at last the great organ in the cathe
; '
->
""THE CLOCK OX THE MANTEL
WARNED FOR TWELVE, AND THE
MUSICIAN TURNED TO THE PIANO
AND PLAYED AGAIN SIMPLY AND
LOVINGLY PLEYEL'SHYMK."
<iral below thundered its glorious music
responsive to the touch of the boyish
fingers. People thronged to hear. Rup-
Techt's services were demanded else
•where —brilliant prospects opened before
him, and the inevitable separation drew
near.
New Year's Eve! How many anniver
saries this shadowy hour held! Tho boy
bade them good-by while Elspeth <?iung
to him and sobbed, and her husband
rushed away to tell the chimes his agony
.as he had poured into them his joy. As
he sat waiting even as now, a step came
up the stair, and some one entered the
belfry chamber, and the voice he loved
eald tenderly: "Mein Vater, let me play
the chimes to-night. I will leave with
them a message to comfort you when you
.are sad —a message for you and the moth
■er, too.
"When I hear it in the far-off land it
will be my mother's voice that sings to
•me, and when you play it, mein Vater, it
•will say to you, 'Ruprecht loves me,'
Then you will pray 'God watch over my
boy and keep him safe for me,' and the
.All-Father will hear."
When Ruprecht struck the massive
keys it was the simple old Pleyel's hymn
he played, but he lent his beautiful voice
to the clangor of the bells and sang his
another's favorite words:
"Children of the Heavenly King
As ye Journey sweetly sing;
Stag your Saviour's worthy praiss
Glorious In H!i work* and ways."
A moment later he was gone. The
years had been many and long Bince then,
but no tidings ever came, and Elspeth's
hair grew white before the look of ex
pectancy in her dear eyes changed to the
clamness of resignation. He was dead,
of course. They knew now that it must
be so, though they had not given up
hope till they had left the old home and
followed their wanderer to the new coun
try. They had heard of the wrecked ship,
to be sure, but hope dies hard. Perhaps
if they had been patient—had stayed on
amid the scenes of his childhood—he
might have come back to them; but how
could they be p&tie&t when the world
was so wide, and half of It lay between
them and the land that had called their
child. They were only waiting now—he
and Elspeth—for the summons which
should call them to the happy reunioain
a hooi? wb- there would be no sad
good-bys, where music knows no minor,
and hearts forget how to ache.
The first stroke of midnight pounded
and an instant later the bells pealed
forth, while the old man sang with trem
bling lips and voice that no one heard but
God—as he had sung every New Year
since that one:
"Children of the Heavenly King
As ye Journey sweetly *Hng,
Sing your Saviour's worthy praiss,
Glorious In His works and ways."
Then, as the last reluctant echo died
away, he stumbled down the narrow
stairs toward home and Elspeth.
Not far from the belltower stood a
mansion, where a great throng had as
sembled to watch the old year out and
the new year in. Silken draperies rustled,
jewels gleamed, music rippled on the per
fumed air, and happy voices rang sweet
and high. But every sound was silenced,
and bright eyes grew dim in the flood of
melody which suddenly poured about the
gay throng. They crowded toward tß'o
mtisic room, trying to catch a glimpse of
the player. Those who were near saw a
slender man, with fair curling hair
brushed back from a brow as pure as a
woman's. The face was pale and the eyes
sad, but about the sensitive mouth played
an expression of rare sweetness and
beauty. Quietly he sat before the grand
piano, playing without the slightest ef
fort such masterful music as had hushed
the listeners to awe-struck silence.
"Who is he?" was the question passed
from one to another when at last the
cessation of the music broke the spell.
"He is a friend of father's," their
hostess told them. "Father met him
abroad some years ago, and by helping
him in a search for some missing friends,
won his heart. The search was not suc
cessful, but that did not seem to lessen
Prof. Von Pillow's gratitude, and they
have corresponded in a desultory way
ever since. Father invited him here for
the holidays this year, but he declined the
invitation, then this evening suddenly
and unexpectedly appeared. These great
musicians are always eccentric, you
know. I heard him tell father that this
is an anniversary he doesn't like to spend
alone. Some love story probably. No ;
jhe isn't married. He spends his entire
j time with his wonderful jnusie. That ia
J really all I know about him." With that
1 the interested guests were forced to be
I content, for the player had vanished from
among them as suddenly as he appeared,
and soon the gayety resumed its sway.
At 11 o'clock the hostess seated hei
guests in a circle, saying: "Now we will
turn down the lights and tell ghost etories
till midnight. Everybody must contrib
ute something. The more gruesome and
harrowing the better," she added laugh
'ingly. The young people fell in with the
spirit of fun, and ghosts walked, hob
goblins shrieked and ghouls moaned, till
the more timid begged for mercy.
It was almost 12 o'clock when a n e*
voice suddenly broke into a momentary
| pause. Everyone looked up to see th«
musician standing in the door.
' "My friends," he said, "my story is nol
'of the spirits of the unseen world—it If
of a lad in the far-away Fatherland, whe
once, on a night like this, left home and
friends and went out into the wide world,
with music as the priestees who presided
at the altar, where burned the fires ol
his ambition. So brightly did this fire
burn that its glow hid the quieter emo
tions which lingered In the shadow, and
father and mother and home were left be
| hind. The youth had not dreamed of the
pain of broken ties—but he afterward
learned it all.
"Shipwrecked, a weary sickness and
deliverance, miscarried letter returned to
its writer long afterward—all these camj
j between the lad and his loved ones, and
when at last, overcome by the deadly
'heimweh,' he turned toward home, he
found it empty—the loved ones gone,
while the chimes in the tower which the
father had played ever since the lad had
lived, responded sadly to the touch of
strange, unfriendly hands.
"With breaking heart the lad turned
bauli to the country of his adoption, hop
ing, against hope, to find the dear ones,
who had followed him there during his
long silence. The years have passed and
the lad is a man, but the father and the
mother he has not found, nor does he ex
pect to greet them again until the New
Year of Heaven dawns for him. as he
j believes it has already dawned for them,
j So, when the midnight comes I play each
j New Year's Eve as I —as the lad played
'on that last night long ago—my message
i to my dear ones."
j The clock on the mantel warned for
! 12, and the musician turned to the piano
and played again simply and lovingly
Pleyel's hymn, singing as in the longag
the beautiful words his mother loved.
As the last note died away in the qui '
room the tower clock began to strike, but
was drowned by the music of the chimes.
A thrill ran through the hushed circle as
they recognized the strain they had just
heard, but the musician arose with a
mighty cry: "Mein Vater!" and ran out
into the night, guided by the music of the
bells.
When the old bell ringer shut the door
he could not see, for the tears that
blinded him, the hurrying figure on the
pavement. A moment later he was gath
ered close to the heart that had yearned
for him 'hrough all the space of silence
and loneliness, and together, in the open
ing of the glad New Year, they went out
from the shadow of the hell tower, home
to Elspeth, whose mother heart cams
near to bursting, with the Joy of a son's
home coming. Minneapolis House
keeper.
A HrrfmnrT Inducement.
First Tramp—l wuz at de House of
Industry on Christmas.
Second Tramp—To get yor Christ
mas dinner, I s'pose?
First Tramp—Of course. You don't
s'pose anyt'ing less dan free turkey
an' cranberry sauce *d bring me nesur
j a place wit' a name like dut? —Brook
i 1/n Life.
CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1903.
"THE NEW YEAR.
Wher» I'm wattln', walttn'.
Jessamines are white; i
Dews are drlppln", drlppln",
Through the perfumed night;
An' f'm way off yonder
Cornea the "wheel-te-wheel"
Of the happy fleldlark,
Bubblln' down to me.
An' the sun's a-shlnln'
In each drop o' dew,
Where I'm waltin'. waltln',
Wititln', here fer you;
Kr.ow you're comln', comln',
An' 1 wait fer you
•Mongst midwinter roses
Dripj-ln' wet with dew;
Know that you will bring me
Pleasure, but I know
Ev'ry bubblin' cup o' Joy
Has its dre>gs o' woe.
But I'm waiting for you
Where the dewdrops blink,
Anxious for your comln',
Dyln' for a drink; L
Waltln' for the future
You are hound to bring:
Waltln' 'mongst the dewdrops
Where the field larks sing;
Waltin' for the goblet,
Bitter-sweet an' all,
On my knees I'm waltln'.
Where the fleldlarks call.
—J. M. Lewis, in Houston Post.
ITHFhunts^l
HAPPY DAY
| A NEW YEAR. STORY B
By Ernejt Cilmort H
It was a New Year's day. There
had been a big storm and although the
wind had spent its force the snow fell
steadily.
"Regular winter weather and no mis
take about it," observed Mr. Richard
Hunt, as he came in rather noisily,
stamping the snow from his boots, "but
I like it. So cold and bracing."
Mrs. Hunt, who was sitting near an
open fire, laughed.
"I like the house best such a day as
this," she said, shivering a little. "I
don't believe I'd be willing to face the
cold, even for the sake of the bracing."
"I think I heard you say you were go
ing to see old Mrs. Heifer to-day," Mr.
Hunt remarked, as he seated himself
comfortably. "Have you changed your
mind?"
"Yes, I've changed my mind. I did
tell you that I was going to see her,
but I'll have to wait until some other
day. Poor old Mrs. Heifer!"
"Is she sick?"
"Yes."
"And I suppose she's very lonely since
her daughter died?"
"Yes."
"I shouldn't wonder If she has a con
tinual struggle to make both ends meet
since that disastrous bank failure?"
"I don't believe she does make the
ends meet. I feel very sorry for her."
"But not quite sorry enough for you
togo and sen her as you intended to do
to-day?" teasingly.
"Some other day will do as well—will
it not?" she questioned, wondering at
his persitenc«.
"Not if she needs you to-day. Come,
get on your wraps and I'll go with you."
"Why, Richard Hunt, what's got into
you? I thought you never liked togo
calling, especially at such places."
"You thought right, my dear," smil
ing pleasantly, "but can you tell me
"I GUESS Alt:. RICHARD HUNT'S A-BIN
HELPIN' THE LORD."
what there is to prevnt my turning over
a new leaf on New Year's day?"
She laughed.
"It would be a good idea," she
said.
"Well, then, encourage me in It."
"So I will."
She arose at once and was soon ready
to face the storm, with a basket on her
arm.
"What's In it?" Mr. Hunt asked, as he
relieved his wife of the basket.
"Sugar and spice and everything
nice," she quoted.
A little maid opened the door when
they reached Mrs. Heifer's. To Mr.
Hunt's question as to how the latter
was the child answered:
"She's not very well, ma'am," and
then, lowering her voice to a confiden
tial whisper, "1 guess.she's awful lone
some. She bin crying—l saw her."
The weary old face brightened when
little Polly led the callers in, but both
Mr. and Mr 3. Hunt were observant and
read "between the lines" that the dear
old lady was not only sorrowful but
troubled.
"I wish you a Happy New Year," said
Mrs. Hunt, taking the thin old hands in
a close grasp.
"Happy New Year!" Mr. Hunt
eehoed, his greedaj as cordial aa his
Wife's.
"Thank you," responded the old lady
warmly, "and I wtab vou both a Happy
New Year."
"We had a fine turltey for dinner to
day," said Mr. Hunt, "and I rather think
my wife brought you a piece," uncover
ing the basket. "Yes, sure enough, her«
It Is!"
"Now, Dick," said his wife, "you've
made your speech; sit down, please."
He sat down with a sigh, pretending to
feel hurt. He looked so comical that
Mrs. Heifer's spirits arose so far Chat
she laughed.
"I am greatly obliged to you both for
remembering me," she said. "I'm going
to confess that I've been longing for
some turkey for a week and now here it
is."
The trio chatted pleasantly for a llttla
while and then Mr. Hunt arose sudden
ly.
"I've thought of an errand or two," he
said. "You two can have the floor to
yourselves until I return. I'll not be
gone long." He met the small maid in
the hall.
"Polly," he said, "I don't want to pry
into Mrs. Heifer's affairs, but I'm really
anxious to know if she has everything
she needs. She's an old friend, you
know, and a friend of my mother's.
Does she need anything, Polly?"
"jes, sir, 'deed she do; but she didn't
say so. She ain't no complainer—that's
what she ain't. She ain't had no coffee
since—since—"
"Goon Polly, talk fast. Since when?"
"Since her money took wings an'
flew. I dunno where it flew to, but that's
what someone said —it flew, an' she
don't hev butter no more. I wanted to
tell the grocer's boy we was out, but
Mrs. Heifer she _say: 'No, not now,
Polly; scjmegather time.' "
"It doesn't hardly warm enough
In the house, Pd*, Do you have plenty
of coal?"
" I hat's what we don't, sir," she said,
with decision. "We'm jess about out. I
guess by to-morrer it'll be all gone. Miss
Heifer's a'most a shakln' with cold
sometimes. She had two shawls aroun'
her when you rung the bell, but she took
'em off."
Mr. Hunt had heard enough-—quite
enough.
"Poor, dear old «touI!" he said to him
self, as he went oi?X ta hi# ministering
journey.
He kept his promise—*e was not gone
He put a bunch ot bright carna
tions into the old lady's t-*ad and then
he said to his wife smilingly ttat it was
time to "move on."
Polly let them out of the front door
Returning to the room, she found the
old lady in a rapture of joy. There wore
tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.
The fragrant, rosy carnations were still
in her hand. On a low chair beside her
was the basket the Hunts had brought.
"Look, Polly," she cried, in a giee that
was like a child's.
And Polly looked and laughed. What
she saw was a plate of sliced turkey,
dainty biscuit, a print of butter, a mince
pie, a frosted plum cake, oranges, grapes,
nuts, raisins and candy.
"Oh, my!" cried Polly, "what a fins
New Year we do be havin" after all!"
Presently the grocer's boy delivered a
heavily filled basket and a message.
"Tell yer missus Buck Bowers sed he'd
be here to-morrer mornin' at eight
o'clock sure."
"What for?" asked the amazed
Polly.
"What for?" mockingly. "Why, to
bring the load o' coal, of course."
"Oh, my gracious! I b'lieve there's
fairies aroun' —I do so!" and after clos
ing the door on the grocer's boy Polly
felt Inclined to stand on her head by
way of celebrating the delightful new
state of things.
She left the basket standing In the hall,
as it was too heavy for her to attempt to
carry, but she could smell the coffee and
took that package with her, also two or
three more.
"Oh, Miss Heifer," she exclaimed,
"another big basket's come, an' it's jes'
full o' everything. Here's coffee fer you
—an' —tea an' sugar. An' to-morrer
ther's a big load o' coal a-comin'."
"Polly!"
"Yes, mum."
"What does it mean—all that great
basket of things you're telling about
and the coal coming to-morrow?"
"I dunno."
"But who sent the groceries? Who is
going to send the coal?"
Polly looked mystified. She stood
boring the toe of her old shoe into the
rug. Suddenly a light broke over her
face.
"I guess it's the Lord, ma'am. You
sed the Lord ud provide—l heard you—
an' He's done it."
The old lady folded her hands.
"Bless the Lord, oh, my soul!" she
said, fervently.
"I've thought of something, Miss Hei
fer," Polly suddenly broke out, excited
ly. "I guess Mr. Richard Hunt's a-bin
tfelpin' the Lord."
The old lady smiled.
"We have the same thoughts about it,
Polly, you and I," she said.
"Don't be waiting till the sorrow
All lias passed away;
Don't be waiting till to-morrow.
Smile a bit to-day.
When the clouds all dull and dreary
Hang about the earth,
That Is when a greeting cheery
Counts for what It's worth."
—Christian Intelligencer.
Her Observation.
"Charley, dear," said young Mrs.
Torkins, "I am sometimes sorry that
Christmas does not come on the 28th
of the month instead of the 25th."
"I don't see why."
"I have observed Ingoing through
the shops that so many things are
cheaper on the 27th than they are oa
the 24th." —Washington Star.
Rltcn for tUe Old Year.
Little Mabel had been taken by her
parents to a New Year's watch party,
and as the clock struck 12, some one
shouted, "The old year is dead; hurrah
for the new!"
"Mamma," said sleepy Mabel, "w!U
we have to stay for the funeral?"—
Cl«velaad Leader.
A Happy
New Year's Day
By
BERTHA E. QOODIEB
"Now, Elsie Lawrence," the girl se
verely addressed the woful reflection in
the great glass door of the station, "I
hope you're not going to cry. Remem
ber, you're much too old for such child
ishness. It does seem bad that father
must go home, and on New Year's
day of all days, but you must be brave,
as he said, and have just as happy a
New Year's day as you can."
It did seem hard to be left all alone.
They had come to this wonderful city,
Elsie Lawrence and her father, and ar
rangements had been made for placing
the girl in a seminary.
When Elsie Lawrence walked
through the beautiful marble-tiled sta
tion and stood looking out at the white
world that lay before her it seemed
that the tears must come, for she was,
oh, so lonely.
Outside it was just as crisp and as
clear and as sunshiny as a New Year's
lay should be. The snow sparkled with
a million diamond lights, and sifted
onto the roofs and the trees a tender
white covering that made the city seem
a fairy-land. Elsie dreaded to face that
biting cold. It was so pleasant and
warm inside. But, surely, one could not
spend New Year's day In the waiting
room of the station. As she went down
the broad avenue toward Miss Morgan's
seminary Elsie quite forgot the cold
and the loneliness in the interest of
watching the people who were hurry
ing this way and that. It made her a
little sad, too, when she thought that
everyone in all the great city was hav
ing a happy time except herself. Every
one, It seemed, had some place togo;
sleighloads of young people were pass
ing, and often they cried out "Happy
New Year!" to someone on the street.
Elsie thought of the girls at home, in
Fairhaven, and she wondered what they
would say if they could see her, standing
on the corner of two broad streets,
wishing so earnestly that she knew
someone on whom she might make a
New Year's call. With a clatter and a
rush and much sliding of wheels over
the shining track, a great yellow car
I
"ELSIE STAYED JUST LONG ENOUGH
TO SEE THEM TUCKED A WAV IN
LITTLE BEDS."
stopped before her, and was now un
loading its human freight. Over its
windows it bore the sign, "California
Street!"
California street! Elsie's eyes bright
ened. Impulsively she ran forward
and was soon whirling along in the car.
She was no longer sad; no longer lonely,
for she was going to make a New Year's
call on the Washingtons—George, Mar
tha, Abraham Lincoln, Andrew Jackson,
Arathusa and Amaryllis. She had
been to see them once before. On the
day of her arrival Miss Morgan had ta
ken her to the miserable little shanty,
and now she was going to see if she |
might not bring a little sunshine to the !
six little orphans, whose mother had !
died but the month before.
She picked her way carefully among j
the ash heaps and tomato cans that lit
tervd Moxey's alley till she stood on the ■
little doorstep and pushed open the
rickety door. And what a sight met her \
eyes! The six little Washingtons sat 1
huddled about a stove in which a few
coals gleamed faintly. Martha the eld-1
eet, a girl about Elsie's age, crouched |
on a stool, and in her arms she held j
Baby Amaryllis, so swathed in a ragged !
quilt that she looked like a little pap- '
poose. Abraham Lincoln crept close to !
Martha's knee, and was whimpering j
with the cold. Andrew Jackson and his
twin, Arathusa, were huddled together,
while George Washington, the man of
the family now, was searching the dim
oornetß of the bare room, hoping against
hope that som« bit of coal might be
there.
Martha explained In a dull, hopeless
eort of way, all that Elsie had guessed
at a glance.
"Mammy, she lef* us all alone, an'
thar ain't nuthin' to eat, an' no money
to buy none. I couldn't goto work
6crubbin" count o' the awful cold I cotch,
an' George Washington, he ain't no
bigger'n a minute, an' folks won't give
blm no sidewalks ter shuvcl. I 'clar' ter
goodness. Missy, I don' know what i
goin" to come o' we all, 'cause mammy |
allwus said it wus better fer to starve
ner to beg."
"Well, you needn't beg, Martha, and I
you're not going to starve on New Year's
day. You just bundle those children j
up, for I'm going to take you all to some
place where It ia bright and beautiful, |
and oh, as warm as summer-time!"
in contrast with her present sur- !
rouudings the great, line depot eeemed
all this. Martha obeyed
and It was a strange little procession
that filed out of the darkness of Moxey's
alley and a very breathless company
that clambered into Jerry Fiynn's hack,
which Elsie had hailed in the grandest
i mamer possible. Jerry Flynn trembled
for the moment at the thought of his
bright broadcloth linings, yet there was
no need. The little Washingtons Mttre
as clean as soap and water would make
them. 1 heir little black faces had been
scrubbed till they fairly shone, and
now that hunger and cold were forgot
ten in the joy of riding with this beau
tiful lady who had said that she would
take them to some place where It was
warm like summer-time, their black eyes
were shining, too.
"To the Union depot." Elsie had told
Jerry Flynn, and at the station they
shortly alighted. "How much?" asked
the girl, holding in her hand the crisp
new two-dollar bill her father had
given her that morning.
Well, ma'am, my rates is a quarter
apiece," began the smiling Jerry.
A quarter apiece!" Elsie made a
rapid mental count. "Oh, I won't have
any money left to buy them something
to eat!"
But seeing it's New Year's," went on
the hackman, "give me half a dollar,
ma am, an' we'll call it square," and
Jerry Flynn was rewarded by the smile
in Elsie's eyes.
It was as warm as summer-time, and
oh, so beautiful. At first the little
guests could only sit In a solemn little
row, staring wide-eyed at the marble
pillars and glittering chandeliers. They
made the quaintest picture, and every
one stared and then smiled; and after
awhile the Washingtons began to smile,
too, and to feel less strange and tonudgo
one another and whisper together in the
jolliest-way. Elsie, meanwhile, was
holding earnest conversation with the
proprietor of the lunch counter.
"Hut you see," she said, "I have only
a dollar and a half, and I must keep
something to get back with. Six cup'a
of coffee at ten cents would be CO cents,
and six pieces of pie at ten cents —oh,
how can I ever buy enough for those
poor children!"
"Beg pardon, ma'am, but I didn't
know you was buyin' for that orphan
asylum over there. Possibly I could!
find enough for you for a dollar. How's
that? I'll take the contract of fillin*
them up for a dollar."
And Elsie was glad to accept tht*
really generous offer. They had pie and
coffee and sandwiches and pork and
beans. Some of the articles, of course,
were not as salable as they might have
j been a few days before, but the Wash
! ingtons did not mind this in the least,
but just ate and ate, pausing every now
and then to smile tenderly at Elsie.
When at last no ono would have an
other piece of pie or another orange,
the children rolled up on the soft cush
ions and went to sleep for all the world
like cozy little kittens. Elsie took the
queer bundle from Martha's tired arms
and fixed her own coat against the bench
that the girl might rest better. Then
she sat for a long time looking about
, her at her charges, and thinking what a
i funny way it was to spend New Year's
j day. The station policeman, who had
j had his eye on them for a long time,
! came forward now. "Were you waitin*
1 for a train, ma'am?" he asked, touching
his cap.
"No —oh, no, thank you," said Elaie,
looking sweetly up at him.
His words put an anxious thought
into the girl's mind. What were they
waiting for, after all? Where could
they go now? She listened to the ris
i ing wind and saw the sleet driven
against the window. Oh, how could they
face the storm —poor Martha Washing
ton and these little ones? What could
they do but wait? And for whom —un-
less it be the Father of the fatherless?
It was a comfortable thought, and when,
after another space of anxious watch
ing, the policeman again came forward
and said kindly, "Won't you tell me who
you're waiting for?" Elsie smiled
through the tears that would come, and
answered solemnly, "We're wating for
the Father of the fatherless."
He was a very kind-hearted police
man, and perhaps was remembering a
little blue-eyed girl of his own as he
listened to the simple story, for h«»
drew one rough hand across his eyes and
said: "Well, little girl, I guess yoti
don't need to worry about them kids no
longer, for I'll just call up the patrol and
take them over to the police station in
no time, and in the morning we'll see if
we can't get them into the colored
orphan's home. I guess the Father of
the fatherless was lookin' out for them
all the time, so you needn't worry no
more."
* • • • • •
Elsie staryed just long enough to see
them tucked away in little white beds
by the kind-hearted matron, then the
policeman took her back to the school.
Miss Morgan was looking anxiously
from one of the windows as the strange
pair came up the long stairs.
"Why, Elsie Lawrence," she cried,
"what on earth 1b the matter? Where
have you been?"
When she heard the story. Miss Mor
gan sat silent for a long time, and there
was a suspicion of tears in her voice as
she said: "Well, little girl, I think you
have had a very happy New Year, fa
deed." —Detroit Free Press.
Sons tor th< New Year.
A song for the New Year—lts hopes aiuk
its fears,
And never a song that is saddened by tears;
A song that shall ring and shall sing to
the years—
A song of a brighter to-morrow!
A song tor the New Year—forgetting tha
old
Whose story in sunshine and shadow was
told;
A song of the Joys that Love's dear arias
shall hold —
A song of brighter to-morrow.
A song of a gree«i world and bluest of
skies;
A song of a sun that in splendor shall rise;
The joy's In Love's heart, and the light s
In Love's eyes.
And the world aeus e. brighter to-morrow!
—IP. L. Star,ton, la Atlanta Constitution.