The Argosy — page 138: what you’re looking at

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

The Story of Dorothy Grape. 123 ‘*To be sure,” answered the Squire, soothingly. ‘‘One must bea heathen not to know that.—Hang that set-the-world-to-rights com- pany !” he muttered in a whisper. “The bitterness of it all has left me,” she whispered, with pauses between the words for lack of breath; ‘‘this world is fading from my sight, the world to come opening.—Only this morning, falling asleep in the chair here, after the fatigue of getting up—and putting on my things—and coughing—I dreamt I saw the Saviour holding out His hand to welcome me, and I knew he was waiting to take me up to God.—The clouds round about Him were of a soft rose colour; a light, as of gold, lay in the distance.—Oh, how lovely it all was! nothing but peace.—Yes, yes, God will forgive all our trials and our shortcomings, and make it up to us there.” The room had a curious hush upon it. It hardly seemed to be a living person speaking. Anyway, she would not be living long. ‘Another teaspoonful of wine, Johnny,” whispered the Squire. “Dear, dear! Where on earth can that doctor be ?” I don’t believe a drop of it went down her throat. Miss Kester wiped away the damp from her brow. A cough took her; and after- wards she lay back again in the chair. ‘*Do you remember the yellow roses in the porch,” she murmured, speaking, as must be supposed, to the Squire, but her eyes were closed: ‘‘ how the dew on them used to glisten again in the sun ona summer’s morning P—I was picking such a handful of them last night —hbeautiful roses, they were; sweet and beautiful as the flowers we shall pick in Heaven.” The doctor came upstairs, his shoes creaking. It was Pitt. Pitt! The girl had met him by chance, and told him what was amiss. ‘““Ah,” said he, bending over the chair, “you have called me too late. I should have been here a month or two ago.” Nothing could be done for her; even the Squire, with all his im- petuosity, saw that. Never another word did she speak, never another recognising gaze did she give. She just passed quietly away with a sigh as we stood looking at her; passed to that blissful realm we are all travelling to, and which had been the last upon her lips— Heaven. And that is. the true story of Dorothy Grape. JoHuNnNY LuUDLow. —PiDRS ECORI IE cConnicloooks (C(O)