The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1864-02-19
A GIFT BY THE WAYSIDE.

Inc OLD 1arm house CLOCK hau Just
struck seven, and over all the hills the
purple vapors of twilight were coming
down, making spicy odors among the
sweet ferns in the pastures and the wild
grapes ripening in the woods, while the
whippoorwll sang sadly on the messy
rails of the broken down fence and chirped
shrilly through the morning glory leaves
about the window.
"Seven o'clock 4" echoed Silas Miller,
Just as though he had been watching that
slow, creeping minute hand for the last
half hour. "He will be here now-my
boy will soon be here"
What strong softening of the rugged
features, what an unwonted culver of the
harsh voice there was, when he uttered
the two words, "My boy" Yes, it was
his boy who was coming home from the
smoke of half dozen battle-tields no
wonder that the thought sent thrill
through his iron nature. His soldier
his hero.
"Surely l ought to hear the stage
horn, he said, feverishly pacing up and
down the narrow path, where the maple
leaves lay like a carpet of pale gold.
LlSIeH, Cy Dll, UOn you near IL!
"It's too early yet, father
The light figure came stealing out to his
side, and both together leaned over the
garden gate, gazing into the opal gloom
of twilight with a wistful, searching
gaze.
She was not prettier than many another
New England girl, yet there was a delicate
type of beauty in her face and form that
belongs as much to the 'frOzen North, as
its pine forests and cliffs of eternal snow
Pale, brown hair, with aureate lights
crossing its surface at times, eyes like the
blue larkspur, and lips that had stolen the
dewy crimson of the wild rose; in pearls
and blue Grape Sybil Miller would have
been a beauty; in her dress of gray ging-
ham, she was something far better and no.
bier.
Suddenly the old man started and ut
tered an indistct, glad cry.
ats he, Sybil; don't you see beyond
thealder bushes2 Child, don't hold me
back let me 60 and meet my boy"
''No, father, you are mistaken; it is not
laurence Laurence is shorter by half a
head; and that is not his quick, buoyant
step.
You're right, Sybil," said Silas Miller,
rather petulently. "Why do these va
grant soldiers 60 wandering by, giving
folks such a start: 1t is only this MORN
ing that beggar, disgracing-1 won't say
wearing-the United States uniform, came
by, and had the audacity to ask me for
money"
Did you not give him something's"
"Give him something's" repeated ST.
las, angrily; I'd have seen him starving
first. | have no patience with these stroll
ing beggars Here's another of the same
kind, | suppose. No, my man, you
needn't trouble yourself to repeat your
pitiful story"
For the tail figure, with hating step and
coat thickly powdered with dust, paused
in front of the gate, and Sybil could just
discern the dark piercing eyes, and a fore
head curiously tlaversed by a crescent
shaped scar, apparently newly healed
81 have nothing for you," said Silas,
sharply. eyes, yes, know what you
would say, but it's no use. Ii you are de-
serving, the proper authorities will take
care of you, and, if you are not, the coun-
ty jail is the best place for you. Don't
tell me about want; what have you done
with your bounty money and your pay, il
you're really what you pretend to be-a
soldier?"
Even through the twilight sybil could
see the scarlet flush rising to the SCARED
forehead.
"Sir, you are mistaken. Ibid not beg.
mo, you'd prefer to play the bully,
I've no doubt But am not proper
subject for you, SO be about your business,
my man."
The soldier turned silently away, a steE
more depressed, and passed slowly into
the gathering dusk.
FATHER" whispered Sybil. reproach.
fully, had you not forgotten that oul
Laurence, too, is soldier ?"
mo-" returned Silas, abruptly, "I re.
member it, and it convinced me all the
more that man, paid and pensioned like
our Laurence, has no need to be on the
public highways"