Litchfield enquirer., 1874-02-26

was Ipt sufficient evidence to convict of so great crime. -.et..- l John continued from this time on l through hespring to live at home. He aHowsd5 his sloop to float idly in the bay. kwhiles he himseha rested. The truth | was. lie saw, as others did uot, that his mother had carried a fearful weight, and now, when 1t was lifted by his return. that the resources of her life were ex- hausted The change, not yet apparent to other eyes, was clear to h1s vision. So | It IS that these silent spirits read each ! other.
 As the warm weather advanced, the strong woman became weak; and as the 1 June flowers began to bloom, she ceased to move about much, and sat the most of each day in 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 tired infant, would weep without restraint or concealment, as she told her son of she early loves and romance of her girlhood life Ill warm valley of the West. He learned more of his mothers early life in l those June days than he had surmised from all hehad known of her before And he un- derstood what this predicted. He felt that the heart nearest his own was counting over the treasures of life ere it surrendered them forever.
 There was no great scene when the wo- man died. It was at evening, just as the July ferVors were coming on She had l wept 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 neignbor had called upon him, and that was Retes Searies. He had ever proved true. But John did not like to trouble hls one friend, who lived two miles away, to come and stay with him during the night So he lighted candle, took down from aIshelf little Bible and hymn-book that he and his mother had carried on an average about four times a 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 meditation.
 In the morning he locked the door of his home and walked Cover to Pete's." As he met his friend, he said in clear voice, but with eyes overted, ''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'n have the funeral, say on Thursday"
 Pete hesita4ed moment, then took the key John offered him, and said, "Yes, John, I will tell my woman, and we will 1 go over and fix it, and be there when you come back" And so John went on his way. ssDowner" 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 l seemed as if John desired it. The popu- lar voice, having once decided 1t, still held John as 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-ike. While others wept, but few tears fell from his eyes, and even these seemed wrung from him by an anguish for the most part sup pressed 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 | spot below the rocky ridge, where wild | vlolets grew, she was laid to rest. John spent the night following the fu- neral at Pete's house, then returned to l his own home, and from that time his SOL | itG1y 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 marked man. He was ad- vised, it was said even by his own legal counsel, to leave the country, and to leave home behind him: but no words infuenc- | ed him. Firm and steady in his course, strictly temperate and just, he won re- 1 spect where he could not gain confidence. The years rolled by. Captain John still was boatman, and still kept his home at the lonely log-house on the edge of the great valley. From each voyage he re- turned and spent day and night alone | at the old place: and 1t was noticed that strong, high paling was built around his mothers grave, and a marble head-stone was placed there, and other flowers grew with the wild violets. Even in winter. when there was no boating and he board ed 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 nightfall upon the top of certain rock ridge, standing out clear and sharp against the cold blue steel of the wintry sky.
 ! John had no companions and sought none. The young men and women of his set had married and settled in life; he was still the some.
 | But there came change. Eleven years had passed since the mother died, and it was June again. John was spending a day at the old place once more. He sat 1 in the door, looking out on the magnifi- cent 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, ''Jonn do you know me?"
 The voice seemed to strike him with a sharp, stunning shock. He quiyered, held his breath, stared into the eyes of the questioner, and then suddenly becom- ing unnaturally cool and collected, said,
 'Is it you, William?"
 The two who stood back had once been Johns warmest friends. They now came | Ao1WaIus anu W1Gn SucA WOrUS aS they could command, told the story of Will ham's sudden return, and sought for themselves forgiveness for the cruel and false suspicion which had so long estrang- ed them from their friend.
 John seemed to hear this as one in a dream. He talked with William and the men Tn a manner that seemed strangely lcold and indifferent, about where William had been voyaging so long in distant seas and 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 Invitation with warmth. and such true feeling as our voices express when dear friend has been greatly wronged, and we humbly acknowledge it.
 John said ahsently, in reply that he did Fl Tnf know He look ,,nooa;i.- a.a..l a.