The States and Union. [volume] (Ashland, Ohio) 1868-1872, 1870-09-28


hall" Jenny SAID, land Mr.. Falkene
will go and open the door,"
The girl went out, and Jenny stsri
ed up with clasped hands, and fright
ened face.
"My. GodP" she said. 1t is Mr.
and Mrs. Acton, Toms aunt and ur
Gle. Can it be that they suspect p
What else sent them here I"
We turned the parlor gas up lii
tie, but not toe brightly, and pu
everything in its place, then left Ned
and returned to our,s seat at the table
leaving the door slightly ajar.
Ned opened the door into the hal
and calmly ushered the visitors in.
81 hope we did not make you has
ten your supper" Mrs. Acton said
civilly. ~
"I left my supper" Ned responded
coldly, hoping by the hint to short
en- their visit.
We made some movement of tn,
dishes as reminder. Jenny, pale a
death, leaned over the tray with hel
eyes directed toward the parlor door,
and listened. The time seemed in
terminable.
ftWhy didn't you put him in ice::'
we heard Mr.. Acton ask.
HE requested us not to" was the
calm response Of Ned.
Silence again, and I heard the loud
thump of my heart as 1 leaned against
the table. Would they never go?
Jenny rose, pale and resolute, and
walked into the parlor.
"Good evening, Mr.. Acton! Good
evening madam !" I heard in heI
clear voice. NNed, will you go out
and finish yorr supper 7"
She approached the coffin ct the
head of which the two visitors stood
one on each side, and bent over it.
"Poor Bertl" she said in a piercing
voice. "Poor boy!" then without 9
moments hesitation, she lifted her
face, she drew a muslin veil down
and hid his. They had no choice
but to go away.
She went to the door with them,
and when they were well down the
steps, turned the key in the lock, and
took it ont. Then, after calling
down to the kitchen peremptory or
der that no one else should be admit.
ted that night, she returned to the
parlor.- ~
al can't do it again." Bert said,
shaking with agitation. 'My nerves
are too much excited.
Two of the fellows led him into g
little bedroom already prepared, and,
giving him a good glass of punch,
put him to bed and took up their
watch by him. Ned and I had other
work to do. We had to dress heavy
wooden log and put it into the coffin
so that it would not move. Then the
lid was screwed down.
Bert slept well that night, all the
party keeping vigil, except that Jen-
ny got few hours sleep, lying on
the sofa in the dining-room. The
bedroom that Bert occupied was hers
and Ned's, snd she would not go uE
stairs.
The next day we made bold push.
The funeral had been announced for
the afternoon, but we had it two hours
earlier than was expected. The few
also who were in season were not
able TO see the corpse, decomposition
having taken place.
Jenny did not go to the cemetery
She was very unwell, and, as soon as
we had gone, took off her things. and
seated herself in her dining room,
which was also a sitting-room, to
await our return.
That night Jack Cameron, one oi
our six, watched with the sexton in
the cemetery, that there should be no
body-snatching, and the next night
the sexton watched alone. On the
third night there was no need oi
watching. Bert Singleton was of
on the ocean, steaming across te
Liverpool. nr-oa q
Strangely enough. though we had
seen suspicion in every glance, no one
seemed to have suspicion, and the
repose of that log of wood was never
invaded or disturbed.
But still we were anxious for q
while. We couldn't know who might
be on board the steamer, or who might
be inclined to suspect the long beard
ed sick gentleman who could not leave
his stateroom.
But all went we'll, and in a few
weeks we got letter from Hilda, in
forming us, in velled way agreed on
beforehand, of his safe arrival. Their
little property, converted into money.
was all in her hands, and she had
made every arrangement for him.
All her timidity and dependence
seemed to have been scorched off in
the fiery ordeal through which she
had passed. She had only her broth
er now in the world, and she had to
make restit ution to him for all that
he had suffered on her account.
Not long ago, when I was last in
England, I went out of London to
visit a tiny little foliage-embowered
cottage, and was received with open
arms by Mr.. Francis Jameson and
his wife and sister. Years had soft
ened their trouble, and Mrs. Jameson
knew all her husbands story before
she married him.
They are sale enough, for no one
would ever dream that the grave,
bearded, middle-aged gentleman was
the same joyous, boyish faced Bert
Singleton whose sad death they had