Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1873-06-18

|
DON'T do it!'' he said, after a hurried state
ment OF his affairs and the pressing need
lor money that was upon him.
hlchard was silent for a long time, try
| ing 10 see what it was best for him to do
Let me tavern go, jacob he said, at
length. ut has cursed you from the be-
ginning, and will curse YOU tenfold in
your boys, if you keepit A sherifss sale,
II II must come to that, will, in nv opin-
ION, be the most fortunate thing that can
happen 10 you. lhere are hundred other
ways to make living. Let the tavern go,
and then / will help you in every wav
that can. But I should do wrong and
hurt you and yours if I put a single dol
lar into that wretched, soul killing con.
Germ" 49, -
| Jacob started up, all on fire with anger.
| He shook his clenched fist in his brothers
! face, and cursed him for "a mean. selfish
| hound"
A sheriff sale did not take place. But
| Jacob gave up his inheritance in COM
promise with his sporting creditors
| gamblers-and went off to new place,
| two or three hundred miles distant and
set up another tavern, but in a style far
| below that in which he kept the "Red
| Lion"
Years passed, and no certain news from
his brother and family came to Richard.
Once or twice he wrote to him, but got no
answer. A lonely man, working on stead
| lily and patiently in his mill, the years
crept over him, and We'd with the dusty
atmosphere in which he dwelt in sprink-
| ling his hair with gray. He was spoken
of far and near as the kind old man at the
mill and the gossips for once had the
| truth, when they told the story of his dis
appointed love, and the mistake of Katy.
Twenty years had gone by since Jacob
Cragan sold out the "Red Lion" and
moved away. One evening, late in No
vember, Richard sat in his solitary home,
while the wind and rain sobbed and sigh
ed without, feeling more lonely and dis
| quoted than was usual with him. His
| thoughts had all gone out Of his control,
| back through more than thirty years, and
the image of Katy, for whom tender feel
| ing had never died out of his heart-the
image of Katy, in all the freshness and
sweetness of girlhood-stood smiling and
happy before him. He was stirred with
feelings that he had believed dead and
buried long ago. Then he thought of the
fatal tavern which had been given up to
his brother, and how it had blighted all
their lives.
eff had kept it and closed it," he said
!
/ might have been so diferent''
He started and listened. A voice had
! family touched his ear. He rose up, and
| moved toward the door. The voice came
| to him again, and then low answering
voice. He threw the door wide open, and
let the light stream out. Then he saw two
women, closely wrapped up, coming in
from the road through the little gate.
Orchard! oh, Richard!" one of them
cried family, and tried to hurry forward,
| but stumbled and fell on the wet ground.
In an instant she was lifted in his strong
arms and carried into the house.
| The voice-how like the old voice that
had been for all these years the sound of
music in his soul; but the face, when he
| looked into it, alas! how changed Old,
shrunken, faded-even haggard! What a
| wreck! What transformation
Il have come here to die, Richard.
have no right; but"
Sobs choked the voice.
"Hush, Katy" Then, Where is
| Jacob?''
dead"
"Dead?"
eyes," in steadier voice.
| Chow long since?"
"Not long; month This is Katy, my
fore"
| Richard looked into the girls face, as
! the light fell upon it, and trembled. He
was back again through thirty years, and
| Katy, in the sweet May time Of life, stood
| before him!
"Dear child!" said the old man, as he
took her hand and kissed it very tenderly.
| The story that Richard heard that night
was sad and sorrowful to the last degree.
Both Of his brothers sons grew up
to be miserable drunkards, and
died in the prime of manhood. His oldest
daughter married their barkeeper, who
broke her heart and then deserted her.
She was dead Three children were left,
| and were now with the husbands parents,
who were low people, and not fit to have
charge Of them.
'sThere is room here for ALL" said Rich
| ard Cragan, when the sad history was told.
| He asked no particulars about his
brothers. life and death, and Katy did not
intrude them
A week later, and the last day of anoth-
er mortal life was closed Dark and
stormy had been the years that preceded
| this dying day; but as the sun drew near
| the western hills, the clouds broke sud-
denly, ana golden rays came flooding the
earth and Frightening all the air. All
| that Richard Cragan could do to soften
the pillow on which lay dying his early
| and only love, was done.
"They shall be mine,'' he said "Your
Katy shall be my Katy; and the children
! out West shall be my children"
| And smiling in gratitude and calm con-
| tent the woman died-died with a single
sweet draught from cup that love had fill
ed for her years and years ago, but which
| she pushed aside for another that held only
| gall and NORWOOD
Richard Cragan kept his word to the
dying one. Katy's daughter and grand
| children were taken to his home. Their
presence gave new life to the old mill, and
a new grace and charm to his dwelling,
that filled his soul with sweetness once
| dreamed of, but never tasted before.
1t was pleasant sight to see them all
together, in the waning summer after
moons, gathered about the mill door, after
the great wheel was still, and the air no
longer Jared by the rumble of machinery.
There was peace and sweet content; and
hope for the young lives over which, when
their morning broke, dark clouds hung
and threatened.-Arthur's Illustrated Home
Magazine.