“You sleep?” Martha went over to the bed.  The little face was pinched and ashen.  The hands were cold.

“Lucy!  Lucy!” called the mother.  “Lucy!  Oh, Gawd!  It ain’t true!  She ain’t daid!  My little one, my las’ one!”

She rushed for the elixir and brought it to the bed.  The thin dead face stared back at her, unresponsive.

She sank down beside the bed, moaning.

“Daid, daid, oh, my Gawd, gi’ me back my chile!  Oh, don’t I believe you enough?  Oh, Lucy, Lucy, my little lamb!  I got you yo’ gif’.  Oh, Lucy!”

The next day was set apart for the funeral.  The Mission preacher read:  “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord,” and some one said “Amen!” But Martha could not echo it in her heart.  Lucy was her last, her one treasured lamb.

A COUNCIL OF STATE

PART I

Luther Hamilton was a great political power.  He was neither representative in Congress, senator nor cabinet minister.  When asked why he aspired to none of these places of honor and emolument he invariably shrugged his shoulders and smiled inscrutably.  In fact, he found it both more pleasant and more profitable simply to boss his party.  It gave him power, position and patronage, and yet put him under obligations to no narrow constituency.

As he sat in his private office this particular morning there was a smile upon his face, and his little eyes looked out beneath the heavy grey eyebrows and the massive cheeks with gleams of pleasure.  His whole appearance betokened the fact that he was feeling especially good.  Even his mail lay neglected before him, and his eyes gazed straight at the wall.  What wonder that he should smile and dream.  Had he not just the day before utterly crushed a troublesome opponent?  Had he not ruined the career of a young man who dared to oppose him, driven him out of public life and forced his business to the wall?  If this were not food for self-congratulation pray what is?

Mr. Hamilton’s reverie was broken in upon by a tap at the door, and his secretary entered.

“Well, Frank, what is it now?  I haven’t gone through my mail yet.”

“Miss Kirkman is in the outer office, sir, and would like to see you this morning.”

“Oh, Miss Kirkman, heh; well, show her in at once.”

The secretary disappeared and returned ushering in a young woman, whom the “boss” greeted cordially.

“Ah, Miss Kirkman, good-morning!  Good-morning!  Always prompt and busy, I see.  Have a chair.”

Miss Kirkman returned his greeting and dropped into a chair.  She began at once fumbling in a bag she carried.

“We’ll get right to business,” she said.  “I know you’re busy, and so am I, and I want to get through.  I’ve got to go and hunt a servant for Mrs. Senator Dutton when I leave here.”