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Show "No older than our poor boy. Oh. Martin, he is dead, I fear. I Will loosen hie necktie. You may take off tils shoes and rub his foot Oh, morning morn-ing is so far away! This is such a lonely place. Martin, what is 11?" She started at ber husband in horror. His face was as the face of death. He sat ghastly and terrible to look upon, holding in his hand one of the feet that he had undressed. "Dead!" he said wildly. "Dead! and I shot him 1!" "Martin!" shrieked the wife. She laid the dead man's head down on the rug and crept up to her husband. "God will forgive you," she said; and then her eyes, dilating, fixed themselves them-selves upon the point at which her husband atared. It was the foot of the young burglar. The left shoe was off the storking also. The high, whito instep was uncovered, un-covered, and on it she saw a little tattooed lV" with a tiny cross besido it. It was her son who lay there. "Martin," sho screamed again. "Martin, remember what I told you. He had not us to teach him what was right rememcer remember." But Martin only moaned. 'Ho is dead, and I killed him!" He felt blindly for his pistol. "Forgive me, Agnes, for I cannot live," he said; but at that moment the woman, with her hand upon the breast of the prostrate man, screamed out: "His heart beats, Martin he lives!" The next day a strange story flew about the neighborhood. The child those two strange people had lost years ago had returned to them. That very night burglars had entered the house and wounded him. His life was in danger. The doctor had beeu there all the morning, but the mother had no fours. "Uod had sent htm back and ho would not dio, she said. It Is never too late for repentance, and the love of those poor parents was very strong. Strange as the beginning be-ginning was, the end was peace; and the household, so strangely reunited, was a happy one at last Boston Globo. THE TATTOOED FOOT. He had looked for him all day all night It was dawn again, und he tnust go homo without him without liis little child bis treasure, his most precious thing on earth. He must go j home snd tell his mother that tho boy was not found. Ail his life he had dreaded this all the little life of tliac baby boy. . Often in the night had the thought so overcome him that he had stolen from his bed in the darkness to feel the little head of his sleeping boy on the pillow of his cri. Only once, once he was forced to tell his wife. That was wheu he tattooed the child's foot Bight on the instep he hud marked it with a little bluo W. It was painful pain-ful every prick hurt him worso than it did the boy; and the mother, coming home, had been angry and grieved. Now it had come. The foolish fear was realized. Lost or stolen, tho boy was gone, and that tittoo mark was tho only thing that comforted him. They spent their small means In advertising. ad-vertising. They posted notices of their loss on the walls. All In vain. After others knew that they followed a forlorn hope, they still pursued It as earnestly as ever. And so the weeks rolled by; tho months faded; tho years followed. Theirs was a hard case. No other children came to those people, and thoy were very miserable. The man seemed crushed ho had neither ambition nor energy. The woman went about her daily toil in a dull, listless manner. Their hair grew gray and their brows wrinkled very early. At Inst they seemed to stand alone In tho world; old acquaintances and relatives were gone or had forgotten them. A far away relative died and left them a little fortune. He had not taken much notice of them during his life, but ho had given them a thought on his death bed. They were comparatively com-paratively rich. When they knew it the samo thought came to each at once. The woman uttered it first "Martin," said she, perhaps we can find our boy after all. He will come to us I feel sure of it at last, Martin, Mar-tin, at lust" "Yes, it may be so, Agnes," the man said. "It may be so; the time has been long, tho days woeful; but we may bo happy after all that is gone. Agnes, I believe it will be so." They kissed each other and made ready for the journey, which they neods must take to enter upon their inheritance. Tho first evening in the now house was almost happy. ."Agnes, we must put this cash away in a bank-to-morrow," said the husband, hus-band, counting over a roll of notes. "It is not safe to keep it here, und we must be careful, we have that to do which must make us economical" "Yes, Martin," said his wife, as she hold the light for him, and ho locked the small, old-fashioned safe. Afterward, in J.he darWfibeir heads close together on the pillow, the elderly couple talked on, dreaming liko children. "Hark." said Agnes, "what is that?" They listened. A low, grating sound at the door below, regular and carefully care-fully subdued a click -a crack. "Someone Is trying to break in," said Martin. Agnes hid her face in the pillows. They were alono In a lonely house on a lonely road. They had several thousand thou-sand dollars In thoir possession. Martin was not a powerful man. and, though he had a pistol tbei'o might bo two or three against one, and then there was little hope for him. He arose and took his weapon ia his hand, and felt about in the dark for matches. And Agnes heard a. creaking creak-ing of tho flooring and the sound of muffled footsteps, and also sprung to the floor. ( "They tire at the safo below," cried Martin. "Agnes, the money the money for our boy! 0! if my life is lost lor its sake, I cannot lose that! I cannot I cannot!" "Martin! Martin! Slay do not go. What can you do--one man alone?" screamed Agnes. But lie was gone. She was alone in tho darkness. It was all over in a moment There were shots, oaths a fall silence. Sho crept down stairs, trembling, so that she could scarcely stand. Loaning against the safe was her husband, blood upon his sleeve; on tho floor lay a man. iu a crape mask, stiffening in death. "Martin!" sobbed the woman, Martin!" Mar-tin!" I have killed him!" cried the man. "Fasten tho door, put up the great bar. Had I not forgot ton that they I could not have entered. Oh, it is terrible, but I could not lose every ohance of my boy. They fired at me. I at them. I wounded .both.- Oh, to think should have killed a mail.' I!" Martin, ho may not be dead." said the woman. "He is young. I hope he is not dead. Perhaps he has a mother somewhere. Let me bind up your hand. Then we Will try to restore re-store him. Dear Martin! eveu if it is so, who cun blame yon? Poor, poor boy!" She bound up the ' graze oa her husband's hand. Then they lifted tho young man's boly to the soft rug and undid the mask. A face was revealed, re-vealed, young, handsorai and pallid as marble. ' ' ' "Oh, it is terrible!" said the fife. |