The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1868-12-04

as Tor OccupatlOOs N sure uOA AuOH
what my place viii do without him. I
9ish he would give it up. Do urge
him 10 do it.
4 don't think be viii, Day; he is bent
upon it, as you said; and really ! think
| it may be better for him.
'Efhe, this is hardly Ike you. What
do you need for himl A good, brave
man, to whom everything is easy,
whom everybody lOves--a home for
him here with those he loves. Why,
Efie, what can you wish for him more
than thisi'
Perhaps, David, be viii value these
things more when be has learned what
J It is to long for home and rest Any
way, believe he knows best and will
be led By wiser, tenderer hands than
ours. And as you never questioned yet
bis good and noble aims, do not begin
now, dear; he never disappointed US
yet-did her
David turned away with sigh, and
I bent my eyes upon the wet work that
was to 90 with Erie.
So, upon bright May morning, when
the early sunshine turned tue tear
drops on the flowers into dancing, gilt
tering gems, silently and tearlessly /
bade good to my best loved brother,
aud set out with DaYid-so sad and 20
uneonscious-fo Portsmouth. How 1
enEied Winnifred her passionate sObs,
as held her closely in my arms in the
room that had suddenly grown cheer
less and chillings
While our grief was fresh as ever,
David came back with last messages
for Us, al. and with mourDful look up
on his face which, said over and over
would soon give place to the gladness
that was natural there; but which deep
ened and dsepened day by day, until
that one day came.
We had had cheerful loving letter
from Erie, describing brightly and
amusiugly his bachelor home and
strange Life, and David had taken it
with him when be rode to Upton, that
he might read a part Of it to Mr.. st.
George, and Hope on his way home.
It was a cherries October afternoon,
thought as l drew the curtains slowly
looking down the darkening road, and
listening for the quick tread Of David's
horse, which I knew so well, even far
Of
Winnie startled me at last Listen
little mother, there is Day; but how
slowly he comes.
While the groom took his horse, 1
stood with the curtain still in my hand.
Winnie ran out to meet him, and when
| saw his head bent SO low to her, as
they came 10, l knew he hid his face
from me.
We dined quite merrily that evening.
Often since have l wondered how we
did it. David told us everything at Up
ton, of what Mr.. St George said Of
Erle's letter, and of other things, but
not one word If Hope; and even Win
ME asked no question of her. she was
so full of Erle's letter, over which we all
laughed merrily and freely, and yet two
hearts were sorely aching.
David was late to join US in the
drawing room, and did not look up
when he came in.
May / have one story before l 60,
Day Z Winnie pleaded.
Aren't you tired Of them, dear they
are all Just the same
But a new one
what sboutP He asked il YEARLY,
still avoiding my eyes as he sat down
aud leaned forward on his seat
Keep to our old favorite knight
only make itneW; make him want some-
thing he connot get
'Will it kill him thenl'
No, think not
Put of course you know, Day. Shall
you make him go on livingP
well, yes, be wants it. Now what
elseP
You must tell me. Is It thing
quite impOssibleP 7
Most impossible
Yes go on. What is be going to
do sbout itF
about il nothing.
'Yes. And presently
Presently, perhaps be will grow a
better knight, and be content and not
try to win anything more.
Had he many other good thingsP
Very many
Now tell me how it ended.
don't quite know, pet, little one. 1
will tell you another time
Seeing his weary look, 1 sent Winnie
to bed at once; and then, when We
were alone, l sat down upon tho floor
at his feet and cried bitterly. 1 could
not help it-childish as it was--I had
borne the suspense so long, and think
It is harder to bear for others than for
ones self.
He stroked my hair with something
of Erle's old tender touch.
'Ef6e, little mother, could bear it
better if you did not mind.
The gentle, pitiful words only made
it worse, and my sobs overpowered me.
David, David, is it sorrow for vou:'
4 think so, Efie; but I will not tell
you quite yet you look so sorry for me,
Perhaps it viii never be, DAY.
yes, know it is coming; I know the
happiness is not for me. ] viii try to
bear it as mau. Efie, do not make
me weak
The strange, fsr-away look in his
eyes almost frightened me, and I
thought perhaps, it would be best to
cad him to talk of it; so 1 asked hesi-
,sting, and he told me, little by little. of
how he had spoken to Hope, and how
'he had answered him gently and kind.
y, but in a way that left him no shadow
# hope.
1t would have ended forever I
hink,' he said, but that Mr. St
George Gang in so suddenly. 1 wish
t had; ] would have buried these
wasted years and gone out to ErIe.'
'And did she say-did she tell you
yhy, DayP a 2
No; she heard me patiently, and it
eemed sadly, and she said she had
lever thought that-that I loved her
o; that we were too like brother and
lister; and that she loved me too well
o give me in return for mine any but
perfect and entire love,-as she could
,Ot Tbeu askad bar e H., Ill -