In the northern part
of Austin there once dwelt an honest family by the name of Smothers. The family
consisted of John Smothers, his wife, himself, their little daughter, five years
of age, and her parents, making six people toward the population of the city
when counted for a special write-up, but only three by actual count.
One night after supper
the little girl was seized with a severe colic, and John Smothers hurried down
town to get some medicine.
He never came back.
The little girl
recovered and in time grew up to womanhood.
The mother grieved
very much over her husband's disappearance, and it was nearly three months
before she married again, and moved to San Antonio.
The little girl also
married in time, and after a few years had rolled around, she also had a little
girl five years of age.
She still lived in the
same house where they dwelt when her father had left and never returned.
One night by a
remarkable coincidence her little girl was taken with cramp colic on the
anniversary of the disappearance of John Smothers, who would now have been her
grandfather if he had been alive and had a steady job.
"I will go
downtown and get some medicine for her," said John Smith (for it was none
other than he whom she had married).
"No, no, dear
John," cried his wife. "You, too, might disappear forever, and then
forget to come back."
So John Smith did not
go, and together they sat by the bedside of little Pansy (for that was Pansy's
name).
After a little Pansy
seemed to grow worse, and John Smith again attempted to go for medicine, but
his wife would not let him.
Suddenly the door
opened, and an old man, stooped and bent, with long white hair, entered the
room.
"Hello, here is
grandpa," said Pansy. She had recognized him before any of the others.
The old man drew a
bottle of medicine from his pocket and gave Pansy a spoonful.
She got well
immediately.
"I was a little
late," said John Smothers, "as I waited for a street car."
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