The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1870-06-16

einlneu 10 HDd DIS daughter once lha
nc had set about it, and petulant at The
fahpre OF one line Of investigation after
another, the hard old gentleman stun
} ped around the house, bis thick shoes
squeakiDg down the passages like two
bands Of music, and his peely hickory
cane puchiDg open doors aud upsetting
furniture. When he returned to the
sitting-room from one Of these bolster
Gus expeditions, he found bis wife sit.
ting in the light of the kerosene lamp,
sewing with an impatient, and almost
4 spiteful rapidity, as was her custom
when her nerves were unbcaribly irri-
tated.
"Where's Mercy7', he trumpeted
"Where is the old gall Has anybody
eloped with her7 l saw Deacon Jones
about this afternoon"
This jest was meant TO amuse and per-
haps concilate Mrs Lawson, for whom
he sometimes seemed to have a rough
pity, as hard TO bear as downright hos
tility. He had now and then a way of
joking with her and forcing her to smile
by looking her steadily in the eye. But
this time his moral despotism failed she
answered his gaze with defiant glare,
and remained sullen after another mo-
ment she rushed out of the room, as if
craving relief from bis dOmineering
presence.
Apparently the Squire would have
called her back, had not his attention
been diverted by the entry ofhis grand
daughter.
81 say, Bessie, have you looked 10
the gardenT' he demanded. "Why
the devil haven't you. Don't you know
Mercy's hole whel e she meditates Go
there and hunt for her."
As the girl disappeared he turned to
the door through which his wife had
fed, as if he still had savage mind to
roar for her temperance But after
pondering moment, and deciding
that it was more comfortable in solitude
lie sat sloly dOwnin his usual elbowchair
and broke out in a growing soliloquy:-
"Theres no comfort like making ones
self miserable. It's a-sight better
than making the best of it. We're all
having devilish fine time. We're as
happy as bugs in rug. Hey diddle
diddle, the cats in the fiddle
The continuity of his rough-laid stone
wall sarcasm was interrupted by Bessie,
who rushed in the sitting-room with a
low shrek and pallid face.
"What's the matter now ? he deman-
ded. "Has the COW jumped over the
moon 7"
80 grandfather" ?" she gasped. Give
found aunt Mercy. I'm afraid she's
dead
"Hey !" exclaimed the Squire, start
ing up eagerly as he remembered that
Aunt Mercy was his own child. "You
don't say so !! Where is she ?"
Bessie turned and reeled out of the
house the old man thumped after her
on his cane. At the bottom of the gar
den was a small, neglected arbor, thick
ly overgrown with grape-vines in un-
pruned leaf, whittier Aunt Mercy was
accustomed to repair in her seasons
of usual perplexity or gloom, there to
seek guidance or relief in meditation
and prayer In this arbor they found her
seated crouchiDgly on bench near the
doorway, her arms stretched over lit
tie table in front Of her, and her head
lying between them with the face turn
ed from the gazers. The moon glared
in a ghastly way upon her ominously
white hands, and disclosed a dark yet
cleaning stain, seemingly a drying
pool, which spread ont from beneath her
forehead.
Good Lord groaned Squire Lawson.
"Mercy | say, Mercy"
He seized her hand, but he hadlscarce-
ly touched it ere he dropped it, for it
was the icy repulsive, alarming hand Of
corpse. We must compress our des-
crption ofthis scene of horrible discov-
cry. Miss Mercy Lawson was dead,
the victim of brutal assassination, her
right temple opened by a cash two in
ches deep, her blood already clotted in
pools or dried upon her face and fin
gers. 1t must have been an hour or
perhaps two hours since the blow had
been dealt At her feet was the fatal
weapon,-an old hatchet which had
long lain about the garden, and which
offered no suggestion to who was the
murderer.
When it first became clear TO Squire
Lawson that his daughter was dead,
and had been murdered, he uttered
sound between a gasp and sob; but al
most Immediately afterward he spoke
in his habitually vigorous and rasping
voice. and his words showed that he
had not lost his iron self possession.
"Bessie run into the house" he said
"Call the hired men, and bring a Ian
tern with you.
Then she returned be took the Ian
tern, threw the CLEAN of it over his
dead daughters face, groaned, shook
his head, and then leaning on his cane,
commenced examining the earth evil
deutly in search of footmarks.
"There's your print Bessie, " he num-
bled. "And there's my print But
whose prints that That's the man.
That's a long slim foot, with nails across
the ball. That's the man. Don't dis
turb those tracks. I'll set the lantern
down there Don't you disturb 'em. +"
! - IL. -.