Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1874-11-05
StItfteD Storp.
The Light in the Window.


lie plodded on through sleet and snow
with step awkward and shufiling, yet with
certain resolution IN it. Other men
might have turned aside unwilling to
so with Daniel Newton Shutting Dan"
his fellow workmen called him. He was
no favorite among them, silent. brooding.
sulleu fellow they thought him but he
lived life of which they understood very
little. Ii had been consecrated for four
teen years to one object; and there was In
ii an element of chiralrous self-sacrifice OF
which he was utterly unconscious himself.
He passed a store, where some of his COM
radcs were laughing, then the forge, with
its door invitingly open. and the bright
red light streaming out OF II cheerfully in
the murky, gathering night. For a mo-
ment he was tempted just TO 90 in and
warm himself a little in that glow; but he
shook his shaggy head, and turned away
''she will be waiting" he said as he drew
up the collar of his coarse coat. ''liftle
lamb, she'll be waitin." And then as if the
thought had given him new life, he plod-
ded on again valian,ly.
On through sleet and snow. till he came
at last in front of low cottage, standing
in the midst of square lot. A light
streamed forth from its front window over
the white pathway. II had shone there
for him every winter nightfall for many a
year, and he never saw that beacon raw
without blessing his "little lamb" over and
over again. How warm she had kept his
heart. And yet among the hard things in
his life, people who took the trouble to
speak OF him at all, always reckoned that
crippled child"
When his wife died, and left him her
hour-old baby to bring up as best he
could. they conmiserated him, and won
dered what he was to do. And when it
was found that the child would never be
able to walk they thought his burden was
heavier than he could bear. But he knew
only he could not have told them or
reasoned about it-what had been his
sweet compensation. At first, to be sure,
it was hard blow when he found that the
little one he loved was never to be quite
like others-that she would never come
toddling down the path to meet him,
clinging to his hard palms with rosy little
hands-but this very grief alb out her made
his love all the more tender.
She was the one idea of his life. The
only absorbing feeling he had ever known
was for her. He had liked her mother
well enough. but it had been an ordinary
common place regard. until she died and
left this tender blue-eyed blossom, which
he was afraid to touch. The child conse-
Grated the mothers memory, and he cared
for her dead more than he ever cared for
her living. But it was little Eunice who
filled his heart full, and sat on her throne
queen regent forevermOre. He had her
nursed carefully, and he cheerfully gave
up every hour of his life to the task Of be-
ing father and mother to her both in one
When she was old enough to sit in little
wheeled chair in which she could trundle
herself about the room, his delight knew
no bounds. In summer she was always at
the door to meet him, and in winter her
cherry lamp burned always at the cottage
window.
When she was twelve years old, she her.
self proposed to keep house for him.
There were three rooms in their little cot
tage. all on the same floor, besides the un-
finished garIet overhead. From room to
room Of these three she could trundle her.
self around. She contrived to do good
many household tasks; and with neigh
Dor hired to come and help each day, she
managed nicely. and was the proudest Of
little housewives. OF late, however she
had been growing weaker, and her father
had insisted that she should not be left
alone. SO the neighbor who helped her
stayed all day now, but went home at
night when Dan came; for he was not
ready to give up the pleasure Of having