Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1870-07-15


overlook that, but not his sons weakness,
and crime, as he termed it, by which it
was lost.
After Henry's departure. the old house
became quieter than before. All the life
had gone out OF it. Deacon Holbrook
himself was man of few words. and his
taciturnity had abated his wife's social
tendencies. Very long, very quiet, and
very tedious were the evenings which
they spent together. On one side Of the
fireplace sat the deacon. gravely reading
through his speetacles the agricultural
paper which came weekly. Opposite him
sat his wife, her fingers actively engaged
in knitting, her mind intent upon her abb
sent boy. All was staid, quiet, subdued.
There was not even q kitten TO enliven
the scene. Mrs. Holbrook had once in
troduced one into the house, but the dea-
con speedily intiinated his dislike of cats,
and puss had been banished
One nigh: Deacon lIolbrook came home
with letter for his wife. Ii was such an
unusual circumstance for the good woman
to receive letter. that she took il eager
ly, and tore it open with unwonted haste.
What was ii that made her eyes sparkle
with JOY the familiar handwriting had
not deceived her. She knew it at once.
10y the peculiar flourish on top of the III,
that it was from Henry.
She read it Though with JOY. 1t was
from one of the mining districts of Cali
fornia. 1t appears that Henry had work
ed his passage, having no money; he
left the vessel at San Francisco and pro-
ceeded at once to the mines, where he
was now working. He had not been
there long enough TO form an idea of what
were his chances of success. He wished
his mother to write, and promised 10 keep
| her advised of his movements. There
WAS only one reference to his father II
was this: II am afraid father still re-
tains his bitterness towards me. If this
is the case, do not trouble him with any
message; but if otherwise. YOU may give
my du,iiul regards, and say that do not
yet despair OF making myselfa good and
! true man."
Deacon Holbrook did not look at his
wife while she was reading this letter
though the handwriting must have told
him also who it was from.
Joshua" said his wife timidly. using
the rarely mentioned Christian name of
her husband. ''ths letter is from Henry"
$50 suppose. said he. coldly.
As he spoke he took from his pocket
the Weekly Farmer, and adjusting his
spectacles, began to read.
This was hint, and so Mrs. Holbrook
understood it, that he did not care 10 pur-
sue the subject further. But she could
not help asking
"Wouldn't YOU like TO read Hcnry's
letter. joshua"
You will oblige me by not mentioning
his name agaia," said the deacon stiftly
He has forfeited all claims to be consider
cd SON."
So days, months, and even years pass
ed. 1t lacked but month of five years
since Henry Holbrook left his home.
There was little change in the air of
the grave, sober-looking mansion OF Dea.
con HolbIook The deacon himself had
tailed more in those five years than in any
five years preceding. His form had lost
its ancient erectneSs, and WAS bowed
His face had grown more wrinklod, and
he spent more time in the house.
Mrs. Holbrook received tidings OF
Henry at short intervals. He was well,
and doing well, he wrote; did not enter
into particulars. Sometime he should re-
turn 10 sec his mother OF his father he
did no, speak. These letters were all
brought home from the village post.oflice
by Deacon Holbrook, but he never signi-
fled any curiosity or interest to learn the
contents. Henry's name had not been
mentioned between the two for years; yet
let not this surprise the reader-it would
be hard to tell which thought of him most
constantly. Behind the deacon's taci-
turnity there beat heart, and that heart
was more tender to his lost son than he
would have been willing to confess.
All at once his quiet life was broken in
upon, and that in most cruel manner.
One day he entered the house, his face
as pallid as sheet, his limbs tottering
beneath him. his whole expression that OF
great and intolerable anguish.
What's the matter, Deacon Holbrook!
What's the matter Joshua?" inquired his
alarmed wife.
Hannah. we arc paupers III our old
age?" said her husband bitterly.
Good gracious! what has happened?'
asked the wife, turning pale from sympa-
thy.
Little by little, it came out that he had
become bondsman for banl officer with
whom he was well acquainted, and in
whose integrity he had the utmost con-
fdence. But to-day the intelligence had
arrived that the officer had series of de-
falcations, had fled the country, and left
the bondsmen to suffer. The amount Tor
which the deacon had become bound was
sufficient to swallow up the house and