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About The west shore. (Portland, Or.) 1875-1891 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 16, 1889)
WEST SHORE. atcd. Tlii'n, quickly, " We'll go right home as soon's tin) rain holds up; we'll" " No, I can not go back there again," said Marie. " Kverything in dark and Iiojh'Ichh More mo, but I can nut go back with you." " Mother won't he cross any more, I guess," said John, but then- was considerable hesitation in his tone. Then, brightly, " I'll tell her I won't sign no more pa lters if she plagues you again." Little John apiearcd to think that a threat of this nature would give projNT protection, for he smiled and nodded and looked as cheerful and happy as though everything was satisfactorily settled. Hut Marie shook her head. Little John lieeame grave and thoughtful attain. Finally he burst out in some petulance " Twas that llawkes. If he'd 'a' let you alone mother wouldn't 'a' had nothin' to scold alsmt. You didn't want him to talk with you, did you?" Marie's only answer was a quick, burning blush. She was looking steadily into the tin1. " Where's yer father an' mother ? " Little John anked. lie had forgotten that he had put a previous Ui'Htion. " I am alone in the world," Marie answered. The Hindi had not left her check, neither had she ceased to study the glowing coal. " I do not remember my fa ther, but I sometimes think that my mother loved me, and that wherever she is the separation from me is a pain to her. I sometimes think I rememlier her face, hut again I fear it is only a dream. Where I see her it is all water altout us, ami it seems that she took me in her arms and kissed me. I hope it is not a dream," in a low, half audible voice. " 1 could le happy, even in my present misery, if I could know that the haunt ing vision was a reality, and that some day, even if not till I die, 1 shall meet a mother who loved me." " There, there," said Little John, wiping his eyes, for he was crying copiously, " don't ye talk so, deary. I'm goin' away pretty soon," smoothing her hand. " I'm old an' ain't god for nothin' here, an' they don't want me I'll take all my money an' won't let 'em have a cent. Hut what'll we do with the big house?" stop ping and looking puiilcd as this obstacle to the total demolition of his family presented itself. " I'll make a will an' leave it to you, an' then you can let me live with you. an' you'll read to me. Yes, that's what I'll dV rubbing his hands in delight, " an' we won't never let that llawkes man come in the house, an' you won't have to cry any more." At that moment the latch on the door rattled loud ly, and Marie started up in affright. " It's only some o' my old friends," said John, in a whisper, " I won't ht 'em in." John oeneJ the J.r a crack, but his intention of concealing Marie was frtMratrd, Ar whoever it was without gave the door such a push that the little man was almost thrown on his back. . The next instant Old Tom, his clothing drenched, was standing in front of the salamander. " What do ye want here ? " asked Little John. He had closed the door and was standing in front of Marie. There was something like determination in his weak eyes. Tom's hands were clasped behind him, his face wore a smile so broad that it resembled a grotesque mask. The tone of his voice was particularly friendly as he answered "Hello! " John seated himself, and drawing Marie close to him, looked up into the visitor's face in a relieved, if not to say interested, way. " I ben a-walkin' a little fer exercise," said Tom, " an' the rain corned down nn' wet me through an' through," examining closely the tails of his dripping coat. " I knowed ye was here, 'cause I Beed the smoke a-eomin' from the chimbly, an' I thought I'd come in ter see ye. Didn't know as how there was ladies pres ent." He bowed to the lady, with a smile intended to be reassuring, then he began to scowl. Next he fum bled in his pockets. " Here's a dollar I've got," he said, exhibiting the piece, " so ye see I don't want ter rob ye. A friend o' mine gin it ter me. He gins me money every time I amies 'round. He likes me, he does' an' I think more o' him 'an I do o' my own son." Tom moved his lips to such an alarming extent that Marie crept closer to Little John. " Don't be afeard," cautioned Tom, with a grin, " I wouldn't hurt a hair o' yer purty head fer nothin'. Ye're awful purty, an' I'm a-goin' ter tell the man as gin me this dollar about yer, an' he'll come an' marry ye," with a leerof bulky playfulness. ''His name's llawkes, an' hey?" The last exclamation was caused by an interruption from Little John. " Where's he live ? " John repeated. " Lives up in Hoston. He's a banker, an' he's got ! rojx-s o' money." j " He's a very bad man," said Little John, sulkily. ; "He makes Marie cry." j " How's that ?" Tom asked, thrusting out his lips in his championship of his friend. " He follers her 'round when she don't want him to," complained John, "an' her mistress makes her cry a-tw ittin' of her. She was a-goin' ter run away." " Please don't say any more," whisiered Marie, in great distress. " Mr. llawkes 'a a gentleman, he is," said Tom. I " I'll tell him not to bother ye no more," with a real ; suring nod. " Tlease say nothing about inc." Marie pleaded.