The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1874-02-13

rode of, never to be seen again in lii
but by his murderers- Weary as the
were, detachment was at once sent ot
: to commence q search, which lasted til
, nightfall, when lying naked and disfg
ured in deep bog-hole, they found
: body. My mothers loving eyes alon
recognized in one poor MANNED hanc
: that of her husband. That night l wa
: born"
"But, auntie, knowing all this, how car
you love these people, live amongst them
help them, as you do-the children o
your fathers murderer's?"
"Lora, the wrongs of centuries had
maddened them. Ny mother lived six
lonely years after that summer morning
when her heart was broken In life and
death she taught us the lesson of for
givness. No, the terrible excess of '9e
are more easily condoned than the hor-
rible cold blooded murders of later years
-cowardly, eruel!---the shooting of the
defenceless from hedge shelter
"Shall l tell you another story? You
have heard of your Aunt Mabel; from
the time of your grandmother's death
she had been my child and darling;
your father was in Demerara, and we
were alone in the world but for each
other, and We were very happy together.
She married at eighteen; her husband
was an Englishman, a younger son, not
rich; he had been in the army fer a few
years, but sold out on his marriage and
bought farm on the other side of the
valley. My wedding gift 10 them was
their new home, it was a mere farm
house when VIII bought it; but during
their wedding tour, which lasteted for
six months and which they finished by
a round of visits amongst his people in
| England, l had the whole house remod-
eled and enlarged, made into a fitting
home for my pet. How I enjoyed fur
nishing it, remembering all her pretty
whims and fancies!
at was bright homecoming. With
what pretty glee Mable ran from room to
room, delighted with everything had
done for her! Then the pretty shy grace
with which she took her place as mis-
tress. One little happy week passed, to
which shall always look back as the
last of real happiness in my lie. You
know, dear, l am happy now and content,
as an old woman should be whose life. is
warmed by the loving kindness of every
one around her, who has been given the
abiding joy, which never grows insipid,
of being able to brighten other lives
with some of the brightness given to
her own. And then there is the best and
dearest joy of all; the knowledge that
the loves of long ago are kept safely in
Gods own care; to be mine again one
day: very soon now; when l too reach
the world where the incompleteness of
this will be rounded and perfected.
"But this little week was happy and
warm with joy of another kind which
have missed ever since. 1t was Christ
mas eve. All day my darling had been
busy with decorations and preparations
for the next day, when all the tenants
on the new estate were to be entertained
in the servants hall.
"Well, dear, remember coming down |
that afternoon. I had been busy wri-
ting in my room; l found the whole
house bowery of greenery, the last
touch given, and May and her husband
resting before the fire in the hall, whose
cedar wainscot sent out ruddy CLEANS
and spicy fragrance in acknowledge
ment of the light and warmth. She
smiled up at me from nest of skins,
among which she was costly lounging,
resting her bright head against Wills
knee, and held up too pretty dusty hands
to be exclaimed at.
"We were talking of last Christmas
she said, when 1 had taken the chair
Will drew forward for me- How long
ago it seems, and how strange that then
we did not know each otheri Will |
scorching in India, you and Christmas
ing at Glenbawn, auntie. Oh, wish I |
could give you those eighteen years,
VIII! It is so dreary to think you were
not in them"
"You will give me the next eighteen,
and many year beside; that will con-
tent me, little wife. I am sure you were
a mischievious monkey, and 1 am thank
full l did not discover you until Aunt
Lora had tanned you.'
"You wicked, unsentimental boy!''
"And the dusty hands were twisted
in thick brown beard which was tempt
ingly near; and so they laughed and
chatted, children as they were, quite un-
checked by my presence, until servant
came in with message for me. 1t was
news of the sudden illness of one of the
servants here. Ny first impulse was to
come home without delay; but they
would not hear of my doing so. 1t was
settled that Will should drive over, call
ing for the doctor as he passed through
the village, and if he did not bring a
good report he promised to take me
back Immediately on his return, if I
would consent to wait patiently so long.
consented; would that had notl All
might have been; but no; there are no
might have beens with God"
Aunt Lora covered her face for a
minute, then she went on more steadily.
81 remember all; every word and Incl
dent of that evening. We watched Will
drive away into the gray twilight, and
then came back to the freside until the
dressing-bell rang, while my pet used ev-
cry loving vile to keep me from dwell
ling too anxiously on McCarthy's illness.
We grew anxious, as the evening went
on, for my servant; Willis prolonged abb
sence made me fear she was seriously
ill. Now and then the young wife shiv-
cred little as the fierce blast, which
now at intervals swept up the valley,
with one sudden gust rushed by to die
away among the higher hills. It was
the snoU.wind wa bnavu Il xualI oDd |