“All went well for two months. Suffer? Yes, I suffered more than I dared then admit, but I was doing good, I was making his wife happy instead of dealing out pain, as I first intended. I am sure he suffered also, but I think he, too, found a great deal of happiness in the fact that he was doing all in his power for me and my child, without doing any harm to anyone. But an end must come, even to good intentions. One evening we were all sitting in the library of his home; my little girl was playing with a doll house he had given her. She had been quietly engaged in this pursuit for some moments, and so still was she we almost forgot that she was in the room. All at once she left her play and ran to Arthur and proceeded to climb up in his lap. Then putting her chubby arms around his neck and kissing his cheek, she said, ‘I wish you was my papa.’ And before anyone could answer her she turned to me and said, ‘Mamma, ain’t I dot no papa? Why tant you det me a nice papa like—like—Unca Arter?’ “It was too much for him. Tears sprang into his eyes and, putting her gently from him, he left the room. His wife thought his grief was caused by the sad recollection of their baby, but I knew. Such scenes were exceedingly straining, so I avowed my intention to return to Chicago, whereupon they begged me to leave my little Harriet with them. We talked it over while Arthur held her on his knee. I finally consented, for I knew she would be better cared for there with them than she would with me. I felt the greatest pain, though, when, after it was settled, Arthur lovingly folded her in his arms and said, ‘Now, darling, I am going to be your papa.’ Freeing herself from him, and not quite understanding it all, she ran to me and said, ‘Who’s doin’ to be my mamma now, you, mamma, or Auntie Arter?’ I could only take her in my arms and weep. “Good-byes were said and I came here and found work in a restaurant. Letters came and went with the regularity of the rising sun. Always a little sheet of scribbles from my baby. They never allowed her to forget me. To my surprise one day I received a telegram from Arthur saying that his wife, the baby and himself would arrive in Chicago in three days. I did not understand at the time, but learned upon their arrival that Arthur’s wife had become afflicted with some malady which required a difficult surgical operation, and she was coming here for that purpose. “The operation was performed and everything done to save her precious life, but it became the painful duty of the nurse to tell Arthur that all efforts had resulted in failure. The slender thread of life seemed about to be severed. They sent for me to come to the hospital and bring my baby. I went and was shown to the room where white sheets seemed to predominate, the monotony of which was only broken by the vases of beautiful flowers which filled the room with sweet perfume.