SUNSHINE AFTER CLOUDS.
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��will beat me and I do not mind his harsh words — much. After all, it is not so bad as it might be, mother," said she, trying to speak cheerfully, as she arose from her seat and bustled about to prepare her frugal supper. Twenty minutes later she assisted her mother to a seat at the table, and altho' she pressed the invalid to partake of the toast she had prepared for her, she ate but little herself. Her heart beat rap- idly at every footstep near the door, for she well knew that if her father re- turned at all that night, he would re- turn intoxicated, as she had herself seen him reeling into a drinking saloon when on her way home from the fac- tory. She felt the disgrace keenly, this young girl whose thoughts and aspira- tions were so much above the sphere in which circumstances placed her. Her only sister, Clara, had married, two years before, a well-to-do farmer, re- siding in Vermont, and she had been very kind to the mother and sister in their bitter sorrows, often sending them money and cheering words, which came like rays of sunlight into the drunkard's home. Margie sat thinking sadly of their poverty, her mother's ill-health and her father's intemperance, until Mrs. Benson slowly arose from the table, then she hastily sprang forward and assisted her to a seat near the fire, and bustling about, soon had the room restored to its usual order. " Mother, had you not better retire ? It is getting quite cool here and the coal is nearly gone. You will be more comfortable in bed. I will throw my shawl over my shoulders and wait up for father. I fear he will be late tonight." Mrs. Benson raised her eyes to her daugh- ter's face and said sadly : "Yes, Mar- gie, I will do as you wish. I cannot see him in his degredation tonight, I am not equal to it. Rest here on the lounge until he comes. If you refuse him money he will pawn this miserable furniture, and we shall have nothing. Oh, Margie, what a curse rum is. It has changed your father from a noble man to a miserable wretch, as it has done many others. What will become of you, my poor child, when I am
��gone?" Slowly and feebly she arose, and, leaning on her daughter, she sought her own room. " Mother seems more feeble tonight than ever before," said Margie to herself, as at length she stood alone in the little kitchen. " She will soon be out of this grief and trouble, while I must live on, doubly wretched without her dear presence. Oh, surely my lot is very hard," she moaned, as extinguishing the lamp, she drew aside the window curtain and knelt beside the window, thus beginning her long watch. Night after night she had knelt there, watching for her father, that she might be ready to open the door for him and keep him quiet if pos- sible. Usually he was stupid and sul- len and easily led, but if he was thirst- ing for liquor, and had no money to obtain it, he would curse and swear at his poor wife and wretched daughter until he got what little money they had, then he would leave them, and spend the money thus obtained at some of the many filthy dens which infested the city. The fire died entirely out in the little stove, and at length Margie arose shivering from the window, and wrap- ping a shawl around her, threw herself upon the lounge, dropping into a light slumber which lasted until the little clock on the mantel struck two* " He will not come home tonight. Doubtless he has got into the station house again. I am sorry I didn't try to induce him to come home with me, but how could I enter that vile, filthy place? And, beside, mother has strictly forbidden it, too. Oh, the shame of being a drunk- ard's daughter," said Margie, as she arose, and shivering with cold, stole noiselessly into her mother's room, and without disrobing lay down beside the invalid, whose regular breathing told Margie that her mother, at least, was resting peacefully, forgetting in sleep her many sorrows. ' Margie was up long before day, and had prepared the scanty breakfast for her mother and herself. It was snowing rapidly, the flakes falling thicker and faster as the morning deepened. At half-past six Margie stood ready to depart for her day's labor, everything that her mother
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