Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1872-09-13

1t was long after dark when we reached
home, AS we went up the side stair
which opened on the street by door of
its own. put my head into the shop and
babe Mr.. Willow goodnight. He was
seated at his bench, studying the, strange
swing of the many pendulums of his new
instrument, but in place of the pleased
look which the view of his completed
task usually brought upon his face, it was
sad and weary, and he merely turned his
head moment to answer my salute. On
the stairs we met Phoebe, who was great
lv troubled. and told us that little while
before dusk, Mr.. Willow and his son being
out. the stranger had called, and asking
for nv wife-for the little lady, as he
called her-had pushed by the maid and
gone upstairs, saying that he would wait
to see her. Phoebe, alarmed at his wild
manner. had kept watch atrour door until
her master came back. Then she had
heard in our room, where the son and
father met, fierce and angry words, after
which the old man had gone away, and
the clockmaker had retired to his shop.
All that evening we sat in the darkness
of our room, alone, thinking it best not
to disturb Mr.. Willow and his lad, who
were by themselves in the shop. About
ten the boy came up, bade us a good
night, aud soon after we ourselves went,
somewhat tired, to bed.
The next day was Sunday and as usual
we slept rather later than common. After
dressing went into the back room, and,
throwing up the window, stood still to
breathe the freshness of the time. The
pigeons were coquetting on the opposite
gables and housetops, and below me, in
the garden, the rare breezes which had
lost their way in the city, were swinging
the roses and jessamines like censers, till
their mingled odors made rich the morn
ing air.
Suddenly heard a cry of surprise, and
turning saw my May, prettier and fresher
than any roses, in her neat white morning
DRESS Her face was full of wonder, and
she held in her hands the paper we had
left on the table the night before.
''What is it now, May?" said [.
''Look!" she said, holding up her draft
on the Bank of Spain. 't'f4 . -.
Beneath it was written in a bold and
flowing hand, "Paid by the Bank of
SPAIN" and pinned fast to the paper was
a bank-note for-I could hardly credit
my eyes-one thousand dollars. We
looked at one another for moment,
speechless. Then my May burst INTO
tears and laid her head on my shoulder.
I cannot understand why she cried, but
that was Just what this odd little woman
did. She cried and laughed by turns, and
would not be stilled, saying, "Oh, Harry,
don't you see l was right? God has been
good to us this Sabbath morning"
At last took her in my arms, and tried
to make her see that the money was not
ours, but then the little lady was out.
ragged. She called Phoebe, and questioned
her and young Willow in vain. Neither
knew anything of the matter, and my
own notion as to its having been freak
of the English stranger she utterly re-
fused to listen to. ~-.a~ e4Ja-.
1t was vast wealth to us needy young
people, this thousand dollars, and as IL
lay there on the table, it seemed to me at
times unreal or as if it might be the
dreaded fulfillment of dream, soon to
vanish and be gone. My wife must also
have had some such fancy, for she was
all the time running back and forward,
now handling the note, and now turning
to cry out her gratitude and thankfulness
upon my breast.
To this day, we know not whence it
came, but as Willows father was plainly
words of strong feeling to my wife of the
little service she had tried to render him,
I came at last to believe that the gift was
his. At all events, we heard no more of
the giver, whoever he may have been. |
trust that he has been the better and hap
pier for all the kind and pleasant things
my wife has said to him, and for the ear
nest prayers she said that night. s#<
While we were still talking of the
strange gift, young Willow suddenly re-
turned; and, after waiting a moment,
found chance to tell us that his fathers
room was empty, and to ask if we knew
where he could be. I felt ut once a sense
of alarm, and ran up stairs and into Mr..
Willows chamber. The bed had not
been slept in Then I went hastily down
to the shop, followed by my wife and the
lad. On opening the door, the first thing
that struck me was that the clocks were
silent, and 7 missed their accustomed
ticking. This once, for years, they had
not been wound up on Saturday night, as
was the clock-maker's habit. | turned to
his workbench. He was seated in front
of it, his head on his hands, watching
the pendulums of his machine, which
were swinging merrily. "Mr. Willow"
said I, placing hand on his shoulder,
"are you sick?" He made no answer.
"Why don't he speak?" said May, with
a scared face.
"He will never speak again, my dar-
ling" replied. "He is dead!"
I have little to add to this simple story.
On inquiry, I found that the stranger had
left.the city No claimant came for our
money, and so, after little, having
buried Mr.. Willow in the old Swedes'
churchyard, we went away with his son
to the West. The lad told US, then, that
it was his fathers desire, that on his
death he should take his true name. An
evil fate went with it, and. to-day young
Tressilian lies in soldiers nameless
grave, beneath the giant shadows of
Lookout Mountain-one more sweet and
honest life given for the land he had
learned to love and honor.