The Bloomfield times. [volume] (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1867-187?, 1870-03-22

morrow" They worked barely enough to
keep them out of the alms-house, yet were
forever lowering on the verge. People said
it was "no use trying to help them, though
am rather doubtful about the experiment
ever having been tried.
Up to his twelfth year Alfred Lindsey had
followed in the steps of his predecessors.
He had lived principally in the streets, pick
ing up occasional jobs of work and pretty
good knowledge of human nature. No one
thought to look under the tattered hat, or
they might have seen pair of brilliant
gray eyes looking keenly out at the world
the busy, restless, struggling world, upon
which he was only a fungus growth. Some
such thoughts crept into his brain, some
times. A longing to crowd himself into
the busy ring and fight his way with the
rest sometimes came over him, keeping him
awake for hours after his two brothers,
George and Ben, were asleep. But there
never seemed to be an opening. No one
saw him, apparently, and SO he waited till
till one day Fate cleft the way for him.
An unusually heavy fall of snow, solidi-
fed by frequent rains falling upon and freez-
ing in it, had distinguished the winter
The streams were already swollen beyond
precedent, when strong south wind, ac-
companied by heavy rain, set in. Mr.
Sherwood's residence was situated on lit
tile knoll, below which the river bent alb
ruptly, broadening to beautiful pond, dot
ted in summer with snowy lilies, and i'll
winter by gay parties of skaters.
"Papa, isn't the river rising?' Corrie
Sherwood asked, pausing at the door, on
her way to her chamber.
"A little, 1 presume but it wont rise
high enough to reach you, little one, if you
hurry off to bed,' the father answered, smi-
ling at the flushed little face, looking out OF
a tangle of soft chestnut hair.
"You are quite sure, papa?"
"Sure Why, Corralline, what puts
such absurd thoughts into your unusually
wise little head? The river never rises
half way up the knoll. Go to bed without
any fears my child"
''The river does roar fearfully, James,
Mrs. Sherwood said, going to the door anc
opening it a little way.
"Well, my dear, it's chained fast to it,
bed, and can't get away" he answered
with the air of man who is concious o
having said q clever thing.
Mr. Sherwood was the merchant of Grant
ley. There were several grocers, and sim
pie "storekeepers, but only one Mahomet
The others were respectable citizens, mere
ly-Mr. Sherwood eminent and honored.-
All "the best people i'll Grantley-I us
the word in it's social, not it's moral sense
patronized his house. If he sometime
took advantage of his popularity and re
spectability, and sold the same quality c
goods at slight advance on the other Grant
ley dealers, it did not lessen his sales. Th
prestige of trading at Sherwoods S was wort
small percentage.
"I wish you would go to the door an
look out before retiring" his wife contii
ued strangely oblivious of her lords cle'
erness.
You and Corrie are nervous" he saic
rising
Standing on the broad, polished grant
steps of his elegant residence, Mr.. She
wood looked down, in double sense, at til
low tumble-down hovel of Tom Lindsey
, 1t stood at the edge of the pond, in clos
proximity to the old "grist mill" I'll
, light shone out from one of the dilapidate
7 windows, revealing a wild, turbid sea
f broken ice and floating boards.
= 81 shouldn't be surprised if it carried {
Toms hut. I'm sure l hope it will p'-
Mr.. sherwood said, coming back to h
warm luxurious room. "The pond is fl
, of floating boards, so | suppose Morton h
S suffered some. But he piled his boards
S the rivers edge to save storage. But I
= not afraid of its injuring me, andother pc
y pie must look out for themselves; wi
: which quite unheard-of sentiment Mr.. She