Beadle's Dime Novels No. 126: Old Jupe — page 84: what you’re looking at

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

. 86 OLD JUPE. place, to take care of herself, much less the infant. By going back to New Bristol she would be amid old neighbors, who surely would not allow her to suffer want; and Clare could still continue to exercise watchfulness over the little one. She promised Mary to win her master’s consent to living out, as she had done. She would make it her home with Mrs, Miller, and she had no fear but. that New Bristol would afford her work enough to make up her hire to her owner, So Mary stilled the ery of her heart, hardening it to part with her only joy and solace—her beautiful babe. There was a Sound of weeping in the prison, when little Luke was taken away; but his mother shed no tears. She had shed so many that the fountain was dry. She only repeated over aud over—“ three years !” The money which had been placed at interest after the sale of the homestead served to buy it back again; for Mary had said that when her term expired, she intended to return to the place of her condenination, and live Gown the false judgment pronounced against her, . For two years Clare had faithfully carried out Mary’s sug- gestions, which accorded so well with the promptings of her own affectionate nature. Mrs. Miller, feeble and broken down, was almost as much of a care to har as the child; except taat, when auntie was out at work, she could watch Piet feed little Luke. It is probable that, of the two, the colored. wo- man suffered much the more; as Mrs. Miller had sunk into a sort of complaining endurance, finding comfort in gently nurs- irg her sense of being an ill-used person; while poor Clare had not only the burden of their physical support, but all the loneliness consequent upon Jupe’s absence, and all the anxiety of constant, wearing. suspense and evyer-defeated hope. She never complained of her solitary hours, when grandmother and babe were asleep, and she sat, gazing into the kitchen coals, surmising, fearing. She would have given much, in these times, for the privilege of delivering a curtain-lecture to patient Jupe. Poor Clare! she had no use for the broomstick now! There was no one to come “ whinin’ roun’,’” whom she could scold for every thing which went amiss—even for rain on washing- day |—and to be deprived of somebody to find fault with was ho small loss, of itself, For, as to scolding little Luke, or connicloooks.comn