Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1874-06-10
leaves me YOU. I'll never doubt that God

fire together. No mothers touch could
have been more tender than that rough
mans as he lifted the little twisted form
into his arms, and laid the sunny head care
| fully against his bosom. She rested there
| for a while silently, fondly looking up into
his face, and now and then touching his
cheeks gently with her thin fingure. As
last she said with an air earnestly, yet
slightly hesitating, You do believe God
loves you, don't you father"
Yes, lamb, yes; so long as He leaves
me you"
but if He didn't leave me-" she per-
sisted, wouldn't you believe that, too,
was because he loved you?"
| The mans face darkened with IA sudden,
sick terror.
sionate entreaty, don't talk about that,
don't. 1t couldn't be love, no way, that
wouldn't leave you, You're all I've got,
chlld-all. God don't take away all, does
Hep That amt love-"
The girl stretched her hand up and drew
it round his neck, and laid her face on his
shoulder to keep back the tears she could
not keep back But she made no answer.
After while he asked a sudden question,
breathlessly, as if a suspicion had pierced
him with Il pang too sharp to be borne:
Has DIR. Peters been here to-day,
Eunice?''
She trembled a little but she answered
quietly. Yes father
And he says you're going, does he, the
way your mother went? Child don't You
believe him. You shan't go. My love
will keep you alive. Hasn't it kept you
now, fourteen years? Why, the doctor
said YOU wouldn't live the first time he
laid YOU in my arms. But you have lived
and here you are, and here I'll hold you.
Hasn't my love kept you so long?"
Your love and Gods love, father-but
what if He thinks, now, that it's time for
me to 90 homeg'
And then they sat on silently, for a long
still hour, and the wood fire burned bright
ly, and now and then u brand. dropped on
the hearth, and that and the storm outside
were the only sounds which broke the
Stiffness save when, once or twice, Il great
} gasping sob tore up from Shifting Dams
/ deep chest. At last he bent over, and
turned his girls face toward him, and look
) ed in it with eager, hungry eyes.
It'll be sorry world, lamb" he said,
, 'when you're not in it-when there's no.
body watin' at the door, and no light
; burnin in the winder."
She looked up, her blue eyes full of tears.
l Father" she said gently, don't you
. know you've told me sometimes how the
thought that | was waitiu' made it easy
l for you to get home, when the storms drove
ever so hard, and kept you from wantin'
to turn into store or tavern?'
l Yes. lamb; but what'll keep me on
my way when you're gomez" he asked
: bitterly.
4 thought of the times you'd said that,
father, after Dir. Peters went away to-day
and | wondered if it wasn't Gods love that
, was going to take me to his heavenly home
l so rs to make it easier for YOU to come.
I'll wait for you there, father; and | won't
2 be lame any more, and I'll come to meet
YOU when YOU get on the threshold-as
t never could here-strong and free, father,
: strong and free. Won't it make it easy
2 for YOU to come on in spite of storms and
| not turn aside by the way, when you know
: I'm waitin' there, Just rs sure as ever
+ waited here"
t But the father said nothing. He only
; held her hand against his aching heart
} with grasp that almost hurt her, as if t.
t to ease his pain-held her till bed time
came, and then carried her to her room
+ and left her there with long, sad. silent
kiss. Once alone, the passion of his agony
/ clutched him in its grasp; but he suffered
: no sound to escape him which should reach
e her ears. Rigid AS stone he sat before the
: fire, and ndver needed when the room
= grew cold, and the last brand burned out
= and fell into gray ashes.
t After that night he never returned again
: to the subject. He saw that she failed
e every day. but he could not tilk about
q Him, and she understood him too we'll te
: urge him. Every day he Went to his work
= now was not the time to fail. when she
= needed unwonted Injuries, and might need
e them no one knew how long. Every night
he came to her, his face pallid with appre-
G hcnsion. At last she grew too weak to SIT
n up any more, and lay patiently on her lit
+ tie bed bearing without Il moan her tor
, turing pain. and never forgetting ut night
/ to have a lamp put in the window-tht
h beacon light for the father coming home
: just at the last, there was time when
i all knew that the end was near. That
I week her father did not 90 TO his work
: There was money enough for all she would
: ever need in this world, and more. SO
= mOtionless, except when he could do some
+ thing for her comfort he sat all day lone
/ by her pillow and watched her save whcl
e sometimes his agony grew too mighty tt
1 be borne, and he had TO rush away from
f her, out under the desolate sky, where the
o winds were blowing, and shrek out the
t madness of his woe to the pitiless heavens
L Eunice watched him. too, in her turn, witt
e loving, anxious. searching gaze. but she
saw no hope in his face. She knew that
: he was hardening his heart. There cam,
e night at length, when he was with hel
n alone. The woman who had come tC
: watch had fallen asleep in the other room
H., 4
f of every moment in which he could have
y his little girl all to himself. So he sat a,
+ usual, looking at her silently, and she a
: silently gazed back into his face with hel
{ great. far seeing blue eyes. At last. she
d said:
| Then must not wait for you there
e father? You won't Gomez
L He looked ut her with startled gaze
It He had never thought of that matter il
o that light before She waited a moment
= and then went on:
Il thought you'd want to come, father
5 | thought you'd see how God meant tt
4 draw you to Him by taking me first Anc
4 | thought could die easy, feelin' sure O
f your comm, and then wait for you there {
:. little while. But YOU won't see Gods love
e and you won't feel that I'm waitin'.''
j Something touched his heart at last
n her look, perhaps, or her words, or hel
n tone of piteous pleading, or all there com
$ bined- He sank sobbing on his knees be
i side her.
/ "God pity men he gasped; God for
n give me! Wait for me there, lamb-I'l
: come, surely. I'll walk in His way"
9 Does not my story fifty end here, where
:, Eunice's work ended? Her life went out
d after that, painlessly and quietly. Hel
II hand was in her fathers to the very last
n and he murmered, in answer to the appea
r, in her dying eyes, I'll come lamb, sure.
e ly."
4 He buried his girl beside her mother