The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1869-03-18

That was the end That was the re-
ward that my cross word had purchased
for me! Truly, truly. the wages of sin
is death. We shall need no corporeal
punishment, no spark of real fire, to per-
| feet our torment.
Ccnscou>nes is all suficient-remorse,
that worm that never dies. 1t is useless
for me to attempt to talk about what |
| suffered IN the weary, weary day that
followed that morning Words could not
express it; and no soul save one that has
passed the same furnace of affliction,
could understand it. But / lived, for
sorrow and death rarely walk in each 9th
cr's steps, and nursed my babe, and did
| the work my hands had to do. did not
go back to my father. | renamed in
Toms home. and kept his things ;lil about
and everything to remind me of him,
even his cap hanging in the passage
Forget him! Does love ever forget
Hastings did not die lie recovered
and made public statement. He was
more in fault he said, than Tom was
Then he put notice il. all the papers,
telling Tom to come back; but lie came
not. -.
The winter passed away with long, long
nights Of bitter remorse and tender recol-
lectlons Of the dear husband, whose
strong arms had once been my stay and
support. The spring, the summer, an
mother wInter-three years, went by,
crept by slowly.
My child, Toms little baby, grew 10
be a lair little thing, with fair blue eyes
and golden hair, and a tongue that never
wearied of its childish prattling.
All the day long she sat on the door
STEP, where the evening sunbeams slanted
III. lisping to her doll. and listening while
told her Of the father who would surely
come back to us some day. Surely God s
mercy would vouchsafe some compensa-
ton. some pardon, for such bitter repen
lance as my soul pourd forth.
The third spring was peculiar some
how the far-of sky seemed to drop down
in nearer bluer folds; the sun wore
softer radiance; the trees, the grass, the
flowers, deviner, tenderer beauty.
L rose up every morning, and looked
out Of my window. at the klndling glo-
ries OF the morn, with feeling of strange
tremulous expectation. | seemed To feel
the shadow Of some great event that
winged its flight above me-the one pray
er OF my soul seemed about to be answer
ed. One evening-oh, that evening J
A May sky, soft and blue, hung over Il
green, blossoming earth The turtle
cooed in the distant wood. and the robbin
twittere IN her young brood amid the
milky bloom of the orchard. God $ love
shone on the golden brightness of the
westward going sun. My child, little
Ellie, set on the doorstep, talking to her
doll, and watching the birds. All ut once
she Capped her hands and bounded to
her feet.
Mamma" she cried gleefully papa
comm papa comm Etfie go meet him.
The words stir,e my heart to the most
utmost de. tbs, and, dropping my work,
| followed my darling to the door.
a man was coming up the garden path
his garments tatte,ed-his step slow
and uncertain. A beggar, no doubt |
called Etfie to come back, but she ran on
needless OF my command Toms little
spaniel, that had petted and cared for,
Tor his sake, darted from his kennel with
u peculiar cry, such as | had never heard
from it before
What did t all mean My heart throb-
BED. an,i my knees began to tremb bile. =
Little Ettie ran on, holding out both dim
pied hands, her golden ha:. all about her
rosy face.
How'd do. papa? It's your little
girl Ellie, y she llsped lis she reached the
man feet.
lie stopped and raised her in his arms.
and then his glance rested on me. And
such glance--such Il face! Pale, hag
gard, worn by sorrow and suffering tu Il
mere shadow. Toms ghost came back
from the grave. Not that, either, for my
frantic arms gras ped something, some tan
gibie form.
"Oh, Tom I cried, ''is it you p
Speak and tell me. -
Yes, Lucy, it i; ME, [ cou,dn bear it
any longer III dying, believe, and |
couldn go without seem you and the lit
tie one again.
My arms held him fast. tattered gar
ments and all. my kisses fell on the poor,
pale face like rain [ would never let him
90 again.
Tom, Tom," | sobbed going down on
my knees before him. "oh, forgive he
forgive me II have suffered so much p"
It's that must ask forgiveness. Lu-
cy." he said humbIy not you'll was
wrong" But | stopped him short.
No, Tom, my cross word did it all.
| [ said But for that we might have
been happy togetherall these weary years
Mamma, don't cry any more; papa S
come back again.
Yes, he had come back. poor tattered
and hungry-like the prodigal; but my
Tom, my husband, nevertheless. ! would
never speak cross words to him any more.
1t i; spring time again. The sweet
| May morning steals in at my window: as
write and | hear turtle cooling i'll the
| distant wood
My husband is man now standing up
proudly, his feet upon the grave of temp-
tations. We are both happy-oh, so
| happy, because our present condition Is
! in such blessed contrast with the miser
able past