Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1874-06-10
Che family Circle.
The Light in the Window.

The Llglit In the WINDOW.
He plodded on through sleet and snow,
with steps awkward and shutting. yet with
a certain resolution in it. Other men
might have turned aside, unwilling to
breast the full force of such a storm. Not
so with Daniel Newton shutfling Dan,
his fellow-workmen called him. He was
no f;avorite among them, silent, brooding,
sullen fellow they thought him-but he
lived life of which they knew very little.
1t had been consecrated for fourteen years
to one object; and there was in it an ele-
ment of chivalrous self sacrifice of which
he was utterly unconscious himself. He
passed Il store, where some of his COM
Ia les were laughing, when the forge with
its door invitingly open, and the bright
red light streaming out of it cheerfully,
into the murky gathering night. For
minute he was tempted Just to 90 in and
warm himself n 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, little lamb
she'll be waiting And then, as if the
thought gave him new life, he plodded on
again valiently.
On through sleet and snow, till he came
at last in front of low cottage, standing
in the midst of square lot. \ light
streamed forth from its front window over
the white pathway. 1t had shown there
for him every winter night-fall for many Il
wear. and he never saw that beacon ray
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 commiserated him. and wondered
what he was to do. And when it was
found that the child would never be able
to walk, they thought his burden was hcav-
Ter than he could bear. But he knew
only he could not have told them or rca-
soned about it-what had been his sweet
compensation. At first, to be sure, it was
Il hard blow when he found that the little
| one he loved was never to be quite like
others--that she would never come tod
ding down the path to meet him, clinging
| to his hard hands with rosy little fingers
but this very grief about 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 tor her He chad liked her mother
well enough, but it had been an ordinary,
| commonplace 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 little Eunice filled his
| heart full, and sat on her throne queen re-
gent forever. He had her nursed careful
", and he cheerfully gave up every hour
of his life to the task of being father and
mother to her, both in one. When she
was old enough to sit in a little wheeled
chair, in which she could trundle herself
about the room, his delight knew no
bounds. In summer she was always ut
the open door to meet him, and in winter
her CHEEKY lamp burned always ut the
cottage window.
When she was twelve years old, she her
self proposed to keep house for him. There
were three rooms in their cottage. all on
the same floor, besides the unfinished gar
ret overhead. From room to room of
these three she could trundle herself
around. She contrived to do Il good many
household tasks; and, with a neighbor
hired to come and help each day, she man
aged nicely, and was the proudest of little
| house wives. OF late, however, she had
been growing weaker and her father had
insisted that she should not be left alone
at all. So the neighbor who helped her
staid all day now, but went home at night
when Dan came; for he was not ready to
give up the pleasure of having his darling
quite to himself in the long evenings.
! Now, as he entered the yard, his steps
grew quicker. All that was shutfling and
uncertain passed out of his manner, and
he walked with the strong, firm tread of
one sure of his welcome. Drawing near.
he saw her face at the window which the
light illuminated-a face of almost ideal
beauty. Not the features so much. when
you analysed them, they We're far from
regular, and bore a curious likeness to his
own. But the great blue eyes We're full
of light, the color came and went on her
cheeks in faint pink tiushes, and the skin
was transparent as the most delicate crys-
tai. Around this wistful, loving, waiting
face foated mass of soft, golden hair.
| like the halos you see sometimes in old
pictures around the brows of saints. When
she saw him the blue eyes kindled, then
the face disappeared from the window,
and when he opened the door there she
was in from of it, with her lips uplifted
for his kiss. The neighbor stood by her
things on ready to 90, and it struck Dan
there was Il look of pity on her face.
You'd better not go too near the child
with those wet things on" she said kindly,
She's weak little thing, and she must
not take cold"
He started back remorsefully, and did
not 60 up to the girl again, until he had
taken ali his wet things off in his own
room, and made himself dry and tidy
By this time the neighbor was gone, and
he and Eunice sat down together to the
supper which waited. He had the keen,
hungry appetite of working man; but it
did not keep him from noticing presently
that the food ON the child's plate remained
untouched. He laid down his knife and
| fork and looked ut her anxiously.
Amt you going t, keep father conf
pany a little, deary9 You amt never
hearty, know, but | want to see you eat
something"
She smiled family.
You know you don't let me work any
more, father, and l can't get hungry like
you who are busy all day, working for
me-"
Yes, lamb. for YOU he repeated as if
the words gave him pleasure. God
knows it's all for you, and he knows how
thankful am to have you to work for
Folks talk about my lot, bein' hard, but
that's all they know. / wouldn't change
places with any man. So long as He