Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1872-08-02
BRATTLEBORO VT, FRIDAY, AUGUST 2, 1872.


home. As we went up the side stair which
opened on the street by door of its own,
put my head into the shop aud badc Mr..
Willow goodnight. He was seated at his
bench studying the strange swing Of many
pendulums Of his new instrument, but In
place of the pleased look which the Wow
of his completed task usually brought 10
his face, II was sad and weary, and ho mere
ly turned his head moment 10 answer my
salute. on the stairs we met Phoebe, who
was greatly troubled, and told us that
little while before dusk, Mr.. Willow and
his son being out, the stranger had called,
and asking for my wife-for tho littlo lady,
as he called hcr-had pushed NY tho maid
and gone up stairs, saying that he would
wait to see her. Phoebe, alarmed at his
wild manner, had kept watch at our door
until her master came back. Thon she had
heard In our room, where the son and IA
ther met, fierce and angry words, after
which tho 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 IL best not TO disturb
themselves in the shop. About ten the boy
came up, babe us good night, and soon af-
ter we ourselves went, somewhat tired. TO
bed.
The next day was Sunday, and rs 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 pig
cons were coquetting on the opposite ga
bes and housetops, and below me, in the
garden, the rare breezes which had lost
their way in the city were swinging the
roses and essamines like censers, till their
mingled odors made rich the morning air.
Suddenly heard cry of surprise. and
turning saw my May, prcttcr and fresher
than any roses in her neat white morning
dress. Her face was full of wonder, and
she held in her hands the papers we had
left on the table the night before.
"What is it now, May?" said 1.
Look - she said, holding up her draft
on the Bank of Spain.
Beneath it was written in bold and flow
ing hand, "Paid by the bank ofSpain," and
pinned fast to the paper was bank note
lori could hardly credit my eyes-one
thousand dollars. We looked at one an
other tor a moment, speechless. Then my
Nav burst into tears and laid her head on
my shoulder. ] 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 morn
ing"
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 outraged.
She called Phoebe, and questioned her and
young Willow in vain. Neither knew
anything of the matter, and my own no.
tion as TO its having been a freak of the
English stranger she utterly refused to lis
ten TO.
1t was vast wealth TO us needy young
people, this thousand dollars, and as it lay
there on the table, it seemed to me at times
unreal, or as if ii might be the dreaded full
flment of dream, soon to vanish and be
gone. My wife must also have had some
such fancy, for she was all the time run
ming back and foI ward, now handling the
note, and now turning TO cry out her graft
tude and thankfulness upon my breast.
TO this day we know not whence ii came,
but as Willows father was plainly man
of wealth, and as he had spoken in words
of strong feeling to my wife Of the little
service she had tried to render him, came
at last to believe the gift was his. At all
events, we heard no more of the giver,
whoever he may have been. l trust that
he has been the wiser and happier for all
the Kind and pleasant things my wife has
said to him, and for the earnest prayers she
said that night.
While we were still talking of the strange
gift, young Willow suddenly returned, and
after waiting moment, found chance to
tell us that his fathers room was empty,
and to ask us if we knew where he could
be. felt at once a sense of alarm, and ran
up stairs into Mr.. Willows chamber. The
bed had not been slept in. Then l 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 missed their ac-
customed ticking. This once, for years
they had not been wound up on Saturday
night, as was the clock makers habit. /
turned to his work bench. He was seated
in front of it, his head on his hands, watch
ing the pendulums of his machine, which
were swinging merrily. "Mr. Willow"
said /, placing a hand on his shoulder,
"are you sick ?" He made 10 answer.
"Why don't he speak ~ said May with
a scared face.
"He will never speak again, my darl-
ing" replied. "IIe is dead"
have little TO add to this simple story.
On inquiry, l found that the stranger had
left the city. No claimant came for our
money, and 80, after little, having buried
Mr.. Willow in the Old Swedes' church
yard, we went away with his son to tho
| West. The lad told MS, then, that it was
his fathers desire, that on his death he
should take his true name. An evil fate
went with ii, and, to-day, young Tressillan
lies in n soldiers nameless grave, beneath
the giant shadows of Lookout Mountain
one more sweet and honest life given fol
the land he had learned to love and honor
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MISCELLANEOUS,
A set of paper car wheels on one of tho
I n ~ ~