Whig and tribune. [volume] (Jackson, Tenn.) 1870-1877, 1872-03-23

| NOM ldLuClg L4Cl z 44O use u y lA4z
you know you'u never let that child
suffer so long as you've got roof to
cover you or q crust to eat"
"Well, wife, take your own way.
I never was good At arguin' with
women" and the man turned alb
ruptly, and went out of the house,
ashamed TO own that his warm, true
heart endorsed every word his wife
had spoken.
In minute, however, the kitchen
door opened again.
"Wife, say"
''WelI, father"
you'd better go right over and
tell Mrs. Blake you're concluded to
take the child. tn set her mind At
rest like, and jest now she needs 1t
enough.
"There, didn't l see?" murmured
Mrs Strong to herself after the door
closed; ''Its well l know how to
get on the right side of fathers
heart"
"There, now, Johnnie, don't Min
ME look pretty" and Wealthy
Strong turned round the dainty lit
tie creature whose golden head she
had crowned with a tasteful wreath
of white pine woOd-blOssOms.
eyes, she does, that's fact, an
| swered the very practical boy, as he
slowly drew in his fishing-line.
1t was bright, sui afternoon IN
| the early summer, and John Strong
had brought the two little girls over
to the pond, and while he hauled in
with shouts ef triumph his prizes
of pickerel and bass, Wealthy had
twined a wreath of blossoms which
she and Minnie had gathered in the
woods little way of, and twined
them in the child's tresses.
The brother and sister were
healthy, robust looking children,
with the round limbs and sun
Drowned faces which tell their own
stories of country life; but Minnie
Blake was one of those children, the
very sight of which brought a new
JOY into the eyes Of all who love
beauty. She was small and delicate
with eySS blue and deep as still lakes
locked between deep mountains, and
her hair had the golden ripeness Of
the harvest pear that dropped every
autumn on the grass in Mr.. Strong's
back yard.
The bloom of two woodland roses
were set in her cheeks, and sweet
smiles forever clustered over the
dimples hidden about her lips.
She had resided with the Strongs
for more than two years, all this
time the little orphan, Minnie Blake,
had been like q sweet flower, filling
the house with fragrance.
But it had been q home where
went on constantly sharp, strong
battle with pOverty-a battle that
was lightened and sanctified by faith
in God, and sweet affection and ten
der cares. But this summer had
opened more darkly than its prede-
cessors, for Mr.. Strong's rheumatic
attacks had been longer and more
serious than any of the previous
ones. He had lost several impor-
tant 'jobs" for that season in conse-
quence of his illness and his oldest
son, had Just crossed his fourteenth
birthday, had been obliged to leave
the district school, and let himself
out as "chore boy" to a penurious
old farmer in the vicinity of Wood
ford.
So troubles thickened over the
head of the carpenters little family,
aad the face of Mrs. Strong grew
paler and more patient day by day.
"You just get away from my IA
theirs pond if you know what's
good for you"
The loud, harsh tone broke sud
denly in upon the children's voices,
and looking up hastily in the direc-
tion of the voice, John saw Squire
Morton's son standing in the field
opposite the meadow, through
whose dark grass the little pond
flashed the silvery embroidery Of its
waters.
Now, although the meadow in re-
ality belonged to the Squire, it was
regarded as "public property" by
all the neighbOrs, and school-boys
assembled here every Saturday at
ternOon for piscatOry achievements,
amid boisterous jests and frolic.
John strong was a bold, outspoken
bOv, and the insolent tones of the
Squire's son at once aroused all his
belligerCnt qualities.
"The pond belongs quite as much
to me as it does to you, sir, and l
shall stay here as long as like for
all your orders"
''You will, ell? I'd like to know
what right you, poor beggar of a
carpenters son, have to speak to me
in that way" and Robert Morton,
whose naturally overbearing dispo-
sotiOn had been nurtured by the in
dulgence of most injudicious pa
rents-fOr he was an only son ad-
vanced toward the boy, whose sem
Tor he was by two a three years,
tauntingly cracking q small riding
whip which he carried in his hand.
| The angry blood burned over the
face of John Strong, while the girls
| shriek for fear. ''COme on" he
cried, assuming a belligerent atti-
tude and doubling his fists, I'm not
afraid of you, Robert Morton, if you
are the Squire's son, and I'd like
fust-rate to give you hckin' for
| that insult"
1t was not the right action nor the
right answea; but the carpenters
son forgot in that hour of sore temp
| tation what many old and wiser
| heads than his have done, that it is
neither money nor station which
makes the true gentleman, only the
| heart that is gentle, noble and self
sustained;and John Strong certainly
descended when he replied to the
taunts of the Squire's son, aggrava-
ting as they were.
Robert Morton had a handsome
face, but it was one of those, despite
its dark. clear-cut features, which
your heart never clung to-one
which, the more it was studied the
less it was loved; and now an express
sion of angry pride darkened and
distorted every lineament, as he
stood still moment before John
Strong, and then lifted his whip
and struck him a quick sharp blow on
his forehead. The next moment the
two boys closed in an angry strug-
gle. John was the smaller of the
two, but exercise had developed his
muscles, and given him 6 degree OF
physical power which one would
hardly have suspected from the first
glance.
He soon succeeded in Wrestling the
whip from the Squir's son, and after
brief struggle, threw him on the
ground, and as Johns temper had
completely Oyermastered him, he
gave his antagonist a severer beat.
ing than he was himself aware of.
''Il make you pay for this old fel
low; you'll see," grcwled the boy
. as with bruised face, and stiff limb
/ he limped away.
cob, father, my Johnnie sent t,
jail l shall never be able to lift M
: head again." and the mother wrunj
: her hands, and the tears scattered
themselves over her pale cheeks.
, 1t was a dark day under the roo
of the little red house of the carpen
t ter, Jason Strong.
The Snnire's son had eXecntnd hi