Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1867-12-26

q slight courtesy in token of his stand
ing; he'll tell ye. He knowsb sbetter nor
do where the people lives"
The young man courteously raised his
hat, and addressed his fellow-passenger
for the first time, not without little In
ward admiration Of her trim figure and
handsome, healthy face.
"Can be of any service to you?"
"Thank you, sir"; the pleasant, clear
toned voice had troubled sound in it,
"My father; Iexpected to find him here
We eheld this cottage for years and yearsW
and she gazed at IL regretfully. 90, sir,
do you know where he has gomez"
eyes. John Pearson's children attend
the school. You will find your parents
living at Patchet Mead"
| She reiterated the words with an en-
phasis which the schoolmaster under
stood. The hovels-they deserved no
better Dame-at Patchet Mead were ILL
built, ill-ventilated, and in the winter
months the land around them was nearly
always under water. The girl's eyes
! questioned him 50 anxiously that he felt
constrained to try and relieve her per-
pleXity.
"Do MT make yourself uneasy. 1t has
been hard, a very hard winter to many I;
and your fathers accident
A cry burst from her lips, and her color
began to fade. "They never told me!
they never told mel"
He hastened to reassure her. at was
nothing very serious,-a fall from a
wheatstack at harvest; and he has quite
recovered"
Her eyes began to I'LL. "And he has
been ill; and mother helpless, with her
young baby, and l never knew itn'-
Then, feeling ashamed that a stranger
should witness her emotion, she thanked
the young schoolmaster, flushed little
as she met his glance of compassionate
interest, and picking up her travelling
bag, moved on, just in time to avoid the
stare of slattern who had lounged out
Of her cottage to look at her. The school
master walked away also, but not SO
quickly as to lose the information shrilly
screamed into the ear of the deaf woman.
"My blessed! if that was MT, Lucy
Pearson, as went away with Mr.. and
Mrs. Spencer, when they took that sick
daughter o. theirn abroad to see what
that ID do for her. Why, It is five year,
an more, since she went away; an look
at her now,-just like any lady! Ihardly
knowed her. She might ha' stopped am
spoke to old neighbor."
But Lucy Pearson was beyond the
reach of the gossip's tongue, picking her
way, as well as she could, across the oozy
meadows, and shivering as much with
anxiety as the damp fog, which settled
heavily on the low and marshy ground.
1t hastened the approach oftwilight, and
when, directed to her fathers domicile
by . sallOw urchin employed in filling a
kettle from the ditch, she lifted the latch,
the darkness within confused her
Around some fading embers on the hearth
the family were gathered. John Pear
son,-no longer the hale, hearty man,
decently clothed, and boasting ofhissnug
hoard in the savings bank sat, with
his elbows on his knees, looking moodily
into the fire. His wife, with many a low
Sigh and furtive GLANCE towards him,
rocked and hushed her fretful baby and
two or three fair-haired little girls hud-
died together to listen to u ghost-story,
told with evident gusto by an intelligent
looking boy of twelve, whose frost-bitten
hands and feet were swathed in band
ages. They all started up when the tall
figure darkened the doorway, but it was
only the mothers quick eye that recog-
nized the long-absent one. Dropping the
baby into the lap of the boy, she pushed
the other children aside and came forward
calling, in joyful tones, to her husband
why, father, father, see! it's our
Lucy, God bless her! How she have
grown, to be sure !"
The mothers heart beat as warmly in
the miserable cottage as our own good
Queens in her palace, and Lucy was
fondly hugged and cried over ere she
could salute her father, and address the
hushed and timid little ones. WILL. baby
eagerly claimed, and Tapped beneath
her ssft, warm shawl, she drew the 9TH
ers to her knee, and tried to speak cheer
fully.
"They do not know mel" she cried,
as she pressed her lips to the faces shyly
raised to her own. "No one remembers
me but Johnnie,-poor Johnnie land
it is SO dark that can scarcely see any
of you, -, a., ., ,.,., !.
wards her husband; 1--WE must have q
light and fire. o John, the poor child
is shivering with the cold, and she aint
used to it. Can't us have bit O. fire to
warm her?"
Pearson turned away from the be-
seeching look with a nod and left the
cottage; but when he reached the door
of the empty wood-shed, he leaned
against it and groaned heavily. A loaf
in the cupboard, to serve for the morn
ing's meal, was all they had in the
shape of food, and Heaven only knew
where more was to be procured. Firing
there was none, for every stray chip had
Deei Tdkeu IOSeliltT W Wurul HIS Cflllleu
limbs when he came in from the fields,
an hour previously. Bitter indeed, is
that poverty which may not welcome
home beloved child Lucy had al
ways been go generous and thoughtful
in forwarding part of her earnings, that
her parents, to save her from grieving
and repining, had stoically withheld the
worst of their trials. and rejoiced that
one, at least, of their offspring was
spared the keen pangs of hunger. But
now she had come to see and know for
herself the depth of distress into which
they had fallen, and Pearson, in his
pride and natural regret, felt that he
could have forborne the gladness of be-
holding her to have spared her the
shame and grief of witnessing their
changed fortunes. But he reused him
self presently, and returned to the cot
tage with such an armful of sticks that |
the little ones cried out in wonder, and |
were only silenced by his stern "HushW
and upraised hand
Lucy's heart was full already; and !
when the blaze betrayed the pinched |
faces of the children. and the haggard
looks of her parents, she knew not how
to repress her grief; but she turned upon
them bright face and a hopeful smile,
until the reason of her coming was asked.
The sick child on whom she had been
in attendance was dead. All that
vyaolfb and okil1 cnuld daUiaa hod prny.