Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1863-06-05

must tell me what it was. | don't think
the silent, enduring thing would have
spoken even then, if she had not seen
that / was crying. Her own tears came,
too; and she briefly said:
"You all think I'm thief"
l assured her most earnestly to the
! contrary.
She turned her restless head over
towards me again, and her great eyes,
all glittering with fever and pain, search
ed solmnly into mine; and she replied :
"You all think I'm a thief Yis, /
saw you had locked up the money and
the silver. | saw you count the clane
clothes that was washed in the house.
Wouldn't | be after seein' it? And
tley says so in the town"
1t went to my heart to have done
those bad things. All that | could say
was utterly in vain. She evidently felt
nothing of il to be true. She had recei-
we'd deep and cruel hurt; and the poor
wild, hal(-civilized, shy, silent soul had
not wherewith to reason on it. She
only endured, and held her peace, and let
the fire burn and her sensitive nerves
had allowed pain of mind to become
severe physical disease. My words she
sc arcley heard my tears were to her
only sympathy. She knew what she had
seen. Besides, her disease increased
upon her. Already from minute to
minute she rapidly grew more restless,
and her increasing inattention to what |
said frightened as we'll as hurt me The
medicines of DIR. Nash were useless.
Before noon l sent for DIR. Bagford, who
said it was decidedly brain fever-that
she must be leeched, and have ice at her
head, and so forth,
Alb, it was useless. She grew worse
and worse passed through one or two
long terrible days of frantic misery, cry
ing, and protesting against false accus-
ations with lamenting voice that made
US all cry, too then lay long in stu
pid state, until the doctor said that now
it would be better for her to die, because
after such an attack, brain so sensi-
tive would be disorganized-she would
be an idiot.
Her poor mother came and helped US
wait on her. But neither care nor medi-
cine ayailed. Bridget died; and the
funeral was from our house. was sur
prised by the lofty demeanor Of Father
McMullen, the Irish priest, the first |
had ever met; +; a tall, gaunt, bony, black
haired, hollow eyed man, of inscrutable
and guarded demeanor, who received
with absolute haughtiness the courtesies
of my husband, and the reverences OF
his own flock. A few of his express
ions might indicate a consciousness that
we had endeavored to deal kindly with
poor little Bridget. But he did not
think so; or at least we knew that be so
handled the matter that we meet i'll feel
ing on account Of it.
The griefs for any such misfortunes
were, however, obscure and shallow in
comparison with my sorrow for the un-
timely quenching of Bridget's young
life, and my sympathy for her poor old
mother. When | reasoned about the
affair, could see that had done moth
ing which would not be commended
by careful housekeepers. could see it
but, in spite OF me, | could not feel it..
was tormented by vain wishes that
had done otherwise. | could not help
feeling as if her people charged me with
her blood-as if | had been in some
sense aiding in her death. Nor do l
even now escape obscure returns Of the
same inexpressibly sad pain.
The garnishing of sepulchres is au
employment which by no means went
out with the Scribes and Pharisees.
Under the circumstances, the death of
my pretty young maid, although she was
only an Irish girl, produced deep i'm
preston in the village. Very soon, now
that it could do no good, it was general
ly agreed that the imputations against
her were wholly unfounded. 1t was
pretty distinctly whispered that they had
arisen out of things said by Mrs. Dea-
con Adams, in her wrath because Bird
get had left her service 10 enter mine
and | ascertained that Mrs. Adams was
woman of bitter tongue, and enduring
hot, and unscrupulous in anger, and in
revengefulness ] have inquired suffi-
GENTLY; | know it is true. The vulgar
malice of hard women has murdered
a fair and good maiden with the invisible
arrows of her wicked word.
But she begins alredy to be punished
coarse cast iron as she is. People do
not exactly like to talk with her. She is
growing thin. She has been lila thing,
| am told, never dreamed of before
/ OF course she had reported to her hus-
band the reproaches with which | had
surprised her on the very day of Bridgets
death. She had called in by chance, aud
had not even heard of illness had her
self begun to retail to me the kind OF
talk with which she had poisoned the
village, not knowing that her evil work
was finished; and it was the scorniul
carelessness of her reply TO my first re-
proof that stung me to answer SO Bit
terly. Ii was two weeks before good,
white-hared, old Deacon Adams came to
the house of his pastor. His face look
ed care-worn enough. He stayed long
in the study with my husband, and went
away sadly. I happened to pass through
our little hall just as the Deacon opened
the study-door to depart; and | caugh
his last words, very sorrowful in tone
"She might git well, 'ef she could stoI
dreamin' ont, and git the weight of'u
her mind. But words that's once spokeT