The Albany register. [volume] (Albany, Or.) 1868-18??, 1871-12-09

cup of tea"
iier patience and gentleness touched
him. He drew up his chair to the
table. where his father was sitting and
answered her in a softer tone.
'spo>e you're right. mother. but
I'm not Just myself Tonight" !"
Then he ate his supper. in silence.
and after it was over. sat for Il few
moments. thinking silently. AT last
he took courage. and opened the SUBJ
.jeet OF which his mind was fall.
FEATHER. Henry Robbins is wanting
a piece. Don't you think, with YOU
to oversee him. lle could do the work
on the farm this Sunmer:''
Mrs. Maxwell did not speak. but the
saucer she WAS wipilig ftil to tile floor
with u sharp crash. For a full min
nte il was the only sound that broke
the stiffness. At last the o!d nrtni
answered:
II don't know. Robert-maybe he
could. | never liked to have any
strangers working Oh the place in my
time. | did it all myself till you were
old enough to help me. and everything
has pro~pered under your hands, Rob
crt. still. maybe Henry Robbins
could. Did you think of leaving Rob-
ert -
Il don't feel satisfied, father, TO be
flrnler in his small way. want
10 do something more with my life.
You could hirefa man TO do all ] do
for twenty dollars !. month. and
want to see What [ am worth some
where else
Then there was anotherlonG silence.
The mother finished washing up her
dishes. and came aiid sat doNn be-
tween her soil and husband her face
very white ana her hands shaking 4
little. Afjerawi,ile the ola man reach
81 ont ;lss.l took one OF the trembling
hands III his own.
1--WE must not blame Robert. Moth
cr," he said. trying to speak cheerful
ly. Nliat he feels isn't unnatural.
Other young men say TIE same. only
its come sudden. Don't think we
blame you. Robbie. It's ali fair and
rigllt-only sulden.'
Robert got up and went up stairs.
His mothers pa'c silence, his father 5
attempts at clieerftilness, seemed more
than lie could bare. lie Went away
to his own room, and sat down by the
window. Over across the meadows, Il
light was burning. lie knew it was
the lamp in Maud Du Fay's parlor.
Was she worth al he Was making
these two old people suffer ? Was he
sure that she would love him as they
did, Was he sure she would love him
at all. And iii this untricd life, this
great world where so many failed, how
did he know that he should succeed !?
What was he going to do? How
vague all his purposes Were-ltlst 4
dream. born of Il SOFT spring night, and
81 Il -
he wa: going TO overtuTn the whole
fabric of his life No he would not
he SO mad. This summer ut least.
should go on as before. He would
take time to consider. BY autumn he
should know better what lie could do.
and whether he could bear TO leave that
old father and mother-so many OF
whose treasures, the churchyaI1i
already held. and whose al he YVES.
lie began to think that this very fact,
that he was their all laid on him an
obligation not to be avoided, that such
success purchased at such selfish ex-
penditure. would not be worth having.
At any rate he would wait. And so
sleep came to him, and the morning
brought him peace and ealmneSs, ana
seemed to give him back his old self
again.
= Will you see Henry Robbins to-
day ?? his father asked at breakfast,
with an anxiety he strove 20 conceal.
: Not to-day, not at present. My
plan was sudden as you said, too sud
den to be wise. / have given it up for
a time at least. | will carry Oh the
place for awhile longer.
The old mans face cleared, but he
din not speak, only Robert MaxWell's s
nAher got up and silently kissed him.
No young lips could have been more
fontt-couid any be more dear:
Two days after that, news came to
him eff Maud Du Pays betrothal TO
| her cousin--tle city bred young man
whom he had seen riding beside her in
the May twilight. This was an unex-
peeted blow, something Which, know
ing the man was her cousin, he had
never feared. The news sank deep iil-
to his heart with Il dull, dumb pain.
She never would have cared for him
their-neyer had. it was we'll he had
not gone away and left those two who
did love him to mourn. After all,
perhaps the existence OF plowing and
planting. was all he was good for.
Fate had placed him rightly -gauged
his capacities better than he could have
done himself. SO he settled back into
his old grooves with u grim resigna-
ton Which was not yet content. Still
he felt himself at odds with the life
which did not offer him what he want
ed. When autumn came. and it was
time for him, il at all, to make the
changes he had PLANNED in the spring,
lie was surprised to feel that the incl
nation to. make it was gone. Some
healing ministry, call il OF nature
or of grace, GOD knows, had been at
work IN his soul and uneonsciouSly
to him self throughout the long summer
days, and swift, short summer nights
he had been learning the sweetness of
duty, pure and sinple-dnty done for
its own sake; he had began to ask HIM
self, not what he wished TO do. but
what lie ought to do and he felt that
in the very fact of his being to tho e
two who loved him as their all on
earth, God had called him to certain
duties on which he would never again
feel tempted to turn his back. Recon
ciled at least TO the appointment of
lax nf safs with hi i.