Lamoille newsdealer. [volume] (Hyde Park, Vt.) 1860-1877, 1865-03-15

Ino ldI Imnousc, uedpeu tnerf Dy tne Dlus-
tering winds. efit--'afH
In all these weeks Hiram Vance had
not come to the farmhouse; and only once
he'd his name passed the uncle and his
niece. and this was on the day when the
term of the mortgage expired AT dinner
Mary had said: HH9 t t
" Uncle, | suppose that you will see
Lawyer Vance to-day. Ask him to let
the colt remain until fall know that
for my sake and Charles you will let him
stay in his old pasture, and think he !
will be willing to save dollar"
That afternoon John Grant went to the .
village and saw the lawyer. He would
not take the colt now, but have the pay
ment made all at once, when, by selling
his cows and largest proportion of his hay.
John Grant hoped to obtain the remain
der of the sum necessary. This Was a
little respite. The colt would remain at
the farmhouse short time longer yet it
was only putting off the much dreaded day
mhirh must finally come.
The golden sunlight had faded from the
hilltops, aud the shadows of evening had
fallen thick around the farmhouse of the
: Grants. The days work had been finish
cd up, and in the open door sat John
Grant, enjoying his evening pipe, the
white smoke curling gracefully above his
head in the gloom. By an open window
5 of the broad kitchen sat Mary, her head
9 bowed upon her hands, buried in the
} gloomy thoughts that hung over her
young life. .g..
There was not ray of light shone
through the darkness of the future to
t guide her steps to a single oasis of hap
happiness, such as most mortals look for
t ward to hopefully, trustingly, yet oft times
I pursuing it as phantom, that is never
oyertakcn. Her uncle had refused to leave
| her to toll for her own maintenance. but
i she knew that that time must soon come
!, for she would soon be past his labors, and
the little farm would not produce enough
c to support them, and pay the wages that
5 farm hand would demand. Theu would
come hard, weary toll, but she did not
, shrink from this. Shc could work if she
d had the health that now was hers. She
c only though of the long, tiresome, love-
less future that was spread out like a
d straight dusty road, reaching far into the
It future. 1a
: "Who is that down by the gate, Ma
:, ry? 2" said her rnclc, taking his pipe from
" his mouth, aud knocking the ashes from
" the bowl against the bench on which he
C was seated | thought he meant to call
Il here when saw him coming up the road. y
n Mary raised her head and gazed listlesly
y out into the gloom. Her heart gave q
great throb, as she saw that the one ap.
6 preaching the house wore the army blue
1t of her country, and there was something
> in his walk that reminded her Of Charlie
is their Charlie Since he went away she
It had not seen one in soldiers dress with
If out thinking of him. .'a .''a
e Nearer and nearer he came: her heart
stood still for moment, and then gave 3
y wild throb. Merciful Father conld tn,
1t grave give up its dead? Had the battle
,e Geld yielded up its victim?
e. For her life she could not have stirred
n from her seat, but sat as motionless as i
d bound down by chains. The soldier cam
= up the walk, aud accosted her nncle. Th'
De voice only rendered her more spell bound
IN will you give shelter to soldier o
as the Union tonight? knew your son
8, and he babe me- if lived to come North
be to come and see you.
q You knew Charlie ?" And Johl
he Grant sprang upon his feet. 81
b, soldier is always welcome but this make
ID you douhly 50 Were you with him whe
i'll he died 2" And the fathers voice wa
ce tremulous with emotion. :t b;-,
he I" was with him in the Wilderness
nd and saw him when the battle was over
he not five minutes before they carried hil
he away p y,as.o, ,,4ms
Carried him away? Who?"
en- "The rebels. He was badly wounde
,p- in the shoulder u slfoa sAl R
'as did he not die there p cried the oil