Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1860-03-08


than she, lets her weep upon his breast, whilst
he closes the door. Then, when thew have
mingled their tears together, and he has com.
forted her soul by telling her he has come to
fetch her, and they will never be parted any
more, he sets her down, and she leads him to
the kitchen. The fire lends cheerfulness. but
does not hide its look of sordid squalor, or dis
gulse It's unwholesome smells Everything
bristles with lOcks-the lt-box end the can.
dIe-6ox have each a padlock-tangible signs
OF the soul which put them therefor where
there are many locks there, be sure, is mean
ness OF soul, and nature in its l6wness is of the
coarsest human clay.
He sets her on his knee; he wonders at her
pretty face, though thin and pale; he kisses
her poor chapped and swollen hands; a blessed
mendicament which, be sure, will heal; he lets
her heap lie upon her breast and minples his
tears with hers. For many minutes they sit
thus in silence, she only breaking it by one
low pathetic cry, Father, father, take me
away"
II will, I WILL only we mustn't steal away
ike thieves. Well wait till these people come
home. What time will that be ?''
She says she does not know. 1t may be ten,
or twelve, or even later.
{" Well, well wait, for must tell them what
L think of their barbarous usage But pack
your things my dear, you must be all ready to
go when they come"
INV hOoOo Ho luFltdClOn 10 this necessary
duty. The little box stands ready; her things
are very few, some sordid rags, and that is all
She shows her father the little frock, all that
Is left of the things he had given her, and tells
him how she was crying over it when he
knocked at the door. He does not answer,
something is futtering at his heart, and his
voice is still
Whom the little box is ready, and her bonnet
and ragged shawl too, she comes back to his
knee and listens wonderingly whilst he tells
tnat ne IS now no longer poor man. That
going to the Australian diggings he prospered
there Being sober, careful man, he had
husbanded his gains, and when sufficient he
had sailed to New Zealand and bought land
there This he had cleared, fenced, and plowed.
and stocked with cattle, and built himself a
log house and outbuidings. All this work ac-
cOmplished, he had left his farm in careful
hands and sailed for England, where he had
arrived about ten days before.
Il made my way at once in Berkshire" he
continues, "and this without fOrewarning, as
was anxious to observe for myself how your
aunt was dealing with you. For 1 had from
time 70 time sent money to her for your keep
and schooling When 1 thus came upon her
unawares, her terror was indescribable, and it
wasn't until threatened her with the poEce
that she confessed that she had kept the money,
and sent you of to London two years before
Some OF this money she reluctantly gave up,
rather than see the inside of a jail But I
could learn nothing Of you, except what little
the neighbors could tell me Of your going
away. came to London, traced you to the
pubic house where you had first lived, but
there lost the clue. After much weary search,
put the matter in the hands of the police,
and went back to Berkshire, where, this very
morning, got letter, saying a girl answer
ing your description lived in this street, with
a small llnendraper Of the name of Quilcher
They were said to be coarse and cruel people,
and from the cl0seness with which they kent
you, caution would be necessary in making
sure If the girl were really YOU l therefore
set off at once, neighbor Deacon driving me in
his cart to the station, and the good Smiths,
and Carriers, and others filling this basket with
pies and other niceties for you. So when I got
to this street, and inquired of hairdresser's, 8,
were-''
"On, father" she Interrupts, ssthat must
have been Rasper's. They are such nice good
people. They learnt from Samson how hardly
was used, and so they sent me many a little
thing, or L must have starved. Once | got away
and spoke to them, and they bid me give Mrs.
Qulcher warning; but she wouldn't take it,
and So
She'll take it now, - he replied firmly, "and
tonight, too. Well, EN-, when you've had few
days holiday amongst our old friends. I sh I'll
put you to good school for six months for m
going to stay that time in England. have to
buy ploughs and seeds, and carpenters tools,
and many other things, and look about me, to
see if can find a good honest fellow or two,
who will be willing, if 1 pay their passage
money to the colony, to help me for year or
two with the farm
Something has already crossed her quick
mind; and it is on her lips now, but fear and
prudence restrain it.
pause, "open the basket, and see what's there
for supper
She has risen to obey him, first drawing the
little rickerty table near, when there comes
KNOCK TWO on oUILCHER; S DOOR.
Father" she says, quickly, 'It's Samson,
Mr.. Quilcher S assistant. Please don't be angry
if he comes down here You will like him. he s
so good; and he has been such a friend to me. -
She does not wait for assent or dissent; but,
hurrying away with a sole scrap of candle,
goes up stairs. The father smiles but not in her
sight, for he wishes to make his own obserya-
tiOns first. For some minutes there is a great
whispering in the narrow passage, where some
one says he had better 60 up to bed; in reply are
little soft dissents, till at last heavy feet come
down the stairs, following little hesitating trip
ping ones. Then Emmy comes in; and her
father sees before him the stalwart large hand
ed stranger he answered so curtly on the rail-
way platform. At once he arises, and with
plain, honest, manly straightforward frank mess
IN sorry, stranger" he says, cat having
been 30 rude to you, but men who've had to
rough the world as have had, are apt to get
currish in their humor. Forgive me, 1 did not
then know you were my little Emma's friend. /"
Samson is, of course, thunderstruck at all he
now learns, and listens with bated breath Then
In reply he has much to tell of little Emma and
the Quilchers, and what both suffer at the hands
of the latter. By-and-by, when Samson is warm
by the fire, and Emma's father has begun bis
talk about New Zealand, the little maid opens
the basket and brings forth wonderful pork
pie, apple and jam pufs, and other country
dainties: Placing these forthwith on the
table, with knives and forks and plates, she
next opens the oven, and from thence come
the delicate piggy-wiggy and currant sauce,
and plum pudding, she has boarded for Sam,
SON. She would give portion to her father,
but he, saying that he dined we'll TO-DAY be,
fore he started, insists that the hungrier man
should have it,
For suspect" he adds, still speaking to
Samson, that you've had little Christmas
cheer to-day, for you looked 50 cold and hungry
when l saw you on the platform. If not too
bold, may ask you where you'd been ?'
TO BE CONTINUED.
Two BRoTHERs DRowNKD.-On the night of
the 2ith ult., John and VIM. O'Neale, brothers,
while crossing the West Branch, on the Mnehill
&.A o. H. n I'LL