Image provided by: University of Nebraska-Lincoln Libraries, Lincoln, NE
About The Nebraska advertiser. (Nemaha City, Neb.) 18??-1909 | View Entire Issue (March 31, 1899)
r ' L '1 ? US. WHIT A KICK drew up her little brown and white pony with an ex pression of disgust on her face itnd wnited until the wagon, with the long box covered with nn old black shawl, had passed her on its wny to the village burying ground. "Another pauper's funeral," Mrs. Whitaker murmured, looking over her shoulder, as she drove on past the town farm. Again Anne Whitakcr's lips curled. "Old men and funerals, right next door;" and this time she struck the slow-moving pony a gentle blow with her equally slow-moving whip. Now Mrs. Anne Whitaker was not a hnrdili carted woman. She was only an Indignant land owner who found her haiuUomc farmhouse almost ruined for residential and property purposes by its proximity to the poor farm. This farm, adjoining Mrs. Whitakcr's, had been, left to the town last year. "It's not that I don't want, the pau pers to be comfortable," said Mrs. Whitaker, as the pony trotted up the driveway toward the barn; "but 1 must say I don't care to have them right un der my nose." Mrs. Whitaker, not finding her man about, unharnessed the pony and led him into the stall and then went in doors to duseuss with Hannah, the only other occupant, of the big house, the disadvantages of the locality. Meantime in the poorhouse, next door, a. little child was sobbing her heart out in an upper room. "You hadn't oughter have taken her away before her niotQicr died, if she did make a fuss," said the daughter of the woman who looked after the poor farm, "I'm agoin' up to see her." She went up two flights of stairs to the garret room where a child was seated on an old box in the corner. The child stopped crying, half frightened n she entered. The girl sat down on. a trunk opposite "Look here, Uuth, you mustn't cry any longer," commanded the matron's daughter. "1 want my mother," sobbed the child, with new Courage. The girl hesitated a moment. "Well, you can't have your mother," she an swered at last, frankly, "she's dead, und gone to Heaven." "Oh," said the child, slowly, "you didn't tell me. Mamma said she thought she was going to die, but they didn't tell me; they just carried me nwuj" "Well, for gracious sakes!" cried' the girl; "you took on so about her beiif sick that we had to. You ain't goin' to cry any more, arc you?" she added, coaxingly. "No, 1 ain't," answered the child, gravely. "There, that's a good girl;" the ma tron's daughter rose and gave the dark locks an affectionate rub. "I knew you wasn't goin' to be naughty." The girl went downstairs and left Uuth sitting very still upon the box in the corner and thinking hard, with her eyes fixed on a cobweb just across the garret. "My mamma has died1 nncl gone to Heaven," the child meditated, solemn ly. "1 told her if she went up to Heaven first, the next thing she knew she'd look around and see hie there. I ain't going to stay in this horrid place without her. I'm going to die myself and go and see her, right straight' off. 1'I1 put on my best nightgown, and I'll lie down in the bed and put some flow ers at my head" some kind person had placed a bouquet by her mother's bed the last time Uuth had seen Her lying sick and still "and then I'll die and go to Heaven." She rose now nntl, stepping to the window, peered' be tween the dusky festoons at the blue sky, as if she expected to see the angels already descending to benr her away. At last she went quietly down the stairs; she must find the flowers first, and to go out of doors by the back way she must pass through the kitchen. The girl was at the stove frying dough nuts, and looked up as Uuth entered. "Hullo," she said; "have a dough nut?" These doughnuts were not for the in mates of the farm, and it was n rare honor to be offered one. l-'or a mo ment Uuth forgot her errnnd, it was so warm and sweet. While she was eatr ing it, standing close by the fire, the girl's mother, who was sitting in the kitchen, spoke: "To think to-morrer should be Easter." "I know it; I hope it'll be pleasant." "What is Kaster?" asked Uuth. tim idly. "I'iw sakes! what a heathen she is," cried the woman. "Kaster," said the girl, oracularly, buluucing u doughnut on the end of her IIP fork, "Is the day when Christ rose from the dead, as ull the dead shnll rise." Uuth, as she stood in the corner, ate her doughnut and pon lercd over the words. "I guess to-morrow'll be the best day to die In," she decided, watching with hungry eyes as the girl bore the pan of doughnuts oft to the matron's private larder; "that's the day the dead shall all rise." The next morning brought Easter, a fair and glad day for many as well as for little Uuth; for was not this to be the day on which she should rise to her mother in the skies? She went out into the garden directly after breakfast to gather some flowers. After much searching Uuth discovered in a swamp far from the house, a pussy-willow bush, with the catkins clinging gray and soft to the shining brown twigR. She picked a great bunch of these and bore them home in triumph. Suddenly she remembered something; her moth er's lament the night before she lost nil knowledge of where she wns, that she must die in the poor farm; how bad she felt about that. "I don't think mamma'd want me to die here," she murmured, with a little sob of disap pointment in her voice. It was at dusk of that Easter day when a little white-robed figure stole softly out of the bnck door of the poor house, and, creeping slowlj nlong in the shadow, came at last to Mrs. Whlt nkcr's bnck gate. Then it fnirly Hew up the pathway, and paused at the door. But the door was locked, and there wns no kej- in sight. A sudden memory came to Uuth of the day when she had' been to walk with the girl at the poor farm, and the girl had taken the key from under the mat. She reached down now and felt benenth the mat. Yes, there it was. She fitted the key in the door, turned it quickly and found herself in Mrs. Whitakcr's pleas ant kitchen, where the fire glowed in a safe, subdued fashion, and the dining room showed through the half-open door. Hut. Uuth wasted scarce a glance on these beauties. She had seen the brown and white pony go down the road some time since, and she planned LOOKING OVER THE LITTLE WHITE FIGUIIE. to die and be done with it before the pony's owner should return. She wiped her cold bare feet care fully on the kitchen rug; it appeared to her most fitting to die in bare feet; then, holding the big bunch of pussy willows closely, she crept softly up the stairs to the handsome square- cham bers. She was awestruck with their size and grandeur, and it took her some time to decide which one was suitable for her laying out; but at last, she se lected Mrs. Whitakcr's own bedroom. She placed the pussy-willows in a vase on the table at. the head of tho bed, and then she opened the window wide. "I should think that would be big enough for the angels to get me through, if they're careful," she said, aloud; she had not seen her mother carried away in the poorfarm wagon in the long, black box. She climbed solemnly up into the great high-posted bed, lying quietly in the center of it, her little close-cropped head against Mrs. Whitakcr's spick and span shams, her small, bare feet pro jecting, pink-toed and chill, from the edge of her carefully drawn-down nightgoAvn. She folded her hands across her breast, closed her eyes, just as she had seen her mother on that last day, and waited waited through the seconds that the tall hall-clock ticked solemnly from below the stairs, waited while they turned to minutes, and even to an hour; but the nngels were wait ing, too. the guardian angels of little Uuth. While she waited the brown and white pony was ambling down the road, bear ing .Mrs. Whitaker home after the church service. She had left Hannah on the way to make a call on her family and was now alone. The peace of Mas ter was smiling on her lips and the joy of Easter wns shining In her eyes; for Easter has always tho largest meaning to those, left as she, alone in the world. She drove up the driveway to the barn, lighted the lantern und unharnessed tho horse the hired man had his Sun dnys out; then she came to the back door. The sight of the key projecting from the lock brought another frown to her face. "Hannah's getting careless," she said, as she stepped into the kitchen. She sat. down a moment before the fire In the darkness, then rising, lighted a lamp and went slowly up the stairs to put away her bonnet and shawl. She came into her bedroom, placed the light on her bureau and turned about, toward the bed. She gave a sud den cry, not a shriek, but something between a moan and a sob and put. her hand io her side. Hut. after a still moment, she went to the bureau, picked up the lamp in a steady hand and walked gravely to the bedside, looking over the little white figure from the dark, roughened hair to the pink-toed feet. A hint of a smile came to the corners of her mouth. Now the child opened her big black eycsi, saw the faint smile and tranquilly closed them again. Anne Whituiker frowned. Was it a trick being played upon her? "What are you doing here?" she demanded, still holding the light and still peering down into the child's1 face. Uuth opened her eyes again with a look of appeal in them. "I'm dying," she answered, calmly, and then closed her eyes. Mrs. Whitaker jumped so that the chimney almost fell from the lamp; she hurried to the bureau, placed It there and then came back to the bed. "Do you feel very bad?" she queried, anxiously. A piteous, frown came to the child's forehead. "Please don't 'wtnrb me, I want to die;" she had screwed her ees more tightly together this time. Mrs. Whitaker straightened up. "Oh. you do, do you?" then she bent over the bed. "Have you taken any thing?" she asked, solicitously. The child looked at her now. "No, I didn t have anything that was good enough. You can get. 'most everything in Heaven, can't you?" Anne Whitaker retreated a pace and sat down in the nearest chair. She did not answer until she realized that Uuth was still looking at her inquiringly. "Yes, I guess so," she began, hnstilv. Then she felt a draft of cold air. "1 guess there isn't much doubt about your dying if you lie there with that window open;" she went toward the window and eloped it, "Don't shut it; how can the angels come, in?" Uuth sat up in bed and looked at her. Anne Whitaker looked back at the thin little lace and the sad, dark eyes, and a lump came into her throat. "They can come in at. 1he door, 1 gue.s," she said; but she was not think ing of the words. She went, over to the child, who had lain down nguhii, and touched her bare, chill fee. "You're going to catch your death a-eold." she affirmed. "I'm going to put my shawl over you." The child unfolded her hands and spread them out in appeal. "Won't you please let me die? This is such a nice house to die in." Again Mrs. Whitaker retreated. "What what, do you want to die for?" she stammered. " 'Cause my mamma died, an' I want to go an' see her in Jleau-n; an' it'h a more joyful place than the poorhouse." Mrs. Whitaker had always prided herself on being a woman of resource. She sat down on a chair opposite the bed and studied the little figure per plexedly. Suddenly there wax a move ment of the small nose, a wrinkling of the smooth e.vebrows, and the next moment the still form wn shaken by convulsive sneeze. Mrs. Whitaker sprang to her feot. "There's one tiling sure," she declared, Impressively, "if I let you He there that way 1 might as well be a murderer nncl done with it. Wanting to die, in deedi Don't you know the hold's got work for you in the world, and It Isn't right for you to die?" Her voice rose in her indignation louder than she knew, from the clothes press where she was extracting her big gest and warmest gray shawl. When she turned again toward the bed', two great tears were stealing from beneath Uuth's dark lashes and ninking slow way down her hollow cheeks. Mrs. Whitaker groaned and clicked and sat down with the shawl in her arms. 'Tic got sonic apple tarts down stairs; they're brown nn' crispy, and there's one that's just about big enough for a little girl. I should think she'd like to have something to cat be fore she dies." The child's mouth moved convulsive ly at the corners, but this time it was not with grief. "And I've got a cooky that's round, with sugar on the top and a hole in the middle." Mrs. Whitaker smiled broad ly as Uuth sat up. "And could I take one to niainnia, too?" she nsked. "Oh," answered the triuniphnnt lady, "your mninnin has everything she wants in Ilcnven." The child smiled. "Then I gues I'll wait till I get there, too," she said, und lay down ngaln. The shawl twitched in Anne Wlilttn ker's hands; she longed to gather the forlorn little figure into her arms, but sue oui' noi. ieei mni sue- could use force toward the child; she must man age her, she had always been so good a manager. "Do you know what day it is?" she asked, presently, feeling her way care fully. "Yes. that's why I died to-day," was the answer, still with tight-shut eyes. "To-day is the) day that Christ rose from the dead to teach us that as He rose, so shall we all "rise," began Mrs. Whitaker. gently. Uuth was looking at her now. "But I can't rise," she said, plaintively; " 'cause you keep 'sturbing me." "You might" Anne Whitaker drew a long breath, was it sacrilegious? "you might play you had been dead and" she paused. A gleam of interest shone in Uuth's face. "But this isn't Heaven," she protested. "The Kingdom of Heaven is within you," .Mrs. Whitaker quoted, with both freedom and truth, as she ap proached the bed with outspread shawl. "It isn't Heaven, but we might be good and make it seem like Heaven." The child put up her hand as If to ward oil' the shawl. "But (5od isn't here and mamma isn't here." "God is everywhere," answered Mrs. Whitaker; and Uuth looked about half startled. "But He is a spirit, mid you can't see Him." She dropped the shawl over the child now, and ns she w rapped it about her she finished more soft!: "Your mamma isn't here, but 3011 might play for a little while that i was your other mother." "Not my real mother?" Uuth asked, wistfully. "Oh 'no," Mrs. Whitaker nald. hastily; "only a play mother." She placed the child in the great rocking chair in front of the stove and laid out nil her goodies on the table; apple torts and cookies and preserves and cold meat and bread and butter and rich, warm milk. Then she went up stairs and brought down an old sacque of her own that Uuth might. put on, and so have her arms free; and they both actually fell to laughing as she rolled and rolled and rolled up the long hang ing sleeves. Mrs. Whitaker was amazed and fear ful when she saw Uuth cat.; the little girl, whose mind seemed fixed on heavenly things, had a hearty appetite. At last, for fear the child might, in deed, die from overeating, her iiostcsH suggested that they rock together in the chair before the fire. At this moment little Uuth looked up with a smile on her face, from which all traces of disappointment were fast vnnishing. "I think this must be al most as nice as Heaven; just, but for mamma." Mrs. Whitaker smiled grimly. "I guess Heaven is a good deal within us, even with the poorhoiisc next door." Hannah made an unusually long call on her family, so Mrs. Whitaker thought, holding the little, shawl- wrapped figure in front of the dining room fire. But when at last she en tered, her mistress' comiuiinds were ready. "H11111111, you go over to the poor farm and tell them that Uuth's over here and going to stay, and I'M send .1 ili 11 for her things in the morning." Hannah stood still, gaping, in the dining-room doorway. "Well, I never!" he announced, with her usual free dom; "what on earth lime you ben dolu'?" Anne Whitaker smiled with her lips atjiilnst Uuth's dark locks. "Well," she said, slowly. "we'e been having a resurrection. You ice, this little girl came over here to" Ju was about to mid "to (He." but changed it suddenly "to Jive." Francos Bent Dillingham, in .V. V, Independent. FOREIGN GOSSIP. Newfoundland la now the sixth copi per producing country In the world, 'l The minimi report of tho lnspcotior4 general for the InBnnc for New SoirlJli Wales shows that the number of lnsnnt is about 4,000, of whom two In three nra males. It is said, according to press reports, that in Stuttgart, Germany, all horso tracks and wagons arc to be bnnished from the streets after n certain perled. of time.' Important deposits of sulphur ha-re lately been discovered in Asiatic Rn sin. In the Ferghana district there is one which will yield nbout 10,001 pounds of pure sulphur yearly. l'eklng has n tower In which is hung; a large bell cast In the fifteenth cen tury, and another tower containing ti huge drum which is Intended to bo benten lit ense. a great danger should, threaten the city. No one is allowed! to enter these towers. The Italians in London nro sunieicnl of themselves to form a large town. There are as ninny as H,0()0 of them; 2,000 of these arc ice cream vendors and 1,000 organ grinders. The othcr- 11.000 are ehielly engaged ns plaster bust senerH, artists' models, cooks. valets, teachers, artists, restaurant and hotel keepers, nnd so on. FIRST MAN WITH RED BEARDl lie Appeared In New Vnrk In I7(K nnd the Police Oliln't Catch lllm Then, Hither. One individual in the early police history of New York, who for a tlmo was in great demand, was Thomas (ircatbateh, the original of tho "nuin with the red beard," who appears; at irregular intervals 'in modern police news with the same sensational uncer tainty that formerly eliunustorlzct abroad the mini with tho iron mask. (Ircatbateh was the original man with the red beard, and in view of the sub Ecquent celebrity of his successors con siderable interest attaches to the au thentic hue and cry notice which wna published in- March, 1700, concerning; him. It was as follows: "One Thomas flrcntbntoh, a lusty., well-set man between 30 und 40 years of Age, he has a Um full face and a. thick red beard; he commonly wears it Perriwigg, his Ulght leg la crooked.. He is a Sailer, having been, late Mate to dipt. Honker in n Brignutccn from Cur racoa to Philadelphia, has absented! himself from New York tho 17th in stant, having several considerable sum of money in his hands, for which holms signed Bills of hading. Therefore who ever shall meet with said Person, nro desired to secure him, and give notice to Mr. Moses Levy, Merchant in New York, or to dipt. Andrew Oravcniiitc of said City,, who will pay as a Ucward! 20 pieces of Klght with rcasonablo Charges, and indemnity and snvcharm less said Persons for taking up and se curing said (ircatbateh." About, this time nn official proclama tion was indue, calling on nil persons to do duty on the constables' watch, under penalty of six shillings fine for every instance of negligence. The man with the red beard had certainly fewer ob stacles' to his escape from the clutches of the law than he would have to-day in New York, as the following publica tion shows: "Pursuant of an order of the Common Council we have agreed with Uobert Druminond, Uiehnrd Yearsley, Edmund! Thomas and .John Vanderbeeck, four-able-bodied Citizens of this City, to be, the Watch and Bellmen of this City from tho 1st. of November next en suing until the 1st day of April, then next following, which service they aro duly and diligently to attend by going every hour in the night, through tho. severall .vtreets of this city, and publish ing the time of night, nnd also to ap prehend all disturbers of the peoocv felons, etc., also to take euro that no damage be done in the Citty by fire or any other casualties as much as ins them lies; for which service they nr- to have the sum of forty-four pounds,, current money of New York, six pound whereof to be paid them in six weeks, and the reuMiiuder at the expiration of ' the time; and that a liiuthorn, UcLland hourglass be provided theiu at the Litt 's charge." Notwithstanding these precautions,, it appears that. Thomas (Ircatbateh, tho first man with the red beard in-the po-.-lice history of New York, evaded can--'.ire, disarmed siis-pieion, kept his Iden tity secret and prevented any covetous, pel sen from .securing the ntwnrd of 20 pieces of eight, together with reason able charges. He continued in New York. He walked about the public promenade at what in now the Buttery park, scrutinizing the beautiful bay a sunset, and occasionally took a trip uptotheelt hall, in Wallstreet.uudeveu put his liberty in peril by proximity to the watch and bell men by taking ir. seat 011 the porch of that building audi there stroking his red beftid and per- mining the touth winds to blow through his whiskers, lie escaped de tection. He was a master of citrlj ; New York. The hue nnd cry hi. bin . cat-e was unavailing, and after he had , returned to Kngland he wiote (njikouur nthcr itinerant Knglisliiucii have douo In book) on the mbjeet of the state . not then the states, but the colonies -nf Willlnm III., prince of Orange und king of Ihiglaud. N. Y. Him.