The St. Cloud journal., 1873-06-19

His son lead him to q bench. The
old man covered his face With bis
hands, but in little while he looked
up and motioned Kenyon to . chair.
"lfs your old seat, my lad. I'm
glad to see you in it agen," he said,
quietly untying bis gingham cravst.
Ills hlgh.featured face had strangely
lost its color.
Kenyon sat cowed, humiliated. This
twenty years of neglect rose before him
the more inexorably as Seth neither BY
word or look recalled them. The del.
icacy which kept the old man silent
from showing even the reproaeh of joy,
had different birth from bis own fine
taste in books and music and wine.
He felt that with all the old mans
passionate love for the boy he had
lost, he would weigh and measure the
man who had come back to him. de
knew, too, having finer intuitions than
Miss Demar, that the man who thus
measured him was welghtier than he,
stood on f'mer ground, va, built up of
larger, more liberal elements.
In the heat Of bis passionate contri-
ton and old, awakened love, he felt all
the sacrifices be must make for his fa-
ther could be borne.
"You will come to Washington to me
at once," he said. "We will have our
home alone together. Nothing shall
part us again."
II think you're wrong there, Jack"
Seth said gently. "My ways are not
your ways. You shall come to ne
when you will, but I'll give out ny
lite as I've begun. Old trees grow
best on their own roofing"
Kenyon Was silent. He was not
sure of his own footing; he vas not
sure Of himself, of the work he had
done or the work he had planned to do.
Was it all sham? Had he grssped
only shadows, while Knapp, with his
mediocre brain, and this ignorant ID
borer, bad laid hold on reality p?
To-day he would be done with shams.
though it would cost all he had worked
or cared for in his life.
"WiIl you come With me moment,
father 7" He lead him quickly over to
the garden, where Miss Demar stood
gathering flowers for the breakfast ta-
bic. He gave one passionate gl.ace at
the rare beauty in her face, st the fiue
soul that looked smiling from her
eyes to welcome him, before he let the
bar fell between them which could not
be raised.
"Miss Demar, this is my father"
The smile deepeued. She put out
her hand cordially but calmly. 81
knew he was your father long ago,
MIR. Kenyon. Have you told him who
Iam?"
"Mary? ?"
"Wbile ysu welcome a daughter as
we'll as son p she said, all flushed
and glowing. When the old man laid
his hand on her head she, too, had
glimpse beneath the beggar's clothes
and vulgar words.
They fingered long in the solitary
garden. Apart from the morning light
and dewy freshness there was . curious
calm in it. The house had, as it still
has, a strange trick Of falling into si-
lence in the midst of the busiest sum.
mer's day.
"What uaaccountable stories hang
about this old place." said Miss Demar
to her lover. She could not restrain
her curiosity as to his experience of the
night before.
But his face was inscrutable. "Where
such man as that lives," he said,
glancing at KNAPP, "no morbid shad-
ows would linger long, I fancy. Yet
can believe that under his roof
stronger men thao he would be haunt.
ed by the ghosts Of what they might
have been. Their best selves would
come to meet them."
But he never told her more than
that