The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1874-02-05

meanOfSi people shook their heads when
they spoke of him, and prophesied that
he would come to no good end. He was
often away from school, busy with hoeing
or haying on his fathers farm; but when
he returned his first care was to learn
what had happened while he was absent
Look here, Bessie" he would say
reckoning her aside, "what has Tom Ste.
vens been doing: Has he made faces at
you! or pulled your hair? or pinched
your or hid your bonness if he has I'A
thrash him."
Meek, forgiving Bessie shrank from
making trouble; but, through her, or
| some one else, John was sure, at length.
Once he was compelled to ask Bessie 8
pardon before us all; once to lift her
safely over the many pools of water q
heavy shower had left standing in our
homeward road; once to bring her two
sticks of cream candy; and the emf was
that before the summer was out John had
''thrashed" him into quite gentleman.
But this was one OF John Farley's &C.
complishments. His pockets were always
full Of young wintergreens, or sassafras
bark, or spruce gum. He knew where
the speckled trout lay hid in the brooks,
and what days the pickerel would bite,
and all about mud-turtles and musk rats
and eels. He had found the nest of the
hermit thrush, and the whip-poor-will's
eggs on the bed of moss in q lonely pas.
ture, and would tell wonderful stories of
woodchucks and hawks and owls. He
could 60 straight to the spots where the
wild strawberries grew thickest and the
first running blackberries were ripe; and
many long ramble Bessie and had
with him, on Saturday afternoons, through
the woods and by the stream that wound its
way among the green meadows below the
| village; for the minister and his wife had
always kind word for John, and assured
the Deacon that they believed he would
yet ''come out right" As for Bessie,
John was the hero of her narrow world |;
the prince to whom, in her fancy, all
things ministered. Among my aunt's
hooks was small "Robinson Crusoe,"
! Which. when baby Will did not demand
attsation, we read together, sitting be-
neaSh the old elm tree in the garden. II
think, said Bessie, as we finished til
| think E9binson was just like John. But
oh! hope John will never run away to
sea. should be so lonesome without
him" Y
The pleasant summer drew to an end.
| With tears and promises to cone again
parted from Bess.e and went back to nv
city home: That Ninter we exchanged
various childish lettelS and was secretly
looking forward to a lossible return in
the spring, when in March came the
news of my aunt's sudden death, and in
the May following an extension of my
fathers business involved our removal to
distant part of the country. Thence
forward Marston and Bessie belonged not
to hope, but to memory-memory which
always brought them tenderly to mind,
but fainter and fainter as time wore on,
bearing me to new and more absorbing
scenes.
Twenty years had come and gone;
twenty years quite apart from the life of
my childhood. No longer Mary Temple,
but Mrs. Chester. came to New England
to pass the summer, and fixed upon
Bears Head, on the New Hampshire
coast, as the place where would spend
the month Of August. The hotel was
ample enough for hundred guests, and
filled with people from Boston and the
large towns of the interior, who passed
their time in the usual lounging, bathing,
watering-place fashion, and devoted their
evenings to dancing in the broad parlor.
1t was glorious weather for the first
week after my arrival, and was hardly
indoors from its beginning to its end.
What delight it was to breathe again the
air of the sea; to watch upon the beach
the tides come and 60, while the crested
waves rolled shoreward and dashed into
spray at my feet; off on the horizon to
see the white-winged fleets sailing away
to the Grand Banks and stormy Labrador,
fearless as the gulls that circled above
| them; to mark, when the sun went down,
the lighthouse fires, and all night long
to hear the thunder of the surf upon the
strand. .
The wind shifted. Heavy fogs obscured
the ocean and crept over the land, and but
for the muffled roar of the breakers I
might have thought was in the middle
of Western Plain. betook myself to
my room, and in the pages of Palgrave's
Arabia" forgot the gloom of the north
east. How subtle power is memory.
There are periods in our lives which
seem almost forgotten-blanks in the
vista of the past-when 10! in an unex.
pected moment, q glance, a tone, a wait of
perfume evokes the buried years and gives
to vanished scenes : the freshness Of to-day!
A knock at the door disturbed my rev.
cry. Surprising it was the chambermaid,
ON her usual rounds, said, "Come in"
without even raising my eyes. Some
one entered, and, going to the washstand,
laid down pile OF towels, saying: "You
| weather binders the work at the laundry
and the clothes have only just been
brought over.''
The gentle, quiet tones arrested my
attention, and, looking up, saw, not
Bridget, but a slender, delicate looking
| woman, perhaps thirty years of age,
| whom I had once had glimpse of on
the stairs and whom I took to b the
housekeeper. She was pale and care
worn; but there was something very
pleasing in her mild blue eyes, and her
brown hair, waving softly back from her
forehead, while her black alpaca gown
and narrow linen collar, fastened with
tiny brooch, seemed quite in keeping
with her voice and mein. Whom did
| she recall. looked at her in q kind Of
maze, when she said:
IL have not found you in your room
before. Is there anything more you
would likei" 81
.Nothing, thank you," said I. .s''''5''
| Il am glad you are comfortable here"
she replied, and, passing me, she went
out.
/ remained lost in thought, and then
suddenly said to myself: III is Bessie
Hyde she is like. This place must he
near her home. Can it be possible it is
Bessie herself!'' Hurrying to the door,
saw her standing al the lower end of the
hall, with Bridget, who was saying:
am ready for the sheets now, Miss Hyde"
Then was almost sure 1t was she, and .
moment later ] had crossed the hall and
asked her full name and place Of abode,
and my arms were round her neck and
we had recognized each other % the
Bessie and Mary Of the old days At Mars.
ton.
That night, while the house be-
low was given up to waltzes and
cotillions, Bessie sat with me in
my remote room, and with the
storm beating against the windows, told
me- the sfnrY Of her lifA for twenty xaara