CHAPTER XLIII.A FAMILY REUNION.

Tuscarawas County Poor-house,Near New Philadelphia, O., March 25, 1896.

Tuscarawas County Poor-house,

Near New Philadelphia, O., March 25, 1896.

MR. EDITOR:—Your letter asking more about Betsy Gaskins received. I will tell you all I know. Whether Betsy Gaskins is living or dead I cannot say, and I never will know, though what I do know I never can forget.

The strange things I have seen since I last wrote you are mysteries that can only be guessed at; they cannot be solved.

Betsy had been growing worse every day till the night of that terrible storm. The rain and sleet and snow, the wind and hail, made it one of the most dismal nights I ever saw. The roaring in the woods on the hill back of the poor-house sounded like a storm on the ocean. In every direction cattle and sheep were bawling. It was so cold, and the noise, I suppose, kept them awake.

That night Betsy was worse. She had smothering spells that it seemed she would die in, and her suffering was terrible. I couldn’t leave her, though my baby was fretful and kept awake till after ten o’clock. I was with her almost all the time.

I had let the window down from the top to let in fresh air, as she seemed to need it. I had no light except what came in over the transom of the door from the hall.

It was about two o’clock that I was sitting there all alone. Betsy seemed to be getting worse very fast.

“Pushing back the hair of the sick woman, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.”

The roaring of the storm, the bellowing of the cattle, the creaking of the window shutters and the moaning of that old woman made it sad and lonesome.

I was sitting there, thinking of what an awful thing it is to be poor and homeless and sick and friendless,—thinking of the wrong and misery, the cruelty and crime that is going on in the world against the weak and helpless,—when for some reason I looked toward the window, and there was the face of the most beautiful little girl I ever saw, looking in just over the sash. Her face seemed to shine, it was so bright. Her hair was the color of gold. I couldn’t speak.

That face (for the face and shoulders were all I could see) seemed to float in at that window, and for a minute stood still, like a humming-bird in the air, in the middle of that room, with its eyes steadily fixed on the old woman. Then it moved slowly and quietly downward and lit on thebed beside Betsy, and, pushing back the hair of the sick woman, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. At that Betsy opened her eyes and clasped the little girl in her arms, saying:

“Oh, my child!”

The head said, “Mamma.”

They held each other there a minute or so, when Betsy all of a sudden threw her arms in the air, half rose up and screamed at the top of her voice:

“See! see! Look yonder! Your father’s burning! Go, child! Go!”

The little girl turned her head, and they both looked toward the west wall a second, as though they saw something terrible to behold. Then the child rose as quick as thought, and, like a flash, went out at the window, screaming in a tone that made the chills run over me, “Oh, my papa!”

Betsy fell back upon the bed, and seemed to be greatly troubled and in much pain.

I had set there possibly an hour, watching the sufferings of that poor woman, and thinking of that little girl, when all of a sudden I looked toward the window, and there again was the face of that little girl and the face of an old man. The little girl was pointing with her chubby finger toward the sick woman; the other arm she had around the old man. He was looking to where she was pointing, troubled like.

I can’t say I was scared. I just felt speechless.

When they had looked a little bit, both of them came in at that window—just floated in—and stood in mid-air.

Betsy was resting easier, and it seemed they didn’t wish to wake her.

“There lay Mrs. Gaskins.”

I could see more of the little girl than before. Both their faces were bright, and the lower down you looked thedimmer they got, till they became colorless. I thought I could see their feet, as clear as glass.

Well, after they had rested there in the air a few seconds the little girl took her arm from around the old man, and they both settled down beside the old woman, one on one side of the bed, the other on the other side, and they each stroked her hair back with their hands.

Pretty soon Betsy opened her eyes, and looked up, happy like, first at one, then at the other; then she stretched out her arms, and they both laid their faces down beside hers, one on one side and one on the other.

She seemed to rest easier then, only her breathing was slower and each time farther apart. Pretty soon I saw a mist or something gathering over her between the old man and the little girl. I watched it, and it kept growing brighter and brighter, till I could see the form of a woman; then I could see that it appeared alive and looked like Mrs. Gaskins, only happier. Mrs. Gaskins began to suffer now, and was getting her breath hard.

“There again was the face of that little girl and the face of an old man.”

Finally the old man and the little girl rose up, and each put an arm around this form. The form would first look at one, then the other. Then Mrs. Gaskins gave one long, hard gasp, and straightened out, and the form broke loose, and all three rose up in the air and floated to the middleof the room, stopped, turned, and all looked at the bed. Then they turned and gazed at me. I couldn’t move. They kissed each other and began to move slowly toward the window, each with an arm around another. As they went out through the window the little girl began to sing the prettiest song I ever heard, in a low, sweet tone.

When they were gone I got up and ran to the window. There they were, going up through the sky above the barn, the little girl singing at the top of her voice.

I stood there looking as long as I could see them. I heard that little girl still singing as they went out of sight over the hill back of the poor-house.

“In the morning there was found a white-haired man.”

I felt so weak that I don’t know how long I stood there, but finally I thought that I must run and tell the superintendent that Mrs. Gaskins had gone. With that thought in my mind I turned from the window, crossed the room, and was just opening the door, when I happened to look toward the bed. And there lay Mrs. Gaskins as she had lain all evening, only stiller.

I was scared. I could hardly believe it. I went to the bed. She was cold. She did not breathe. I rubbed my eyes and hands and face to try to bring myself to realize what it all meant. Then I went into my room and lay down beside my baby till morning.

I straightened out Betsy’s clothes the next morning before they put her in the box. While doing so, I found a little rose-bush, tied up neatly in a rag and pinned fast to her skirt.

This, Mr. Editor, is all I know of Betsy Gaskins.

Of Jobe Gaskins I know very little, unless it was he that came with the little girl.

In yesterday’s daily paper, however, I noticed this item:

“New Philadelphia, O., March 22, 1896.—Last night a supposed tramp entered the Canal Dover rolling-mill in an almost frozen condition and asked for shelter from the storm. In accordance with his instruction from the company, the night watchman ejected him. In the morning there was found a white-haired man, apparently sixty years of age, lying cold in death on the ash-heap. The initials ‘J. G.’ were marked on his shirt. His face was burned so that it scarcely looked like a human countenance. His feet and body were covered with ice and snow.“The coroner’s jury, judging from the time the man was refused shelter in the mill and from the amount of snow on his feet and body, decided that he must have died between two and three o’clock the night before.”

“The coroner’s jury, judging from the time the man was refused shelter in the mill and from the amount of snow on his feet and body, decided that he must have died between two and three o’clock the night before.”

Could this tramp, Mr. Editor, have been the old man who was trying to get back to his sick wife?

Hattie Moore.

P. S.—The rose-bush which I found pinned to poor Betsy’s skirt I have planted on her grave.

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