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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, January 15, 1915, LAST EDITION, Image 19

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1915-01-15/ed-1/seq-19/

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She had bo entwined herself about
the lives of her adopted parents that
the shock nearly prostrated Mr. Ran
dall. His wife was numbed, crushed,
heart-broken. It seemed in her case
as if the very tendrils of her soul had
been rudely torn from their abiding
place. Days, weeks went by. The
wife's nature seemed utterly chang
ed. The sorrowful gave way to mo
rose and rebellious morbidity. She
neglected her household duties. She
believed that her heart was buried in
the grave of the dead child, refused
to go out anywhere and her presence
cast a gloom over her husband that
was fast changing his loving, loyal
If he had been able to read a wom
an's heart aright, he would have
known that time would mitigate the
intensity of her grief and patience
and tenderness prove an overcrown
ing influence in the end. He took the
gloom of his wife for repulsion, how
ever, her ordinary treatment of him
as indifference. Then he, too, began
to assume a severity which chilled
her. This wag the condition of affairs
when the final break came.
The judge's wife was distressed at
the news that came to her. Qnce the
Randalls had been close friends of the
family. With a woman's ready wit
she delved deeper into affairs than
her happy-go-lucky husband. With
in her own mind ste framed up a plan
to remedy the outlook. It might
prove an experiment, but she hoped
for the best.
One cold winter night John Ran
dall sat in his cheery but lonely living-room,
gazing stolidly into the
blazing grate fire. He knew that on
the other side of the partition his
wife was probably passing her time
in the same spell or gloomy reverie.
"What is that?" suddenly exclaim
ed Randall.
It was a hard, harsh sound, as of
someone pounding with a club or
stone on the front porch. Randall
arose and went to the door and open
ed it, first turning on the porch light. ,
He fancied he saw a woman's figure '
scurrying past the gate. He looked
down to note a basket containing a
blanket and counterpane covered
with a filmy scarf. Stooping, his
heart beating rapidly, he knew not
why, as he drew this aside.
"A baby!" he exclaimed "aban-l
At that moment the next doonl
opened. Mrs. Randall, too, hadn
heard the noise on the porch. She
came into view, she caught a glimpses
of the child in the basket. A great'
cry of pity, yearning, love burst from
her lips. With hungry heart, jealous,
enwrapt in possession, quickly Ran-x
dall snatched up the basket
"I saw it first!" he cried, almost
fiercely. "It is mine'" it
Then he went In with the child andcj
closed the door against the longing
woman. He stirred up the fire, heti
turned on all the lights. Suddenly ad
new motive for living found birth inil
his heart. He felt as one intrusteda
I with a great treasure. Planning the
many things he must do with thexr
morning secure a nurse, buy an out-i
fit for the baby, provide for all itsc
care Randall bustled about The
child woke up. It began to cry. Hek
warmed some water and put some su-s.
gar in it. That was all he could thinkfc
of. The little one strangled on thea
strange stuff. He picked it up andd
walked the floor with it. Its walls be-J
came morepitiful.
The door opened. For the first time
in two years Mrs. Randall stood with-d
in the room.
"Oh, John!" she cried poignantly'
"I can't endure it! The cries of this
dear little child! It reminded me ofti
her!" and her eyes strayed to the
portrait of their lost little one on the
He relinquished the child to thosea
tender, loving arms. He sat in a new-'
warm haze of contentment, watchJ
ing his wife as she quieted the babe in
a motherly way, hastening into her'
own apartments, returning with a
bottle of milk, and soon had the littles

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