Iowa voter. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1867-1874, 1870-05-12

isfled had written that letter, and though
everything was all right and straight
Then, taking Gordon with him, he
had returned to Detroit to find the con-
ductor But he had been dead six months.
Then he had stopped all along the route
until at last he reached Michigan City, the
then terminus of the road. It was .
miserable, Struggling little place, it, long
pier laid with railroad track, running far
down from the I" city" into the waters OF
the lake. The boat that was to take them
across was nowhere in sight and he went
back to the hotel where they had taken
supper . year ago when they came on.
He related his GRAND to the landlord, and
someway CHANGED to mention the child'A
name.
"viola!" exclaimed gentleman, look
ing up suddenly from his paper why,
Reeves, that is the name on the little
child that died at his place last summer.
rather pretty"
Well, the result Of it was he did not
take the boat, but went out to see this
Briefly, who lived about two miles away.
He said he had found the child in the
street, crying and bewiEered, just after
the boat had left one night. He took her
home with him, where she was sick q
! good while and "crazy as bear" She
| kept saying her name was Viola, and
nothing else," and 80 when she died she
cut that name on q bit of wood, and put
it up so as to show her friends If they
ever came.
"But it may have been some other
Viola" said Ralph, unwilling to believe
that the bright, spirited little creature
could die, as perhaps some other Viola had
done.
81 think there is no doubt about it what
ever This Briefly Is an odd, eccentric,
misery fellow, who lives quite alone in .
little hut near the lake, but, though he
bears rather bad name m the neighbor-
hood, think he did as we'll as he could by
her, and could forgive him great deal
for that" Mr.. Anderson said, in ALTERING
voice.
Of only we had waited a little longer,
Ben"
"Yes, but we did not know, For some
reason God saw fit to take her from us in
this sad way, but He knows best, wife,
and all His ways are right"
And so the though! OF 9 simple c-css
bearing the dear name, by the far.away,
lonely lake shore, fell into their hearts .
sad, and tender, and sacred memory, to be
cherished and talked of, and remembered
forever. But now q new trouble-Or
rather an old trouble renewed-came to
haunt Myra Anderson's heart. Ralph de-
clared his resolution to 60 to sea. This
tame, monotonous farmers life, fretted
him more and more every day and week.
All through the summer he dwelt upon It,
and not even the graceful destinations Of
his beautiful cousin could drive it away.
"Lct the boy CO." Tom Arnold said
zone voyage will cure him. Its as natu-
raj for Massachusetts, boy to want to 60
to sea as 1t is to take to the girls. ! don't
believe in trying to force boy to stay at
home II his heart is set on going"
"But father-Tom," she faltered.
"Yes. Myra, but because his ship went
down, it's no sign Rslph's will. You and
I can never forget that; 1t weaned mo
from the seal never want to look on its
treacherous face again +" he stopped alb
ruptly and leaned over and drew his sis
ters face to his bosom and kissed 1t.
go Tom, / cannot let him got" she
| moaned.
"But he soal, Myra you may depend
on that. The lad has got will Of his
| own, maybe you know"
Ralph was seventeen in Ootnbes. He
had worked faithfully all the summer, but
when the harvest was all gathered, he
said, firmly:
al am going to sea In. the spring, father.
| | want you and mother to consent. want
to go away man. fashion, but one thing, l
shall go. l am sick of this prosy life
why sometimes long so for the spray
breaking over the rocks, for the swash Of
the waves, the roar and tumble Of the
surf, and the scent of the salt breeze COM
4 ing up from the strong lungs Of old ocean,
that 1t Is like sharp pain, and l cannot
help crying out, and catching my breath
as if was falling from some dizzy
heightp
~ shall never consent to your going
while you are under me-" Ben Anderson
said, with iron determination.
"Then shall 60 without your consent.
| l wM go" was the low, resolute answer,
the frank boyish face growing white, and
| firm, and set.
"Silence r commanded Anderson, stern
ly. "How dare you talk 80 to me, boy? ?"
II only said the truth, father. You
always brought me up TO speak the truth,
and TO avoid hypocrisy and deceit. I'd
scorn to go away unbeknown to you, and
make believe didn't mean to 90, for
do; and tell you 80 openly and plainly
Il shall go if Heaven spares my life
"You shall not" Ben Anderson's face
was alight with sudden fire, and there was
a hard ring in his usually quiet voice.
"We will wait and SEE" Ralph answer
ed, unninchingly.
The winter slipped away and the mat
ter was not again referred TO between
them. Ralph was apparently contented
and happy, joining with eager zest in all
the winter sports gotten up by the young
people, entering with his CHARACTERISTIC
impctuousness into both work and play,
and his father congratulated himself on
having conquered the rebellious spirit or
the boy. "There is nothing like unyield-
ing firmness in dealing with one of these
passionate natures" he said, with q feeling
of intense self-satisfaction.
It never occurred to Ben Anderson that
the boy had his own stubborn will. His
theory was that obedience was the first
law of child. The natural instincts and
intuition were to be crushed out, II they
run counter to the judgment and wishes
of the parent Years and experience fit
ted him to Judge what was best and most