The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1874-10-23


alyzed with surprise.
He was looking at it with bleared eyes
when he heard fresh young voice sing
ing in the hall. He had just time to put
it in perhaps the poorest old pocket in
the world, when Emily opened the door.
Thomas Yarn was surrounded with
faded wild-ffowers. He even had piece
of fern in his hand, endeavoring to hold
it as if it were a thing to which he was
accustomed
How Emily laughed as she saw him!
$50 you have found some of our old
flowers? How yellow they are, poor
things! Look at that violet They are
like people who have had sickness and
trouble. l wonder if I shall ever look
like one of these?"
"Yes, they are yellow said Thomas,
feebly; do you remember when you put
them here?"
II remember! Why, no; it might have
been the summer after | had the measles,
or the summer before l went to school;
don't remember
Thomas Yarn took his way home that
day through the kitchen. 1t was not the
first time, for Deborah was very apt to
waylay him with the profier of cup of
tea or some Of her nice dishes, alwas do
ing it with respect, for she thought, with
the rest of Mossbrook, that Thomas was
q mar oap+laroop. oDJ ha not a rarsop
to be invited TO dinner, would pause fur
lively, and at Deborah's neat table snatch
a cup of tea, or rich doughnut, grateful
variety to tavern farel
So, when he appeared down the e'stairs,
Deborah hustled round, and put plate
and knife and fork on the side table.
"No," said Thomas Yarn, nothing to
eat"
"Why! whatsomdever has happened
to you, Mr.. Yarn?" said Deborah. "You
look as white as a sheet"
Deborah, do you remember witness
ing paper for Governor Hammond in
his last illness?"
"Well, yes, guess I do, Mr.. Yarn.
The governor was terrible queer in his
last sickness. He wandered round, and
went to the library, and wouldn't stay in
bed, and wrote things. Yes, me and
Deacon Ramsey see him sign something,
l suppose it was his viii, giving every
thing to Miss Emily. He was awful
troubled, the governor was. After his
son died he got queer, and then, after
Miss Hammond died, he got queerer. l
expect the governor had been rather hard
on the poor when he was making his
fortune"
Deborah, put on your spectacles, and
see if this is your signature?"
Deborah produced some very large
glasses, and proceeded to fit them with
difficulty on a very small nose.
"Well, yes, wrote that. never was
good with my pen; and l was kind of
fustered when the governor he called
me, and Deacon Ramsey he was coughIn'
awful at the time; he died, poor man,
before the governor did; and then had
! III OAllHeE the SOu was
Thomas Yarn was half up the street
before Deborah had finished, and had
reached the registrars Office. Yes,
Emily's will was recorded; this was not,
but this was written a year after the
other.
Then the poor soul travelled back on
his recollections, and he saw, here and
there, the figure of that stately man,
who had been his father; recognized,
here and there, that he must have Sc
cretly helped him from time to time; he
remembered, too, that he had not helped
him when help might have saved Mary,
and his soul swelled with bitterness.
But, in the hours that death waited for
the governor, he had paid this tardy
debt to conscience. He had laid the
paper in the old book, he had sent
Thomas Yarn to the library, and he had
left the rest to chance. Miserable, vul
gar fraction of conscience-money! Mis-
erable playing with justice! Governor
Hammond, like many dignifed gen.
tleman, uncovered his real character in
his will, and showed the poor and mean
thing which fine appearance had drap-
ed and ornamented.
Thomas Yarn went to Mary's grave
and considered. He saw from that
humble spot Governor Hammond's tall
Corinthian column CLEAN through the
| l. e A. ol -
would make in the village treatment if
he announced the fact. The taven-win-
dow would cease to be his post of ohser-
vation; he would sit of an evening on
that broad piazza where Miss Margaret
and Emily received their guests; it would
be his ownl
He would become a man of fortune,
power in the state. He looked down
at his garments. 1t even occurred to
him that he should have a new suit OF
clothes; but, as these airy visions foated
before him, he looked again in the grass
at the stone, and read:
"MARY, WIFE TO THOMAS YARN,
DIED SEPTEMBER %, 1885,
a AGED %,
and he decided that he did not want for
tune, fame, consequence, enough to take
i it away from Emily, his child-friend
She, next to Mary, was the thing deal
p to Thomas Yarn.
e Often he determined to burn the will
e but he did not. He even bought piece o
oil-silk, and carefully folded it around
h the paper before returning it to his rag
u ged pocket Sometimes, when he wa
particularly forlorn he would take it on
s and read it, and become rich man for
few hours, then Emily's laugh would re
i sound through the house, or he woulC
; see her, gay and triumphant, driving OF
Il to picnles and to sleigh-rides, the sue
cessful young heiress and belle of Moss
l. brook, and he would fold it away.
L Thomas Yarn watched with a jealou
d eye the men who approached Emily
l.