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About The Nebraska advertiser. (Nemaha City, Neb.) 18??-1909 | View Entire Issue (March 2, 1906)
THE GARDEN OF FORGIVENESS. Thoro 1h n garden, fur, ol), for away, Kept for tho hoiiIh who sinned and Buffered moBt The sword of Ood forever guards tho way, And round It hordent camps u heavenly hoot IA gentle wind breathes through the tufted grasa, ' nich with the scent of roses In their bloom. ' . ".' 'i ' And, with tho wind, all sins and sorrows pass, Leaving a sweet contentment In their room. Hero are no troubles; hero are nono that weep; Here come no thought of sadness or despair! But fairest flowers, In fullest beauty, Bleep; And softest sunlight fills tho dreaming air. Tho murmurlngs of fountains, low and sweet, Forever fill tho enr and never ceaso, Soothing the silence with a gcntlo beat, Like kindly voices speaking words of peace. 'And here, forever and forever, rest 'IMwi it'oni'v uinlu iitiliiirilnrifid nf (llilf Hill! And cursed things ore here forgiven and blessed; And wicked hearts are made all clean within. -Bortrond Slmdwcll, In Chicago Evening Tost. Wj I & W.8. THE yomu man paused at the head of tho darkening street. It was not a pleasant i-ilghborhood. Tho homos were old anil shabby, the street Itself was Aarrow and roughly paved. Here and there dim lights were beginning to appear behind the grimy windows. Tho young man was more or loss fa miliar with the streets of the poor. Me only hesitated because he hadn't quite determined whether he would keep on down tho hill to tho river or turn at this crossing. It mattered little to him. Ills time was his own. lie was walk ing partly because he enjoyed walk ing, and partly because It gave him opportunities to see life In new phases and tho life of his followmnn was Interesting to him, more ospoenlly In teresting when It Illustrated the strug gle for existence, as It did In theso poverty-marked dwellings. Ho turned and walked down tho lonely cross street. The night wind blow stronger In the narrow and fun-uol-llko thoroughfare, and despite the flood dinner he had Just enjoyed and tho warm clothing ho wore he shiver ed a little in the October air. ITe stopped before ono of the shabby houses and buttoned his sack coat. As ho turned to go a. voice from within tho lower room startled him. "Is there anybody there?" It was a child's voice, shrill and querulous. For a momnt he could not tell whence It came. "I hear somebody. Why don't you unswerV" The young man turned to the door. "What do you want?" lie called. "Come in an' I'll tell you." The young man hesitated. Then he pushed open the door and found him self In a little entry way. A steep Hlght of stairs arose from this and at the right a door opened into an Inner room. ' "Where are you?" he called. "In here," the shrill voice replied. "Tho door ain't locked." Tho young man pushed open the In ner door and entered. Tho room was quite dark. He closed the door be hind him and paused with his hand on tho knob. "Hotter have a light, I think," ho said. "Yes," said the child's voice. "There's a candle on the mantle an there's u lamp on the table. Ain't you got i) mutch?" A blue thune leaped from the match that the stranger struck on his shoe sole, and by its light he found tho candle. Then he looked about tho room. It was ut onco kitchen and dining room. A small cook stove stood In front of the lire place and a cup hoard with shelves tilled one corner. In tho middle of the room was a table with a cloth laid and a few dishes upon it. The stranger took all this In with a hurried gUnee, and then his gusto rested on an alcove at the rear of tho room, for In. this alcove was a couch and on the couch some one was lying. Holding the candle n littlo higher he took a step forward. "Hollo," said tho child's voice. It -was a boy's voice and it had suddenly lost much of Its shrillness. "Hello," said the stranger. "Are you pretty well this evening?" , "I am pretty well, thank you." ! "I'm pretty bad," suid the boy. ' 'Tm sorry. What Is the trouble. "Rheumatism." lie drew u long breath. "It's tho weather makes It worse. An' this house ain't good for it. Can't sou stay a little while?" wJ'Vhyj yes;' ,Uio stamper answered, Roso as lie placed tlie canine on l.ne tame "111 stay if you want mo." lie put his hat and gloves on the chair and stood by the couch. A pair of keen, gray eyes looked up at him. A head cover ed with curly light hair tried to nod at him. "I was afraid you wouldn't come when I hollered," said tho querulous voice. "I heard you wulkln' an' I knew you stopped you hear things pretty sharp when you ain't got noth ln' to do but listen an I was afraid that you was goiu' on again an' I hol lered. Did you hear mo th' first time?" "I guess I did," tho stranger an swered. He drew a chair beside tho couch. "Isn't there something I can do for you " "I feel better Just to have you here!" said Uio boy. "When there ain't no body but only mo an' the pain In th' room It always seems like It was big ger an' worser than it Is. Ain't In no great hurry, are you?" "No," tho stranger answered. "I'm In no hurry. Hut why aro you left alone?" He reached forward as he spoke and softly stroked the boy's thin hand. " 'Course I'm alone most all day, 'cause sister goes out sewln', an' I'm alone to-night 'cause when sister came homo she said I was worse an' so she went right after some med'clnc. It's tli' dlstrlck doctor, an It's quite a ways,' an' most always he ain't at home. Did you ever rub a person?" "No," the stranger answered, "but I'd be glad to learn." The boy drew a quick breath and shut his teeth together. "its m my duck," no faintly ex plained. "Yes, there. A little more to the side. Harder, please. No, you don't hurt me." He drew another long breath, but this time he followed It with u quick smile. "That's better al ready. You're a splendid rubber ouro nana is so sinooin air you bear down so tlrm. Sister Is a good one, too, but she ain't very strong, an' she most always comes home pretty tired. Ain't you tired yet?" "Oh, no," laughed the stranger. "This is easy. Sure I hit tho right "I feel most well. Tho paln't there now. rieaso don't rub any more." The stranger straightened up and looked down ut the white face of the lad. "What's your name?" "Joe, Joe Arnold." "Well, Joe, what next?" "What next?" 'T" "What else can I do for you?" "Can't stay any longer, can you?" "Yes." "Not till sister comes?" "If you want me to stay." "Want you! Say, I'd I'd just love to have you." His voice trembled. "Of course I'll stay," said the strait ger hastily. "I don't like to be alone In tho dark," tho lad seemed to find It necessary to explain. "An', an no, I ain't a baby don't think It. Hut I guess I get kind o' rattled In tho dark you sow how I was. An' well, .1 ain't, good company for myself." "That's all right," said the stranger. "I guess there aro times when wo all foci tho same way. wimi no you Hay to lighting the lamp? "Yes," said tho boy. "Do you know how?" "Do 1 look as stupid as that?" "No, uo," said the boy hastily. "I meant that you look us if. you .was u man who was used to 'lectxlc lights. Thut'a ull I meant" Tho stranger laughed as ho bent over tho lamp. When he had It light ed ho looked around. Tho room was neat and clean, und u, low flro burned In the stove. "Getting hungry?" ho asked. "Yes, I am," tho boy answered. "When I had tho pain I didn't think of It You see, when sister goes away she leaves something for mo whero I can get it Cruckers an' milk, maybo, or maybo JUBt bread an' butter. But I've drank all my milk an' oaten all my crackers, an' now I'm ready for somethln' more. You won't mind If I don't try to get up, will you?" "Certainly not," replied tho stran ger. "You can He there and toll mo what to do." Tho boy Htarcd at him. "What can you do?" "Mako myself useful, perhaps." "Hut how can you work In those clothes 7" "Watch me." He took off his coat and hung It on a convenient hook. "Hotter poke up tho fire, I guess." "Hay, you ought to wait till sister comes. I ain't so very hungry, really an' truly; an' maybe there ain't much to eat in tho house. She always brings homo somethln' -If she has the money." The stranger stirred the flro and added a lump or two of coal. "What's next teakettle?" "Yes. Th' water Is In the back room. Take the candle." The stranger smilingly seized tho kettle and taking up tho candle (lis apeparod through tho Inner doorway. The boy could hear him humming some old song as he crossed the creaky flooring. In a moment or two he was back with tho kettle and had it over tho lire. "How long have you been sick, Joe" "Five weeks an' two days." Tho stranger stooped and dusted off the hearth. "What brought It on?" "Guess it was workln' In u damp basement, Blr. I helped with th' pack- in'." Tho stranger took down his coat and put it on. Then ho reached for his hat. Tho boy choked up a littlo. "Goln', sir?" "Not far." The boy breathed again. "I'm glad you put the kettle on, sir." "Why?" "Because when sister came homo an' I told her about you comln' here an chasin' th' pain away, she'd say It was all a dream. An' then I'd point to th' kettle an' laugh 'cause she knows I couldn't put It there. An' then she couldn't say a word. Where are you goln', sir?" The stranger laughed. "I'm going out to do a little shop ping," he said. "Perhaps you can tell me where tho nearest open grocery Is?" "It's Engelhelm's, sir. Just around the next comer, lie s German an' al ways gives good measure an' ho keeps open evenings." "I can find It." Ho knit his brows. "I'm afraid." ho said, "Unit an oyster stew Is about all I'm equal to. Do you like oysters?" The boy moistened his lips. "I think they're tine," he cried. "Hut sister says they're very expensive." "Well, we'll hear what Engelholm says. Look tor mo m twenty min utes." "You'll surely come back?" "Surely." As the door closed behind him the boy's face suddenly clouded. Then his sharp eyes stared hard at the lamp and at the kettle on the stove. The cloud disappeared and he smiled. "I'll bet he'll come back," he mut tered and smiled again and fell to whistling. It was less than twenty minutes. It couldn't have been more than fifteen. The stranger's arms were filled with bundles. 'I made a bet that you'd come back," said the boy. "You win," laughed tho stranger. "Didn't I hour somebody whistling Just now?" "That was me," said the boy. "1 was whistlln' an tho kettle was sing in'. Better move It back." "Good," said the stranger. "We'll stop that little song." lie laid Ills packages on the table and then pushed the kettle back on the stove. Tho boy's bright eyes glistened. "Somethln' like Christmas, ain't It?" he murmured. Tho stranger laughed as he busied himself about the stove. "It takes snow and a tree, and a Avreath In tho window, and a slocking by the chimney to make a real Christ mas," he said. "You can't make it with Just oysters and crackers and celery and oranges." "Say, that sounds good," .cried the boy. Then he shook his head reproach fully. "Didn't you know oranges ws 5 cents aploce?" "And none too good at that," said tho stranger. "Hut your friend, the German grocer, let me have a picked dozen for GO cents. I told him tliev I were for you uud ho fieut an extra big soon bo well 1 I m I ono and hoped you wonld again." Thero was a little silence "I'm sorry I tipped over his ash barrel," said the boy. "Oh, he's forgotten all about that," cried tho stranger. "Uo thinks you nro u very fair sort of a boy, and ho soys you have an uncommonly nice sister. I hope you appreciate her?" Thero was another brief silence. "That's right" cried the stranger. Ho clattered about tho stove a littlo longor and then turned to tho boy. "If I know tho symptoms," ho said, "your Btow Is ready. Can you be propped up In bed to eat It?" "Sure," said the boy. "There's an extra cushion on tho chair over thero." So ho was duly propped up with n napkin tied under his chin, and a chair with tho crackers and tho celery on It bcsldo tho couch, and tho bowl of steaming stow put on his knees. "If It isn't seasoned right call the cook," said the strunger as ho seated himself near the boy. "It's great!" cried tho lad as ho sipped a spoonful. And then on this littlo tableau the door opened and a young woman en tered. "Ho wasn't In his ofllce," she said, and suddenly stopped and stared from the stranger to the bivy and then back to the stronger. The latter had risen and was look ing at her with a pleasant smile. Ho saw that she was pale, a paleness that was heightened by her black frock a girl of perhaps eight and twenty who looked as if life was a constant and wearying struggle. She entered so suddenly that the startled boy spluttered a little over his spoonful of stew. "Sister," he said with a little gasp, "you should always kiroek before you come In didn't you know I might have company? This is my sister, sir. Em inn, this is Mister " "Greer," said the stranger. Tho stranger put out his hand nnd tho girl hesitatingly met the friendly advance. "I am pleased to meet you, Miss Arnold," he said. Then he looked around at tho boy. "Joe," he added, "perhaps you'd better explain how I happen to be here." "Take off your hat, Emma," said the boy, "and sit down. It was this way. I was getting awful bad on' I called out an' tills gentleman came In an' he rubbed the pain away an' ho said, 'Are you hungry?' an' I said I was, an he bought tho oysters an the oranges an' cooked 'em an' they're the best ever." And ho hastily took another spoonful. "That's really all thero Is to It," said the stranger. "Except that thero Is another bowlful of tho stew and it's piping hot and Joe and I insist upon your eating It' He placed a chair at the table in n nioment and bowed the reluctant girl , into it, and brought the steaming stow to her and then turned back to the boy. And tho boy nodded up at him In evident approval and went on dispos ing of his soup. "You aro very kind, sir," said the girl. "Are you a doctor?" And she looked up. The boy laughed. "lie's better 'n forty-'leven doctors." "I'm nothing as useful as a doctor," tho stranger sold, "I can't understand It all," she said, "but you seem to have been of some use here. When I hurried away that poor boy was in torments and now look at hiiiii" The stranger did look at him and the youngster chuckled. "Joe and I aye pretty good friends," the stranger said, "and I have boon thinking out a way of proving our friendship. This is no place for him of course I understand why ho re mains here. But If he was placed in a sanitarium that I know about, such a bright and cheerful place, he would soon be well again. You must let me put him there. And 1 think there would be little trouble in securing a room in the neighborhood for your- sen. les, yes. you are going to say mat an uus costs money, mil you are not to bother yourself about that. We want to get Joe on his feet again where he can be of some help to you and himself. You are to leave all the details to me. And now that this Is understood I will bid you good night." lie arose and took up his hat "One moment," said the girl and her noise was a little tremulous. "They were talking about a Mr. Greer at Mrs. DeGormo's where I wns sowing last week, a Mr. Dunham Greer. If you are Mr. Dunham Greer I think 1 can understand this better." "1 am. Ami may I ask what they said about me?" "Vnn wim'r ton! I111H It I inU vnnV" "Oil, no." And ho smiled oncour oglngly. "They they said your very rich father had spoiled you. That you did as you pleased and lived as you pleas ed, and Unit you were a very unusual young man. instead oi spending your money as other rich young men would do, vou went about lindlng oppor tunities for doing good in out of the- I way pla c and among the queerest people. They shook their heads about you, sir. I I ara afraid thoy dldn t niiltn nnnrOVC." nnlto annrove. There were tears in nor voice as sua ... i 1 A. t. . . said this and the boy started at u In amazement. Dunham Greer paused nt tho door. Ills smile was very bright I'm glad you told me this," ho . . . nit said. "Being so young mere is sun a chance for mo to reform. But of course the present caso has nothing to do with Oils queer infirmity oc mine. I happened In hero qulto by: chance." Tho girl arose and looked from tho boy to tho man. "Do you call it chance, sir," vras softly said. "Bcllove mo, it was some thing hotter and nobler and Higher than that." Grit . NEW TYPE OF LONDONER. Cluirnctcrlntlc of ainn Who DriT OlllllllMlfl. New times, new customs; new cus toms, new men. And so it Is that tho era of the motor-omnibus has created a new typo of man in our modern London. Ho Is tho man who drives tho mo tor-omnibus. Sharp as a dart, keen, Argus-eyed, alert for any emergency, he Is tho .Mercury of tho twentieth century. Obstruction is to him an in teresting problem easy to solve. Ho has the speed of the bare whero It only seems possible for tho tortoise to move, lie scoffs at the dense traf fic of tho London streets, and darts-' through it with a cynical laugh of his motor horn. '. An Illustration of the readiness with' which the aforeti?iie drivers of horses -for the majority of tho motorists previously handled the reins havo adapted themselves to the now ordci of tilings was recently afforded a rcp resentatlve of the Daily Mall, whot seated alongside tho driver, travcle on a Vanguard from the Elephant and Castle to Cricklcwood. The omlnbus, carrying a full complement of thirty- four passengers, weighing seven and a half tons, and yet tho driver steered its vast bulk In and out of tho chaotlo maze of trafllc at the Elephant and Castle with a nicety, certainty, and speed that was truly amazing. Shaving past within seven or eight inches of the off wheels of dilatory horsed omnibuses, Hashing along a row of stationary electric tramway, cars, spinning around carts, drojs, and the like, tho Vanguard man never for u moment hesitated or mado a mistake. And that, too, despite a thick fog which gave everything a shadowy, indefinite appearance. w All other clusscs of vehicles were mi passed, except private motor cars. Tha horsed omnibuses looked foolish as they blundered stolidly along. But there was no suggestion of risk In tills speedy, agreeable method of loeoino- tion. Keen, Intelligent watchfulness was depicted on the Vanguard man's face as it peered steadfastly through tho fog. Not for a moment during tho nine-mile Journey did ho turn his head. Before him was a little mirror which reflected the interior of the om nibus, and enabled him to see when a passenger wished to alight should the conductor 1m collecting tho outsido fares. At his left hand was a plnloa brake. Within his hands he held tho steering wheel. Guiding tho great throbbing car, applying ono or othcP of the brakes, blowing tho "hooter," attending to a dozen lubricators so ar ranged that he need not divert his glance from before him, the hands and feet of tho Vanguard man never rest ed and they never erred. Loudon Mall. ItilMc of mi Auto Driver. A man who has several times been. arrested for exceeding the speed limit in his automobile Avent across tha North river recently and was sworn. in as a special constable In Now Jer sey, says tho New loric sun. lie goo his badge and then tho fun began He went over to Jersey with his ma chine and with a party of friends set; all the speed laws at defiance. Whllo running along an olllcer stopped him., The special constable at once throws open his coat and displayed his badge., "Just arrested tho chauffeur of this! machine and left him at Morristown.1 Thero was no one to take theso peon pie home, and so I am running thoj machine. Have got to hurry, too."' Off he went. He has worked that several times,, times,, g howl idgo is I . and his lrleuds aro wondorlnir long it will bo before his badge taken away. Uulti: HunIkiicmI. Mrs. Naggers Have you forgotten) that this is our twenty-flftli annlver-' sary? Mr. Naggers (wearily) No; I've not forgotten, but I've focglvcn. Tales. The combination of wealth until generosity In a bachelor undo beats tills fairy godmother business by aj thousand miles. Ono of the greatest problems to a! man Is what become of tho money her earned six months egt,