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Show 1 1 ' II 1 1 j' Little Sir Galahad I j A Story With a ( I Blessing 5j S By PHOEBE GRAY 1 Copyright by Small, Maynaid & Company SYNOPSIS. While trundling the clan -washing up Clipper Hill Mary Alice Brown Is set upon up-on by some mischievous boys, who spill the washing into the dirt. She is rescued and taken to her home in Calvert street by Francis Willett, a Galahad knight. I Do you think that a wife and I g mother does wrong If she gets j a divorce after she learns that s p the father of her children is a I g brute, undeserving of any sort E B of consideration? even though g 1 it means breaking the promise, w I "until death do you part"? I f iH CHAPTER I Continued. ; .try Alice paid no attention to her lather, but went to Mrs. Brown and said something In a low tone. "What's that?" the man demanded. "None of that secret talk, now." "You better bring 'em up, dear," said the mother. "I'll do 'em tonight." Mary Alice took a clothes basket and went out. "Where's the money?" asked Lem. "She didn't Mrs. Travers didn't pay her " "None of that, now. That ain't so. You're holding out on me." "Lem, it's the truth," said Mrs. Brown. Mary Alice staggered up the stairs with a load of clothes from the wagon, and Mrs. Brown fell to sorting them. "What's them dirty ones?" asked Lem. "Say, Where's that money? You come through, now, or I'll show you " At this moment the child in the crib awoke and cried fretfully. Mrs. Brown drew a cup of water at the sink and bent over the little thing, soothing it and offering cool drink. "Say," roared Lem, "how long you gonter keep me waitin'?" He arose and strode to his wife's side. The sick child looked up and, seeing Its father, began to cry. "Git away," said Lem. pushing Mrs. Brown violently. "I'll tell you what. You gimme that money, quick, or I'll wring the kid's neck." It was an Inspiration of cruelty of undoubted effectiveness. If Mrs. Brown harl nossessed a Dennv on earth. she would have yielded it up with all haste. But, lacking the resources of ransom, there was only one thing to do, and she did it. With a cry the mother threw herself upon her tormentor. tor-mentor. "Don't touch him, Lem!" she cried. "I haven't a cent, I tell you; if I had, I'd give it to you. Oh, Lem, he's so sick! Please, please " The drunkard struck her heavily upon the mouth, so that she fell against the wall. She returned to the encounter, encoun-ter, but at this moment Mary Alice, ascending with the last of the soiled Travers linen, dropped her big load and attacked the man fiercely. He turned upon her wolfishly, his heavy hand closing upon her thin little shoulder. shoul-der. "Butt In, will you?" he said. "Butt In, eh? I'll teach you." He stooped and picked up, from the woodbox near the range, a stick not large enough to be called a club, but heavy enough to be extremely formidable formi-dable in the hands of Lem Brown. With it he aimed a blow at Mary Alice. Al-ice. Throwing up her hands, she received re-ceived the stroke crushingly upon her fingers. "Oh, oh!" she moaned. Mrs. Brown screamed and would have defended Mary Alice, but In doing so was herself her-self cruelly beaten. Again and again the wenpon fell, each time crushing, bruising, lacerating. Only Mary Alice's Al-ice's thick, black hair saved her skull. She had never taken such a beating before. When it was over, she cowered cow-ered in a corner, sobbing with the horror hor-ror and pain of it. Mary Alice would have prayed, but it looked like a hopeless hope-less procedure; for if God knew all about It and let It go on, what was the good of asking him to help her? He either meant these dreadful things to happen or He didn't care. Lem, convinced that if money existed exist-ed in that house, so much punishment .would have brought It from its hiding place, stumped off cursing and weeping, weep-ing, with maudlin pity for a man whose home was thus barren of financial finan-cial resource. He might come back later, he might he gone a week, he might be arrested before another hour and sent away for a good, long sentence. sen-tence. Mary Alice hoped the last-named last-named event would oocur. And it did, .Although Mary Alice and her mother were several days in finding it out. Mrs. Brown looked the door leading Into the hall. "Come dear." she said. "Undress and let me look at you. I wish I had some witch-hazel. I'oor little girl, poor little girl! Mother's so sorry." Mary Alice winced every time her mother's fingers touched her flesh. Mrs. Brown wopt when she viewed those livid imprints upon the monger body af her child. Tor every bruise she suffered suf-fered an agony of sympathy which dwarfed her own pain, itseif no small thing. The sick baby slept quietly, and -Mr. J3rwn pulled his crib into the "ailicr room." She tried to make Mary Alice comfortable in her own bed, and presently, pres-ently, having turned out the gas. crept in beside her daughter. Then she slept, for the sick child had stolen many hours of her rest, and her hands had not known an idle moment for many days. Little Mary Alice, twelve years old. beaten, aching in every fiber, lay a long time in a dumb agony, fearful lest any movement of hers should wake her mother. After a while she fell to sobbing; sob-bing; but this soon ceased, and she gazed into the shadows with eyes that smarted. A great longing for the open air came upon her; the night was hot and no breeze blew in at the open window. Far away Mary Alice heard a church clock strike. The hour was nine. She slipped out of bed, slowly and with exquisite ex-quisite pain. With Mary Alice, dressing dress-ing was not so complicated a procedure proced-ure that it required a maid's assistance or a long time to accomplish. When she turned the key In the door to let herself out, she thought she might be back in half an hour. She was slightly feverish, and If she walked as far as the park And then, as Mary Alice crept down the front steps, something shining in the gutter caught her eye. It was Francis Fran-cis Willett's half-dollar. CHAPTER II. A Trolley Ride. Mary Alice hobbled down to the corner cor-ner of Calvert street, stooping and limping like a very old woman. She felt as if she were in a sort of envelope enve-lope of pain, which oppressed her from head to foot. Hardly any part of her ached worse than another. The evening was still quite young, and the crowds of unkempt children rioted in Calvert street, while their elders eld-ers squatted on front stoops and gasped, awaiting a benison of breeze and chatting meager futilities as they waited. All along the walks lights shone, and as Mary Alice threaded her way she was assailed by pungent, volatile-seeming odors from basement windows or swinging doors. Mary Alice had been born in the country; she remembered what trees VW "My Goodness," Thought Mary Alice, "Don't I Wish I Had" and fields and flowers looked like. She never let go of that picture, though it was growing more and more blurred in her mind. As the picture faded, her longing to renew it Increased. In the center of Sheffield lay a broad square, or park, a fine turfed plaza overlooked by the municipal buildings and primped with rows of subdued, citified trees. This turfed breathing spot was Mary Alice's objective; she wanted more than anything else, she thought, fresh air. But as the child emerged from the purlieus of Calvert street into the more elegant thoroughfares thorough-fares of the town, she came into the zone of brighter lights.' Presently she came to a window with a character of its own. It was a very large window, set in a frame of snowy enamel. Beyond Be-yond a glass blazed the porcelain glories glo-ries of a quick lunch. Mary Alice's mouth began to water. But tiie chief attraction of that window, win-dow, the feature that suddenly glued Mary Alice's shabby little feet to the bricks and fixed her largo black eyes in a stare of longing fascination, was the griddle-cake hot plate, its shining black surface disked with yeasty moons of pure gold. Behind the hot plate stood a fat young man. cased starchily in a sheath of white duck and crowned with a rakish, rak-ish, laundered cap. tipped over one moody brow. On a thin-biaded turner he manipulated the delicacies, and tossed them with skilled indifference upon a plate which a Beautiful Lady came a;nl removed swiftlv. "My g.iedncss!" thought Mary Alice. I "don't 1 wish I had " She checked suddenly, for the cor- J sciousness of that coin of Francis Y)-lett's. Y)-lett's. tightly hidd in a moist palm, dawned upon her. Mary Alice turned and sought the eutrauce to this paradise. para-dise. "I want some of them," she said to the Beautiful Lady, when she had seated seat-ed herself at a table with a top whiter than alabaster. The Beautiful Lady was a pronounced blonde with a pug nose. She won- abundant and crackly white skirts that stuck out daintily all around, and at her belt carried a little punch, such as railway conductors use. She had brought Mary Alice a glass of icewater. The Pronounced Blonde hesitated, eying Mary Alice speculatively. "You got any money?" she asked. Mary Alice displayed her half-dollar. "All right, dearie," said the Beautiful Beauti-ful Lady; and then, in a much loude! tone, she commanded: "Brown the griddles." A mild form of physical exertion ex-ertion actuated the hot-plate prince. Mary Alice, in a stiff-backed chair that was too high for her, ached and waited. "Here you go," said the Beautiful Lady cheerfully. "Hungry? You like sirup? I brought you an extra pitcher and two pats of butter. Want a glass of milk?" "I have to pay for it, don't I?" asked Mary Alice, looking up. "Well, you don't think we " began the waitress; then she made a quick shift, with an eye to deceit. "Never mind. It'll be all right." Mary Alice, busy with her cakes and sirup, did not see that the Beautiful Lady fumbled in her apron pocket as she approached the service counter. It was very gratifying to Mary Alice Al-ice Brown to find, when she bad eaten as much as she could hold and this was a very respectable quantity, considering con-sidering her years and growth that she had nothing at all to pay. When she left the palace of tile and smiled a wry good night at the plump batter baron in the window, she thought she would go home; and she was a little cheered by the continued possession of her half-dollar and by the kindness which utter strangers had heaped upon her. Her bruises still ached, but a full stomach was not without soothing effects. The air in City park seemed very sweet and cool; the little girl wanted more of It. "Aw board f'r Gleasondale, Roxford, Pepper's Mill, Manterbury, Cassvllle and Hillside Falls; aw board." A gong clanged. Mary Alice looked up at the trolley about to begin its suburban Journey, as audibly catalogued by the conductor. conduc-tor. That ear would slide along through an endless supply of air air even cooler and fresher and sweeter than this of City park. And Mary Alice had money. She could pay her fare out and back. She opined that the round trip would occupy half an hour and cost her not over ten or twenty cents. So she climbed aboard. The conductor conduc-tor repeated his list of suburban towns, yanked briskly at the bell cord, and the car slid, bumping and teetering, out of the zone of pale lights, and took its twisting way into ruraldom. Mary Alice smelled the odors of meadow and grove as the ear sped. She closed her eyes, opened them, closed them again. The ear passed a tiny station, where it stopped and let off a dozen tired-looking country folk, evidently glad to be at the end of a day in the city. Mary Alice was infinitely infi-nitely soothed. She kept closing her eyes, opening them blissfully, and closing clos-ing them again. The car rocked and hummed; the breezes blew the child's i tangled black hair. She was no longer in pain. She forgot to open her eyes. The calm, sweet stars in a velvet I summer sky saw a little girl get off a ! suburban street car at the end of the line. "No," said the conductor, "we don't make no return trip till morale.'. We leave her stand here all night." He reached up and turned a switch; immediately the car was In darkness. "Where you goin', kid?" asked the man. "Did you think we'd be goin' back?" "I I thought so. What'Il I do?" she asked plaintively. Her bruised body ached. The ride out from the city had been refreshing, but now a fear of the great silence clutched her. "You can't stay in this open car all night," said the conductor. "Hey! Jim! Here's a little girl that thought we's goin' back tonight. What we better do with her?" "I can't take her to my house," doubted the motorman. "The beds is all full. Whyn't you try Sam Thomas? Look, they's a light in his house." "Come along, sister," said the conductor. con-ductor. He spoke very kindly. At home his own little girl was now snugly snug-ly tucked Into bed, and he would steal into the room and kiss her before he turned in himself. It was always the last thing to do at night, no matter how tired he felt. "Come along, sister." sis-ter." Sam Thomas, in his stocking feet, and carrying a kerosene lamp in bis h:id. opened the door. He grunted a little when he learned the nature of the petition. "But you know, Sam. me and Jim's both full up. We got small houses and big fam'lies. If 'twa'n't for that I'd take her home in a minute may do it anyhow, if you don't want her." ' 1 ,'r. 3 What sort of future do you think awaits Mary Alice at the Ji? 3 home of Sam Thomas? Will the j5, farmer help her family, or is j p he the kind who will wear out S the child's life in grinding 3 drudgery? -3 I J fij .to iiii co;;'ri.NL'i:iy.. |