The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1874-03-05

ana now, when IL was lifted Dy MS re-
turn, that the resources of her life were
exhausted. The change, not yet appar-
ent to other eyes, was clear 10 his vision.
So it is that these silent spirits read each
other.
As the warm weather advanced, the
strong woman became weak; and as the
June flowers began to bloom, she ceased
to move about much, and sat the most OF
each day in a chair by the open door.
John managed the house and talked with
his mother. Her mind changed with the
relaxation of her physical frame. She no
| longer strove to hide her tears, but like a
| tired infant, would weep without restraint
or cOncealment, as she told her son of the
early loves and romance of her girlhOod
| life in warm valley Of the West. He
learned more of his mothers heart in
those June days than he had surmised
from all he had known of her before. And
he knew what this predicted. He felt that
the heart nearest his own was counting
over the treasures of life ere ii surrender
! ed them forever.
There was no great scene when the wO-
man died. IL was at evening. just as tho
! July fervOrs were coming on. She had
weI't much in the morning. As the day
grew warm she became very weak and
faint. and about noon was moved by her
son from her chair to her bed, and so died
as the sun went down.
John was alone in the house when she
died. Since his return from Montreal, he
had been made to feel that he had but one
| friend besides his mother Only one neigh
Dor had called upon him, and that was
Pete Searles. He had ever proved true.
But John did not like to trouble his one
friend, who lived two miles away, to come
and stay with him during the night. So
he lighted a candle, took down from a
shelf little Bible and hymn-book that he
and his mother had carried on an average
| about four times year to a schOol-hOuse
used as a church, some six miles away,
and so alone with the dead he spent
the hours in reading and tears and medi-
tatiOn.
In the morning he locked the doors OF
his home and walked cover to Pete's." :"
As he met his friend, he said in a clear
voice, but with eyes averted, "She has
gone, Pete-if you will just take the key
and go over there, I'll go down to the lake
and get the things, and tell DOwner, and
We'll have the funeral, say on Thurs
day."
Pete hesitated moment, then took the
key John offered him, and said, Y es,
John, | will tell my woman, and we will
go over and fix it, and be there when you
come back" And so John went on
his way. "Downer was the minister,
and "the things' were a coffin and
shroud.
On Thursday was the funeral. Pete
took care to have all the people of the
neighbOrhOod there, although it hardly
seemed as if John desired it. The popular
voice, having once decided it. still held
John as a murderer, and claimed that he
was cleared from the charge only by the
tricks of his lawyer. John knew of this
decision. At the funeral he was stern,
cold, white, and statue-like. While others
wept, but few lears fell from his eyes. and
even these seemed wrung from him by an
anguish for the most part suppressed or
concealed.
He chose that his mother should be
buried, not in the ''burying-grOund'' at
the settlement, but upon their own little
farm where she had lived. And so in a
spot below the rocky ridge. where wild
violets grew. she was laid to rest.
John spent the night following the fu-
neral at Pete's house. then returned TO his
own home, and from that time his solitary
life began. He took his cattle and his
sheep over to Pete's, made all fast about
his home, and resumed his boating upon
Lake Champlain. He fully realized that
he was a marked man. He was advised,
it was said, even by his own legal counsel,
to leave the country, and to leave his name
behind him; but no words influenced him.
Firm and steady i'm his course, strictly
temperate and just, he won respect where
he could not gain confidence.
The years rolled by. Captain John was
still bOatman, and still kept his home at
the lonely Lighthouse on the edge of the
great valley. From each voyage he re-
turned and spent a day and night alone at
the old place; and it was noticed that a
strong, high paling was built around his
mothers grave, and a marble headstOne
was placed there, and other flowers grew
with the wild viOlets. Even in winter.
when there was no boating and he boarded
down by the lake, he made many visits to
the old homestead. His figure, which.
though youthful, was now growing gaunt
and thin as his mothers had been, was of
ten seen by Pete at ni9htfall upon the top
of a certain rocky ridge, standing out
clear and sharp against the cold blue steel
of the winter sky.
John had no companions and sought
none. The young men and women of his
set had married and settledin life; he was
still the same.
At
had passed since the mother died, and it
was June again. John was spending a
day at the old place once more. He sat in
the door, looking out on the magnificent
landscape, the broad lake, and the dim
line of mountains away across the valley.
The lovely day seemed to cheer this stern,
lonely man.
Three persons came up the road; they
advanced straight to where John was sit
ting. One of them stepped forward,
looked John steadily in the face, held out
his hand to him, and said, John, do YOU
know me?'
The voice seemed to strike him with
sharp, stunning shock. He QUivered, held
his breath. stared into the eyes of the ques-
toner, and then suddenly becoming m-
naturally cool and collected, said, "Is it
yOu, William ?"
The two who stood back had once been
Johns warmest friends. They now came
forward, and with such words as they
could command, told the story OF viii
liam's sudden return. and sought for
themselves forgiveness for the cruel and
false suspicion which had so long
them from their friend.
John seemed to hear this as one in a |
dream. He talked with William and the |
lntl Ill Il Ild1HtT lIldJ seemed strangely |
cold and Indifferent, about where William |
had been voyaging so long in distant seas,
and of his strange absence. A quarter of |
an hour passed away. The men proposed |
that John should go with them to their |
homes. and said there would be a gather |
ing of friends there. They pressed the in |
vitation witlPwarmth. and such true feel |
ing as our voices express when dear |
friend has been greatly wronged, and we
humbly acknowledge it.
John said abruptly, in reply, that he |
did not know. He looked uneasily |
around as if in search of something. per
haps his hat. He eSsayed to rise from |
his chair, but could not; and in mo-
ment he fell back ashy pale, fainting
and breathless. The men had not |
looked for this, but accustomed as they |
were to the rough life of the wilderness. |
they were not alarmed. They famed the |
fainting man with their straw hats, and as /
soon as water could be found, applied it to |
his hands and face. He soon partially re-
covered, and looking up, said in broken
voice, "Give me little time, boys AT |
this hint, the two old friends who We're /