The Manchester journal. [volume] (Manchester, Vt.) 1861-current, 1874-08-13

No tuett 30 iuoda ne kfQahtNs
oh, sir, whispered the wife, catching
Drake conyulsiyeIy by the arm, take us
away from here, do.
But you're cold, Kate.
No, no, no. It's only little way 10
your house shall die here!
win yon 30 home with me, George'
Jim asked Of the husband.
Anywhere, gasped the poor man.
Oh, Godl no fuel no food Kate!
Are you hurtf
But the wife could not speak, aud as
soon as possible the fat old villager had
the lantern in readiness, aud half dozen
went to help him.
Come, be said. Lead George, one of
you. You take Kste--you are stoutcr
than land IN take the little one. This
last was spoken to q stout toamster, and
be took the wife in his arms as though
she had been an infant,
It's only few steps, said Drake as he
started to go. IN send you yonr lantern
back, Nike FingaI.
And with this the party left the bar
room. went to the window and saw
them wading of through the deep snow,
and when they were ont OF sight passed
away. The host came out aud began to
explain matters; but was sick enough
already, and with an aching heart left
the room.
On the following day | came down to
breakfast later than usual, for | slept
very little that night. About nine O'Clock
the driver came in and told us the stage
would be ready In five minutes, went
TO the bar-room for cigar. Jim Drake
had just come in to bring the old cloak
they had wrapped around the child the
night before.
What will you have this morning, Jim?
| heard the landlord ask, as he set out a
tumbler.
Nothing, returned the fat man, em-
phaticslIy.
Pm done, Mike Fingal, Pm done with
the STUFF. I'll drink no more of ii.
wouldn't have come now only poor Lock.
land was up, and his sweet little wife
was hanging aroung his neck. They
were crying SO that | couldn't stand it,
and had to clear out. o, it's dreadful,
Mike Fingal. You don't know what
them poor things have suffered? But
they shan't have my example any more.
All ready, shouted the driver, and |
was forced to leave.
The wind had all gone down; the air
was sharp and bracing, and slowly we
wallowed away from the village.
reached Buffalo two days later than
expected to when | started, and having
transacted my business there, went to
Mississippi, and so on down to New Or.
leans. Four years afterward had oc.
casion to travel that same road again
and stopped in that same village to take
dinner. Ths bar was still open, bu
Mike Fingal had gone away. walked
out after dinner, and soon came across
neatly painted office, over the door o
which | read: George Lockland, Attor
ney and Counsellor at Law. In less thar
five minutes afterward | saw a fat, good
natured looking man coming towards mi
whom at once recognized as jim Drake
AS he came up | said
, Excuse me, sir, but | wish to know
how Mr.. Lockland is getting on now?
Squire LocklaDd you mean? he an
swered with proud look. You know
him then?
did once, said /.
Then you ought to know him now --
He is the frst man in the country, SIR
, Four years ago this month, coming, h
was just about as low as man can be
Did you ever know the Squire's wife?
have seen her, replied. saw
Drake did not recognize me.
But you should see her now. All,
was a great change for her That's thei
child-that little girl coming this way
Amt she picture for you?
! looked and saw bright-eyed sunny
haired girl of eight summers, comm
laughing aud tripping along like a fairy
! She stopped as she came to where W
! stood, and put up her arms to Uncl
Drake, as she called the Old man, an
; while he was kissing her, and chattin
with her, moved on. looked bac
once more on that happy, beauteous fac
just to contrast it with the pale fac
frightened features had seen that nigh
in the bar-room.