Motion Picture Story Magazine (Aug 1912-Jan 1913)

74 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE the wagon to gaze back at the loved home he was leaving. "I'd sooner see him start fer th' poorhouse, if 'twuzn't jest fer th' name of it," he muttered. "Thet's all Bob's takin' him fer — 'canse he's druv ter it ! There 's worse places ter go ter than th ' poorhouse ! Poor ma — she couldn 't rest in her grave if she knowed what wuzhappenin'on 'count of her hidin' thet money so good! Folks are allwuz sayin ' they cant take their money with 'urn when they die, but she might 's well have took thet — sometimes I 'most think she did ! ' ' While Pa Flint was being hustled away to his son's home, to avoid the stigma of disgrace which the poorhouse somehow adds to the pain of poverty, a little girl in that same dreaded institution, only ten miles over the hills, was skipping about one of the bare rooms, her blue eyes dancing, her bright hair flying around her face in a golden whirl, as she caroled: Oh, I'm going to be adopted, 'dopted, 'dopted, Oh, I'm going to be adopted She broke off the impromptu song and danced up to a white-haired woman who sat sewing blue and white patches together. "Isn't it just perfectly lovely to think somebody's going to take me away from here?" she questioned. ' ' To think I am going to live on a real farm, and not be a poorhouse child any more! And there's two little girls where I'm going, one of them 'most as old as me, and a big boy. It's a little bit queer that they wanted another child, now, isn't it? — but I'm so glad ! ' ' "Now, you mustn't count too much on everything being pleasant, dearie, ' ' counseled the woman; "you know you're not really being adopted." Then, seeing the disappointed look that had swept over the eager face, she added hastily: "I dont want to discourage you, child, but you know it is always better to think of both sides of a thing. Then, if everything isn't just as you expect, you'll be more prepared to get along with it. Folks that take a child from here generally want them for work. ' ' "Oh, of course I expect to work — why, I want to work. If anybody's good and kind enough to give me a nice home, it's likely I want to do everything I can for them." She was nearly fourteen years old, this waif of the poorhouse, and more than half her life had been passed within its cheerless walls. Yet, somehow, in spite of the sordid, commonplace surroundings, the child had retained a sunny sweetness of disposition and a glad, confident expectancy that life would bring good things to her. She had been like some lovely hothouse flower blossoming in a tangle of roadside weeds. There was no tinge of apprehension or fear in Jessie's eyes a few minutes later, as she ran up to the man who was waiting for her in the bare sitting-room of the poorhouse. "I'm so glad you've come," she announced joyfully; "I've been expecting you all the morning. ' ' Even Robert Flint's hard face softened a trifle as he looked down into the trustful, sunny eyes. She was so evidently glad to go with him — so confident of his responding to her gladness, that he actually smiled as he answered: "Well, I'm glad you're ready. We'll soon be there — 'taint far away. ' ' All thru the ride, Jessie prattled gaily, and her companion, tho he responded mostly in monosyllables, did nothing to check the happiness of her spirit. He was not an unkind man, but the years since his marriage had been nothing but a scramble for money, urged on by a miserly, sharpvoiced wife. As they drove up to the picturesque farmhouse, with its broad, well-kept lawn and handsome shrubbery, Jessie gave a cry of delight. 1 1 Oh, what a lovely place — just like I was hoping ! ' ' she cried ; ' ' and there come the children to meet us ! " She jumped from the carriage, and ran happily toward the two girls and tall boy who were staring at her.