OCR Text |
Show SAIHY JACKSON'S IUBY. Tho Faith UnoleJack Had that the Lord Would Provide Amply Eepaid. DLATH IN BLACK CHAPEL DISTEIOT A True Story Prom the Tenements of the West Side in New York City. A bit of crape hanging side by side with a strip of satin ribbon which had once been wbitei but was now discolored by constant use, swung idly from the tack which held it In place at the entrance en-trance to one of the tall tenements on the west side. It is in the district known as Blackchapel, and all the houses thereabout there-about are occupied by colored folks. There is always a pathos about a scrap of crape at the door, especially if the grim announcement is hung out for a child. But the lean legged and woolly headed black children who were playing shinny in the street were too young to How their sport to be interrupted by tho presence of death. "ONLY SARAH S LITTLE BOY." If any one had asked the stout negress mho lolled at the door, they would have been answered with; "Oneley Mis' Sarah Jackson's little boy. An' it's de Lawd's bressin' he gone, kase he's bin ailin' eb-her eb-her sence he was bawn. Whar does she lib? Up on de top flo', in de reah. Yo' eawu't miss it. Jess knock hard on de do', kase Miss Jackson may be sorrowin' like, on 'count ov it bein' her Johnnie." ' And then, if one had followed her direction, di-rection, he would have wondered if there never would be any end to the bare, steep flights of dirty stain, with the too brief landings, and the musty, dark halls, and the black, woolly heads thrust out of half open doors in a spirit of youthful inquiry. in-quiry. But there is an end to all things, and at last the top is reached. It is lighter here, and the air seems a little more wholesome, although the eamo musty smell of crowded quarters is to be noticed. no-ticed. A ladder leads up to a hole in the roof, and the suu sends a slanting ray down through the aperture. The block of sunlight strikes the entrance to one of the three doors on the landing, and has only the effect of bringing out in greater relief the worn pine boards half bidden by an accumulation of dirt. It is very quiet on this floor, so quiet than when the visitor listened lie could hear a sound of sobbiug, and then a low voice, crooning words of comfort. A knock at the door brings the answer: "Come in." The room is not more than twelve feet square, and is considered a . largo room for a tenement. But the question of accommodations is not taken into consideration now. , There are two persons in the room. An old woman, whose tears made shining tracks upon her black skin, was bending over a young woman who rocked to and fro in an old chair, sobbiug and moaning for her baby. The room was uucarpeted and miserable. Bags and wads of paper stuck loosely in the holes in the broken window panes helped to give an indescribable inde-scribable aspect of desolation to the room, CJpou tho only table in the room, its attenuated form wrapped in an old red hawi, ragged and threadbare, was the dead baby. Its little black face, tinged with a grayish hue, was turned up toward to-ward the cracked ceiling, and the lids hardly concealed the dull white of the eyes. The babe had been dead since the day before, and the mother was too poor to bury it. Her husband was away somewhere, some-where, lie had deserted her months before, be-fore, so she need not expect him in her hour of trouble. "THK LA WD WILL TERVlDE." , As sbe rocked the door creaked on its hinges and an old negro entered. He was lame, and made his way carefully along with a cane. A high hat that had seen years of hard service rested on a fringe of grayish wool which covered tho back of his bead, and a bandanna handkerchief made a picturesque substitute for both collar and cravat. "Hullo, Jack, yo' back agon?" said the eld woman. "Sairy's bin taken on pow-rf pow-rf 1 sence yo's bin gone, an' she mos' cried her eyes out. Did yo git enny money?" "No, an' I'se done clean pestered out, a-trampin' and a-trampin'. What wid de rheumatics and de sorror 'bout Jack y, I ain't mahself." "Uncle Jack," said the young woman, Jumping up, "111 jes' ask yer ter go to one moah place fur de money. Jes' one jnoah. I'se done wash in' fur dis lady, and mebbe she help me." "Come, come, gal," said the old man; 'Tee doin' all I can fer yer, but the good tawd will pervide. Jes' put yo trus' on im." . "I know, Uncle Jack, I know dat; but tyre mus' do somethin'," she said. With unsteady hand she wrote a note In a cramped hand pn the back of a grocery gro-cery bill, the only piece of paper there was in the house. The paper was blistered blis-tered with her tears. Mas. Eshd Would you please to help me a little, 1 sai sony to ask you, but my Baby died yesterday yester-day at noon, with tha Brown-keetora and the gua-tsr gua-tsr in the throat. We have done what we could. I have been tick myaelf and the little earning t had saved i had to pay out for medcin. I am not feeling well. From Sarah Jaoeson. ' Uncle Jack hobbled out of the door and clown the stairs. He had to go a long distance, and when he came back a gentleman gen-tleman came with him. He had come in answer to the letter and to see the dead baby was buried decently. Not long ago his own baby had died, and when he stood by the table and saw by tbe light of the one lamp in the room the face of tbe little dead baby he broke down and wept. His tears mingled with those of the poor black folks about A common grief had torn away the barrier of race, color and station, and he was as sincere a mourner as old Uncle Jack, who stood with bowed head near him. And as the old bandanna nockerohief seemed to grow tighter and tighter around his throat he said: "I knew de La wd would pervide, Sairy, I knew it, chile, kase he allurs does." New York Sun. Henry B. Stone, who recently resigned the position of vice president of the Chicago, Chi-cago, Burlington and Qnincy railroad, is less than 85 years old. Twelve years ago be entered the railway service, and in the time since then he has climbed frvni tbe vf-ry bottom to nearly the top found of the ladifcft ' |