The Portland daily press., 1870-01-29

offensive words ne could find. Goods crea-
t tures! he s,oImed, following his father.
lucy are treacherouS theyesw He wonder
ed TO flnd his father and mother so quiet.
1ney have not touched the plate" said
MRS. Kelsoe; "and look at this, my DEAR"
pointing to heap of rings, watch and
chain, which she had taken off the night be-
fore. "They took nothing but the arms"
How can she say word for them? ?" NUT
| tered Tom. Gods creatures, indeed~ He
went up to his room, and looked at the empty
hooks where his gun had hung. 1t was as
much as he could do to keep the tears out OF
his eyes. 81 hope that Kit Cassidy may new
er come in my way" he said savagely. "I'll
be revenged, if it is thousand years from
| now"
| CHAPTER II.
| Kit Cassidy was seen no more in the Kelsoe
| kitchens. His father, and two or three other
men, who were employed on the farm, disap-
| peared, and were supposed to have joined the |
Ribbonmen. Tom was quite hero among
| the other boys for few weeks; Joe Spencer
and Phil Boyd came over 70 see lne llIaihs VI
| the ropes Oh his wrists. AT the meet on Sat |
| urdav too CAPTAIN Duncan, who often dinel |
with NIr. Kelsoe, called to Tom-"That foster
brother of yours played you sharp trick, ELI,
i Tommy?
But mean to pay him for it, sir" cried
Tom, loudly.
That's right, my lad" said the captain.
noddins and laughing. Tom was almost as
proud as if he had his new fowling piece TO
carry that morning.
lie used after that to say every day to the
boys, "Pll pay Kit Cassidy yet thinking how
Capta'n Duncan would applaud him, if he
heard 1t; aLtil one day Phips big brother,
George, said, Il did not think you were The
| and c-ttish to me.'
Now, George wore whiskers, and could con-
strue Eurpldes. Tom began to doubt wheth-
Ell his revenge were so manly after all. Be-
sides he was not in half such a RAGE with Kit
| at first.
| Il never knew a fellow who could train
setter like Kit Cassidy" he said to Phil; "ard
when had the ague, that chap slept at my
door like dog. There's no DENYING that he
was very toad of me. But there's no good in
a croppy. Mind tell you, Phf.'
Soon after, news came Of the battle at Ross.
The slaughter oil the rebels was terrible. Mr..
KelSoe read the account tIom Dublin paper,
which was taken by club, and passed from
house to house. "One little lad, from the
County Cork" it said, rushed up the embank-
ment, and thrust bis body against the mouth
choked the baste? Curiously, he escaped
with his liie,'
Father, that was Kitv' cried Tom. "He
was as brave as lion, Kit was"
The bravery of the poor crorpies seems to
me to resemble that of the beasts" said Cap
| tain Duncan, who sat by the fire, brushing
| the dust from his cambria shirt frill.
| "They are men," said Mr.. Kelsoe, gravely;
"and perhaps it would be better to have call
ed out the best part of their manhood, instead
| of the worst"
| Tom turned this over in bis mind, but could
| make nothing of it. But at the next words
he pricked up his ears.
INV the way KpSoo fbaro ic n o,,aor "a o,,.
| going that one OF your diaries is left open at
| night, from which the croppie families can
| help themselves to milk and bread Surely
there is no truth in t?"
| "The women and children are starving"
said Toms mother, quietly
You encourage the rebellion, madam"
III thine enemy hunger, feed him." said
Mr.. Kelsoe.
SIT you are trying to make man out of
croppy, through gratitude, you are bribing
swine with pearls said the captain.
All this perplexed Tom. or course bis
father must be right But it was so easy, like
the captain, to see no good in those who dill
tered with you, TO deny that your enemy was
only faulty man, like yourse +, and 10 call
him brute! He went down that very night.
| and stood on the hill to watch the lean. rag
ged women, stealing into the open dairy, for
the food left there Tor them. Ii was all that
stood between them and starvation. They
were huddled into the huts on the Cloyne
estates, and their husbands were all in the |
rebel army.
| CHAPTER III.
Nearly year had gone by. One cool even
| ing, just after harvest time, Tom sat alone on
on the doorstep, looking over the dreary
| fields. He had just eaten miserable supper;
| the usually bright, cheerful room, was dim
and dirty, the ashes OF the fire were scattered
| over the hearth. There bad been sickness in
the house for many months, and trouble-al-
most want-had come, so that the old order
ly routine had long ago given way TO discom-
tort.
Tom crept up now and then to the door of
his fathers room, and listened to his heavy,
feverlsh breathing, or looked at his mothers
pale face bending over the bed, and then down
again. The doctor came down after awhile. |
nom his daily visit.
"How is he to-day, sr?"
1.-The same, my lad. Typhoid's slow dis. |
ease. But in hope it will all come right, in |
time" He looked pityingly down on the boy,
who had followed him to the gate, and stood
with his hanu on the horses name. "The
| farm needs your father sorely.'
Eyes. If was only man."
The doctor was silent. This terrible wear
Of war and peslilence had made the sky dark
| for them all. The rebels were conquered, but
were still in hiding among the bills shot down
like dogs, whenever they ventured out in
every house there was disease or want. but
the jolly Kelsoe household seemed to have
Jared worst of all.
"What is wrong, Tom, boy9 Perhaps can
be Of some help to you"
MY father was in debt, it seems. One of
the creditors is pushing hard for small sum-
The sheriff served writ to-day; it my father |
was not SO hear to death, he would be in Jail |
at this minutep' Tom broke down here alto |
gether; he was only child, after all and he |
hid his face against the doctors knee, and |
sobbed out loud.
"Tut' tut! Poor lad This must be set light
at once. I'll see to it, Tom"
But Tom, when he looked up, had no |
brighter face than before. So many of his |
fathers iliends bad gone TO "see to it," and
there was the end of it. There was nothing
SO plentiful as goodwill that year, or so
scarce as money.
at your crops were n"-hesitated the doc
tor.
''If the crops were in, we would be SAFE.
said Tom, eagerly; "but look at them p point
ing to the great fields OF uncut grain, begin
ming to droop from over-ripeness. "There is
not man to be found to cut tbelnD
"There are not halt dozen laborers left In
the county. We miss the croppies that is
true" rejoined the doctor
There is no chance Of pardon for them ?"
asked Tom, anxouSly.
aiuoh' why IeSitueutS from dublin are
guarding every cross-road through the hills: |
and as soon as rebel thrusts his head into
sight, he is shut down, like rat in hole |
But that is not our trouble just now. I'll do |
what L cam
Eyes, sir" But Tommy sat down again
despondingy on the step, not even turning |
hls head to see the doctor ride off. If he had |
done so, he might have caught sight of a dark |
shadow gliding swiftly away from the hedge |
by which they mad stood, through the furze-
bushes.
1t was boys figure and one sleeve hung
empty by his side.
Doctor Lannan did what he could the next |
day, but it was not possible to raile the mon
ey. LII kelsoe's crops were harvested, "every- |
body said they could be sold in an hour But
the crops were not harvested.
Keep good heart, Tommy" said the doc |
tor, as he babe him gooJ-by the next even |
ing. "iour father has been true to his God |
aud bis friends, and neither of them will de- |
sert him."
Il don't know" said Tom, drearily. But
his heart grew warm aud light. He ran to |
the kitchen, and brought smoking cup of |
tea up to his mother. She would drink it
from him, rather than any OF the maids. She
looked at his bright face, as she gave the cup
back.
"is there anv oond po,,-r To,,, o.,