The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1868-12-22
tho had been at work shook hands and

the mill, girl Of about Maggie's own age,
who mourned for the lost sailor lad with a
bitterness that was intensified by thinking that
she had let him go when last they parted with
her love still unoonfessed.
The girls sat for while all silent in the
family pew. Maggie held little Lucy in her
arms aud Edith rested with her head on Min
MES knee. The moon rose and poured its
light with glory of crimson and gold full on
them ard on the new marble slab, beneath
which Maggie sat with her face buried on the
young ohild's shoulder.
1t was Minnie who was organist at the
church, and being there she must needs play
over one OF the anthems of the morrow. Filth
went with her to blow the bellows. For
while Maggie continued to sit with bowed
head, still weeping, but soothed and calmed
by the strains.
The hymn was Hark, the herald angels
sine;' and as the player forgot her sorrow
more and more in the exultation of the music
as the notes swelled more and more iubilant
filling the church with grand old melody, the
little voice OF Lucy rose in Maggie's ear sing
ing the well-known words, and Maggie herself
upcopsoiously joined in them and lifted up her
head.
There in front of her, clearly defined by the
moon, stood her brother-the dead brother
who had been lost at sea. Maggie neither
screamed nor tainted. He had been so entirely
present in her mind-she had as yet been so
wholly unable to think of him as anything but
the bright cheerful brother of all her life
that to see him there seemed at first only
natural, Then in q moment, however, the
recollection of all that had befallen in the last
mournful months flashed up. No fear came
with the recollection; only an intense surprise.
Why should she fear, if even this were the
spirit of her much-loved brother She clasped
the little child (whose face was turned away
more closely to her, and leaning forwards in
the pew, she shaded her eyes from the moon
and looked steadily and earnestly into the face.
The hands and arms of the figure came for
ward, stretching towards her in the pew. A
voice came from the fgure:-'Maggie, it is T.
and in an instant another voice-the voice of
Lucy-soreamed, 'Oh, Maggie that is jamie
my own brother jamie = and the child sprang
from Magge's knee, and was in his arms.
'And why should have thought anything
too hard for Godi Why should not have
had faith that he who raised Lazarus would
raise my brother too Neither Martha nor
Mary sOrrowed more for their brother than
for mine
The words did not shape themselves; but
this, in all its fulness, was the thought that in
amoment of time had passed through Maggie's
mind. Then she was also in her brothers.
arms. For indeed it was he and none other,
alive al d well.
Meanwhile the music had ceased, loss be-
cause the player had been interrupted by
any noise than by reason of that subtle in
stinct which so often tells ms, we know not
how, that something wonderful and strange,
in which we have an interest and a share, is
happening near at hand.
One moment more and Edith and Minnie
also were olpgiDg to him, sobbipg for joy, and
the secret of Minnie's heart was a secret from
him no longer.
They all sat down for awhile and looked at
each other with an exultation strangely min
gled with doubt. JOY was so much stronger
than curiosity that none Of them thought of
asking any questions. 1t was enough that he
was restored to them: it mattered not how.
At last he pointed to the new marble above
the pew, and said, with shaking voice
Oh what grief it has been to you. We
must have that down tonight
1T went up only this morning. said Maggie.
'Then you have not got the letter this morn
ing he asked, which was sent to tell you OF
my coming, and all about it 7 Indeed | am
sure you have not
Me- said Maggie.
1T was enclosed from London by Mr.,
Franklin
In blue envelope with little red seal,
said Lucy; and / buried it in the garden
because those letters have always been naughty
and vexed papa
In spite Of all, what could they do but laugh
at the child's explanation even were it only
10 make her lift up her head again and be less
ashamed of her guilt.
'The letter was to tell you how this sad, SAD
mistake has arisen, and to say that Mr.. Frank
lin aud were coming down to spend, as We
shall find it, the happiest Christmas we have
ever known. You were to send and meet III
at the Junction, and we were to have beer
with you two hours ago, if we had not had tC
walk
'And have you seen father p the girls asked
No; he was not in the house. So have
left his old friend there, while | sought you
and him. The organ was playing as | came
TO the church door, and that told me where
10 find you. But let us make haste home t
him.
Andrew Walter was at home when they
arrived, and had heard from the old lawyer
the story of his sons return but had as vel
not succeeded in convincing himself that the
great joy was real. Not, indeed, until he had
the young man in his arms did he fully be-
lieve it or dare to say, awe-striclen-
The sea has given up its dead-given up it
dead even to me-
We will not dwell upon that meeting o
father and son, neither of whom had ever
known what it was to doubt or mstrust, OF
waver in his affection for the other. There
are some moments of bliss so unalloyed, sc
great, and so beyond the force of mere Ian
guage, that only the human heart (Which
res ponds alike in high and low, when the
great master hand of Nature sweeps the
ohords) can conceive their perfectness.
To give the necessary facts as briefly as pos
sible this was how the circumstantial evi
dence by which the young captain had beer
declared to be dead, and his ship lost, wa,
shown to be worthless.
InnOcpOt of Dlapiariam as AndraW WaltaI