The Argosy, Vol. XXV, No. 3 — page 56: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

An0 THE ARGOSY. ‘“Woman, be still !’’ shouted the man, bringing his fist down hard upon the pine table. ‘*T will not be still. I have been still long enough, and now I will have my words.”’ The rude door creaked and a childish form appeared in the opening. His light, curly hair was brushed back from a pale forehead, where the blue veins showed at the temples. His large, blue eyes looked their fear, as they glanced askance at the corner where his surly father sat. With embarrass- ment, he noticed his mother’s haggard, tearful face, and not daring to meet her eyes, or the hard ones of his father, the child stretched himself out be- fore the leaping fire on the hearth, and nervously began to stroke the fur of the lean, old cat. ‘“ Get up out of that,’’ called the man, sighting the boy. ‘Get up and bring in more wood. It’s like a lord she’s raising you—go !’’ and he kicked one foot angrily in the direction of the fire. The boy crept swiftly away and made toward the lean-to. Great ‘tears dropped from his eyes upon the woodpile. As he sat on the chopping block, the cat, who had followed him, brushed against the patched knees and purred sympathetically. “Pussy’s sorry,’’ sobbed the boy. ‘‘ Pussy’s so sorry for little Joe and his mother! Does pussy wish he could go away with mother and little Joe—back Fast, where dear mother came from—where she lived when she was young and pretty like the picture on the mantel; where mother never had to do washing, ‘where father never was drunk nor cross ?”’ The cat rubbed back and forth, giving his answer, as he brushed the straight standing tail against the boy’s face. ‘Oh, pussy,’’ he guregled, half laughing, half crying, ‘‘ you want to make me laugh! ‘You don’t believe in crying, do you, puss? I guess you’re right. I don’t know as it does any good. But mother is crying -? and again he broke into gurgling sobs. When the child had slunk from the room, Anne Carson turned upon her husband. It seemed that all the spunk in her composition was alive that night. = ‘*Look here, Fred, you may talk and abuse me as much as you please, but I won’t have you talking to the child the way you did just now. ‘He shall not be threatened. He is the best boy on the ridge. He is my child— mine. Youcan have no claim 'to him’when you take so little interest in him. He is not like you, thankGod !”’ ‘“T suppose not. You’d rather think he looks like your old flame, Tom Delaney.’’ The woman turned her face toward the wall; the big tears rolled down the sallow face as she nervously bit her thin iips to keep from sobbing out- right. When the sobs were gulped down, she made brave to speak. ‘In the name of Heaven, can’t you ever let him rest? Do not remind me of the only joy I-ever knew outside of my baby, of the one man I truly loved.’’ ; Fred leaped to his feet. His face was like a patch of the red fire; the Eomichbooks (Eo)