Part 12 (2/2)
Look out for your tin (sniff--sniff) if you marry agin (sniff--sniff), Nor throw your affections away (sniff--sniff--sniff).”
My children hev grown, an' have homes o' their own-- They're doin' ez well ez they can (_wipes her eyes and nose_): An' I'm gettin' sick o' this livin' alone-- I wouldn't mind havin' a man.
Fur David hez gone to the mansion above-- His body is cold in the ground, Ef you know of a man who would marry for love, Jest find him an' send him around.
HIS LAST COURT.
Old Judge Grepson, a justice of the peace, was never known to smile. He came to Arkansas years ago, and year after year, by the will of the voters, he held his place as magistrate. The lawyers who practiced in his court never joked with him, because every one soon learned that the old man never engaged in levity. Every morning, no matter how bad the weather might be, the old man took his place behind the bar which, with his own hands, he had made, and every evening, just at a certain time, he closed his books and went home. No one ever engaged him in private conversation, because he would talk to no one. No one ever went to his home, a little cottage among the trees in the city's outskirts, because he had never shown a disposition to make welcome the visits of those who even lived in the immediate vicinity. His office was not given him through the influence of ”electioneering,” because he never asked any man for his vote. He was first elected because, having been once summoned in a case of arbitration, he exhibited the executive side of such a legal mind that the people nominated and elected him. He soon gained the name of the ”hard justice,” and every lawyer in Arkansas referred to his decision. His rulings were never reversed by the higher courts. He showed no sentiment in decision. He stood upon the platform of a law which he made a study, and no one disputed him.
One day, a woman, charged with misdemeanor, was arraigned before him. ”The old man seems more than ever unsteady,” remarked a lawyer as the magistrate took his seat. ”I don't see how a man so old can stand the vexation of a court much longer.”
”I am not well to-day,” said the Judge, turning to the lawyers, ”and any cases that you may have you will please dispatch them to the best, and let me add, quickest of your ability.”
Every one saw that the old man was unusually feeble, and no one thought of a scheme to prolong a discussion, for all the lawyers had learned to reverence him.
”Is this the woman?” asked the Judge. ”Who is defending her?”
”I have no defence, your Honor,” the woman replied. ”In fact, I do not think I need any, for I am here to confess my guilt. No man can defend me,”
and she looked at the magistrate with a curious gaze. ”I have been arrested on a charge of disturbing the peace, and I am willing to submit my case. I am dying of consumption, Judge, and I know that any ruling made by the law can have but little effect on me;” and she coughed a hollow, hacking cough, and drew around her an old black shawl that she wore. The expression on the face of the magistrate remained unchanged, but his eyelids dropped and he did not raise them when the woman continued:
”As I say, no man can defend me. I am too near that awful separation of soul and body. Years ago I was a child of brightest promise. I lived with my parents in Kentucky. Wayward and light-hearted, I was admired by all the gay society known in the neighborhood. A man came and professed his love for me. I don't say this, Judge, to excite your sympathy. I have many and many a time been drawn before courts, but I never before spoke of my past life.”
She coughed again and caught a flow of blood on a handkerchief which she pressed to her lips. ”I speak of it now because I know that this is the last court on earth before which I will be arraigned. I was fifteen years old when I fell in love with the man. My father said he was bad, but I loved him. He came again and again, and when my father said that he should come no more I ran away and married him. My father said I should never come home again. I had always been his pride and had loved him dearly, but he said that I must never again come to his home,--my home, the home of my youth and happiness. How I longed to see him. How I yearned to put my head on his breast. My husband became addicted to drink. He abused me. I wrote to my father, asking him to let me come home, but the answer that came was 'I don't know you!' My husband died--yes, cursed G.o.d and died! Homeless and wretched, and with my little boy I went out into the world. My child died, and I bowed down and wept over a pauper's grave. I wrote to my father again, but he answered: 'I know not those who disobey my commandments!' I turned away from that letter, hardened. I spurned my teachings. Now I am here.”
Several lawyers rushed forward. A crimson stream flowed from her lips. They leaned her lifeless head back against the chair. The old magistrate had not raised his eyes; ”Great G.o.d!” said a lawyer, ”he is dead!”
The woman was his daughter.
THE DEAD DOLL.
BY MARGARET VANDEGRIFT.
You needn't be trying to comfort me--I tell you my dolly is dead!
There's no use in saying she isn't with a crack like that in her head; It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt much to have my tooth out, that day, And then, when the man 'most pulled my head off, you hadn't a word to say.
And I guess you must think I'm a baby, when you say you can mend it with glue, As if I didn't know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you?
You might make her look all mended--but what do I care for looks?
Why glue's for chairs and tables, and toys, and the backs of books!
My dolly! my own little daughter! Oh, but it's the awfullest crack!
It just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack Against that horrible bra.s.s thing that holds up that little shelf.
Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me? I know that I did it myself?
I think you must be crazy--you'll get her another head!
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