Iowa voter. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1867-1874, 1872-01-11


but friendly eyes see, ar friendly hands
accept ii. Farewell, till our next meet
ing
So speaking the skipper turned away,
and directed his steps toward the cottage
window. where the light still burned, anc
seemed to reflect a soft and genial radl-
ance over his weaiher-beai face. The
oak tree was thrilled as il had never been
before For never vet, in all the long
wears of its existence. had any human be-
ing thought Of speaking 10 IT, Mankind,
whom il loved so much, had seemed sep
aratci from il forever by gulf that every
day grew wider and more deep. But
now al was changed In a moment its
loneliness was gone-its solitude was a
thing of the past Ii had become the
guardian of human secret, the sharer of
a human interest, the confidant of a
human being. II ouiyered to its topmost
twig with happiness. and the sea rolled
an enormous breaker to the shore, and
dashed il into snowy foam, for sympa-
thy. Scarcely had the sound died away
among the rocks, when the sharp crack of
a pistol-shot rang out on the beach, sue
ceeded by hoarse cries, and the noise of a
furious struggle. The skipper paused,
hesitated a moment with his eyes fixed on
the cottage window, and then, with set
teeth, plunged down the bank and into
the midst OF the conflict In his hand he
held pistol. A tall, military figure step
ped out 10 confront him, and demanded
his surrender For answer, the skipper
raised his weapon and fired; the tall mill
tary figure reelcd and fell headlong into
the snow; but the skipper also staggered
back. catching at the air with his hands,
and so sank down upon the shore. The
Custom House officers gathered up their
prisoners and their dead leader, and rode
away, leaving Donne lying where he fell !"
AS the oak tree stood horror stricken, the
door of the cottage opened, and woman
with "a white, terrified face came quickly
across the snow, and knclt down by the
body. She strained the rough form fierce
iy in her arms, and tried to breathe her
life through his lips. There were no tears
in her eyes; they were unnaturally bright.
After while faint, quivering smile
fickered over her drawn features. She
broke forth in tremulous laughter.
"Wake up! WILL. dear VIII, wake
up baby's waiting to kiss thee; wake up,
my darling"
Though her voice was week and crazed,
yet, Weakening the endless echoes of i'm
mortal love, il made itself heard even
across the mighty chasm of death. For
moment life fiuttcred back to the mans
heart. He felt her with him, and was,
perhaps, dimly conscious that he was
leaving ier destitute in II lonely world.
He partly raised his arm, and pointed up
wards TO where the oak tree was growing
on the summit of the slope.
"There r he whispered, there is
treasurc--scek for il ~
The woman, STOPPING down, caught his
words, and they remained forever written
in her brain. But what their meaning
was she comprehcndcd not, and when she
was found the next morning sitting by the
dead man, stroking his cold face with Il
hand scarcely less cold, all she could do
was to look vacantly at the group of pity
ing faces, and say pointing upwards
"Therc is trcasure--seck for it ~
They led her back to the cottage, where
the child was crying in the cradle from
cold and hunger. At the sight of it her
wondering gaze softencd and conccntra-
ted /; she took it TO her bosom and became
quite silent. But if any one questioned
her, or sought to attract her attention, she
only fixed her weird eyes upon them, and
said gently, pointing upwards:
"Thcre is treasure-Seek for it ~
So passed that Christmas day, hun
drcd years and more ago. During all
that time the heavy secret lay hidden and
unsupported at the oak trees root.
The widow Dome lived for many years,
and her son grew up to be stalwart fish
erman, known throughout the country
side for his strength and courage, and for
the tender care he took of his widowed
mother. She had become gentle, quiet
woman, with strange, unfathomable eyes,
that fascinated and overawed those she
looked upon; and the country people
scarcely knowing what to make of her,
decided among themselves that she must
be sort of sibyl or prophecies, and her
insane wanderings were quoted and dis
cussed as though they contained germ
of wisdom, all the more invaluable be-
cause no one could comprehend it. Most
often on her lips was that mysterious say
considered to be religious exhortation,
meaning that the treasures OF Heaven
were to be sought for; and it is said that
more than one stubborn spirit, whose
heart refused to be touched by the good
WOIub vi tuC iIiiIiiStCI, was
and softened with the crazy utterances
of this old fisherman's widow.
But the war of the Revolution devas.
tated the land, and times grew harder and
harder The oak tree, standing immov'
ably in its place, saw poverty tighten its
grasp, day by day, and year by year, on
the inhabitants of the little cottage. The
brass clamped chest seemed to burn at Its
root, but it was powerless to speak, OF
give forth the wealth which had been in.
trusted to its keeping Often it ques.
toned the ocean, but the answers it re-
ceivcd were hard to understand, and gave
the oak tree but scanty comfort. II
seemed that it must wait and hope, and
that in time, perhaps, the solution of the
problem would be attained. Some
times, in the urgency of its de-
sire, the tree half regretted that 1t had
ever become mixed up with human inter
ests and sorrows; almost preferable seemed
its former lonely but more undisturbed
and quiet existence. But the link which
bound it to mankind could not be broken
with a wish; the oak was held to its des-
tiny, and in 1t found its only happiness,
sad though it were.
One Christmas eve, when the widow
Dome had grown very old and infirm,
she rose up from her place before the fire,
and seemed to be making preparations ia
go out. Her son, accustomed always to