The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1862-01-10

yard, sir, and thinking perhaps, that it i
strange object so nigh ones dwelling"
NAY, my good friend, but it occurred tc
me that there might be a story connected
with it.
'.And so there is, sir-s sad strange tale
Would you wish to hear it'''
eagerly assented. The fisherman, how.
ever, seemed only half decided, for he turned
to his wife with the question, ''Shall | tel
the stranger the story, Margaret ?'
The face of the woman grew more pensivt
than 1 had yet seen it at the question, anC
leaving her household labors, she seated her
self by the side of her husband, and rested
! her head upon his shoulders.
Tell it if you wish, Robert" indistinct
ly heard her reply. Tell it slowly, for
more than half wish to hear it again myself
The children now gathered expectantly
around, one little fellow leaning himself ia
miliarly across my knee ; and frcm the deer
interest with which they listened to their ia
theirs words, L fancied that the narrative was 6
chapter in their experience. Nor was a less
interested LISTENER: and when, at it's conclu
sion, had heartily thanked the fisherman
for the pleasure he had afforded me- also
mentally resolved that the tale should one
day be related to larger auditory.
have no further preface to make, except
toremark that an appreciation Ofthe dramatic
element Of the tale has induced me to alter
its arrangement somewhat, although none
of its real facts or incidents, and to give the
whole in my own language.
Dull, cherries, indeed, were the cottage
and its surroundings upon the morning OF
the oath of December, 1872. The skies were
1o1n with or br
sea, moaning and laundering upon the
beach, seemed to take it's color from the
heavens, and its roughness from the coming
storm ; while the hard-frozen moor compile.
ted the dreary picture.
The cottage had, at this time, but two
occupants, and they sustained the relation
of father and daughter. The latter, pale,
lovely girl Of seventeen, sat shrinkingly be.
fore the fire, watching in evident fear, the
movements of the man. He was logged
sullen-appearing person of the middle age,
and he sat upon the side OF the fire opposite
the girl, his head bent upon his hands, and
his eyes fixed modify upon the floor.
Mag y he exclaimed sharply, fixing his
| eyes upon her.
She returned his glance with one of fright
but made no reply.
dye hear girl ?" he Numbered. eyes
Why don't you speak then Now listen
and mind what l say. Have there been any
men here-asking for me? Now tell the
truth or you'll sufferl!"
"There has been nobody" she answered
lat any time since we have lived here. But
father she continued, beseechingly, ''don't
speak so roughly 1t grieves and frightens
me. You know
''Stuff stuff 20 the man angrily rejoined
81 CAM and won't be so bored with YOU
girlish whims. Now listen again. 1 want
you to understand what I've told you over
and over again. If any person should ever
come here on that errand, asking for Philip
Flint, you're to tell him that he doesn' live
here; that you don't know anything about
him. And that's the truth, for my name
is Rufus Webb. Isn't it p
$50 you have often told me-
"Told you? And so it is; and yours is
Margaret Webb" was the angry rejoinder.
''Id like to know who'd deny it!'
g But tell me more, father,' the girl ex-
claimed, placing her hand upon his shoulder.
Tell me why we live in this dreary place
tell me OF my mother, and
With an oath the rutlianly father cast her
forcibly from him. Covering from him. she
sank into the chair she had left.
NoI questlOn! ne SaVaSely eX-
claimed.
"There will be trouble for you, Mag, by
and-by, if you keep on trying to discover
what it was never meant you should know.
Now bring me my cap and coat, for l mean
to go to the village"
:" You'll not stay long?'' the daughter
pleaded as she obeyed his command. It's
so lonely here, and to night is Christmas
eve.'
The man donned his coat and cap with
out vouchsafing the slightest reply land strobe
from the cottage. Margaret watched him as
he passed rapidly over the moorland, his
figure lessening in the distance, until she
could see him no more; and then turning
with sigh, she closed the door and re-
sumed her seat. The fire burned brightly
upon the hearth, but all around her seemed
desolate-and she most desOlate of all. There
was no human being within miles of her; nor
was there any solace to her sad condition
save her own sad thoughts. Her remem-
brance extended back but little prior to the
occupation of this cottage by her father and
herself, and that little was confused and in
distinct. And the record of one DAYS life
might pass for the whole it was story of
harsh treatment, sometimes blows, from her
father, dark, mysterious man as he was, and
of constant loneliness for fear of discovery
which constantly preyed upon the mind of
Rufus Webb, and which had doubles been
his chief motive in selecting this spot for a
dwelling, never permitted anything like
hospitality to influence his stubborn heart
Even in the widest weather, the belated
traveller was driven harshly from the door,
and the shadow of a stranger never yet dar-
kened the cottage.
To Tighten all this dark record of her
young life, Margaret Webb had but one
memOry-one hope. There was youth of
the nearest village, Robert Allan by name,
whose clandestine visits at the cottage, du-
ring the absence of her father, had never
been suspected by the latter. The heart of
the poor girl cried out in its loneliness for