Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1861-10-16
THE RUNAWAY MARRIAGE.


romantic in the golden moonlight Of that sum-
mer evening when pretty Alice Ray met Her
bert Melwyn in the black green shadows of the
solemn grove of old cedars, and they fled, to-
gether-but years and trouble had somehow
| rubbed the sentiment off. Nobody had sup
posed that the wealthy merchant, Herbert's
father, would be SO unalterably firm in the
resolution formed in the first moment of his
wrath, never to see his only child again no
body thought he would turn coldly away from
the peach-bl blossom face of that first grand
child, when Alice herself carried it to the
lodge gates of the pillared mansion.
1t was on chill November evening, four
years afterwards, that Alice Melwyn toiled up
the steep ascent leading to those very lodge
gates, with little Herbert cinging to her hand.
The delicate roses had long since faded from
her sunken cheek the blue light that used to
dance so playfully in her bright eyes was
quenched by the flow of many tears. She had
wasted perceptibly since the dreadful day
when the gray headed old sailor knocked at
her door with the dreadful tdings so plainly
written in his face that she knew, without need
of single question, that she was widow and
her babe fatheresS.
Yes, lost at sea /! She never had dreamed
that it would be SO when he had left her in
the bright flush of youth and hope-she had
looked forward to his return with such a thrill
of joy, through long months. 1t was all over
the wind swept through the leafless trees with
hollow, moaning sound-no wonder that she
fanced how it was tossing the great green
crested waves about with its cruel and relent-
less hand.
''Who are you, woman and what do you
want ?''
1t was old Melwyn's voice. He checked his
horse with sharp, sudden jerk of the hand as
the young widow shank back. His face was
hard as fits muscles had been cast in iron,
but she knew ii was her last resort, and spoke
with boldness ofdesperation.
ssFather, l am Herbert's widow, and this is
his child. We are poor and homeless-will
you take us in 70
s.Never'' he spoke between his clenched
teeth s'you knew perfectly well what you had
to expect when you married him. L never
change my mind. Take care of the horses
feet.''
He drove on with the same iron face, and
Alice, entirely 5ereft of the momentary i'm
pulse of strength, sank white and breathless
on the roadside. Not even little Herberts
piteous cry of"Mamma, mamma 20 reused her
from the Oblivion of despair.
s.Poor, pretty thing it's the biggest shame
that ever was. tell you what, Melissy, |
never wished so afore, but, between you and
me, I'd just like to be the old fellow down be-
low for bout balf an hour, for the privilege
of pickin' out the biggest kind of milestone
to hang round old Melwyn's neck when he
gets ready for it,
sWhy, Jethro Parker amt you 'shamed to
talk so? There, lay her down on the bed,
and get me the camphor bottle, Where's the
poor baby? That's right, Jamie, set him close
by the fire, for he's as white a sheet 20
ssWhy don't you send her to the poorhouse
at once 90 croaked Jeremiah Jackson, the viii
lage news vender. sShe hain't nowhere else
to go, that's plain
ssSend her to the poorhouse !'' kindly ejac-
ulated Mrs. Parker. ssWhy, look at them
white hands % her'n. She's born lady, if ever
there one"
ssThat's so,'' asse Bted Jethro, ssshe amt
the kind O. stuff that poorhouses are made of.
No, sir rec her own folks have turned her
out but We'll give her the shelter of our roof
and crust of our bread. Won't we, Melissy?''
ssDidn't know you'd got SO much money to
throw away" said Jeremiah, drily, shaking
out the folds of an immense bandanna hand
kerchef. ssAlwavS s'poSed charity begun at
home.'>
s.Well, who's denyIn' of it?'' said Jethro,
putting his hand in his pockets with rather
puzzled air.
ssNobody, only 'tisnt very likely Squire
Melwyn will be willing for you to keep this
here thrivin' farm % his'n if you go agIn his
wishes; and the lease runs out next month,
don't it 20
81 hain't no objection to his wishes as long
as they're decent and Christian like but
shan't make heather Turk Of myself on his
account
s.Then you'll lose the farm, shure as Christ
mas
ssWelI, let it GO then. I've lived here
pretty consid'a 'able spell o. years, and | won't
deny but what Pm attached to the old place.
but sooner than sell my soul to Squire Mel
wyn, I'll try the experiment of pulling up
stakes 20
HJethro, Jethro 20 whispered Mrs. Parker,
pulling little nervously at her husbands
sleeve. The possible risk they might encoun-
ter by sheltering the Squire's outcast daugh-
ter-in-law had never presented itself to her in
this matter of fact way.
SHOW, look here, Melissy,' said her hus-
band, turning good humoredly around sswould
you turn out this poor creetur for all the farms
that were ever titled 70
ssNo,'' said Melissa, with warm color in
her honest cheek, as she turned away to
smooth the fair hair that lay Oh the pillows
and Jeremiah knew that the question was def
initely settled.
Jethro Parker stood whIstling at his door
the next morning as Squire Melwyn's agent,
gray haired old man, rode up and paused at
the threshold.
"Good morning, Mr.. Parker.''
ssGood morpin', sir.'
81 understand" went on the agent, in a
slightly lowered voice, ssthat you have extern
ded your countenance and protection to-to
young Mrs. Melwyn."
Jethro nodded.
The squire is particularly desirous that you
should do nothing of the kind. He wishes
the young woman to feel the extent of her fol-
ly and imprudence."
ssCan't help it,'' said Jethro, coolly.
ssDo you mean to say that you will persist
in sheltering her, in spite of Mr.. Melwyn's
wishes ?''
sThat's my meann'.''
"a nd are vnu aware that in this case the