The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1874-11-12
It is hard thing to take cut of a poor life

anhOOd-Dut wnen she came home from
boarding school and looked at Thomas Yarn
with new eyes-he who had not grown clean
er, or younger, or more agreeable-he felt
that he had lost his little friend. She rein
stated him in the library; but she came there
seldom herself; she had new book to read
her own romance was being written; lovers
were coming in the flesh instead of on the
yellow pages of her old books-so Thomas
and Memory busted alone.
One day Thomas took down a vofdme of
SCOTS Commentaries" in which he saw a
moth creeping, and, as he did so, wild
flower fell Out-one of those which had not
been elevated to the dignity of Emily's hcrba-
rum. 1t was heavy old book with parch-
ment cover, and. as he busted and shook it,
Thomas Yarn shook out his fate-a folded
paper fell to the ground with bits Of fern, a
pressed violet, lady's-slipper and several
frinsed polygalas.
1t was will. He knew the handwriting
we'll, for in his struggles for existence he had
been copyist, and had often met the stiff,
stately, old-fashioned, copper-plate hand of
Gov. Hammond He read on through the
formal phrases and legal forms-he read on
as a man does in dream, and he never knew
how long it took him to read what was written
on that piece Of paper. He might have faint
| ed awav-if so, he came to all by himself. 1t
was will, leaving all his property to his nat
ural son, Thomas Yarn. 1t was witnessed by
| Deborah Doolittle (miSnamed womanD then
and now cook to the establishment, and by
old Deacon Ramsey, who had been gathered
| to his fathers.
Thomas Yarn remembered the date of the
| will which had given all the property to
Emily; yes, this was written year after. 1t
| was not recorded, that he knew well, but he
thought Deborah would remember signing it.
He went through all these mental operations
with half his mind-the other half was par
! alyZed with surprise.
| He w a
he heard a fresh young voice singing in the
hall. He had just time to put the paper in
perhaps the poorest old pocket in the world
when Emily opened the door.
| Thomas Yarn was surrounded with faded
wild flowers. He even had piece of fern in
his hand, endeavoring to hold it as # it were
u thing to which he was accustomed.
How Emily laughed as she saw him!
$50 you have found some OF our old flow
ers! How yellow they are, poor things!
Look at that violet. They are like people
who have had Sickness and trouble. l Won
der if l 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 l had the measles or
the summer before went to school; don't
remembcr.'
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 protfer of Il cup Of tea or some
of her nice dishes, always doing it with re-
spect, for she thought, with the rest of Moss
brook, that Thomas was poor gentleman;
and he, not person to be invited to dinner,
would pause furtively, and at Deborah's neat
| table snatch a cup of tea or rich doughnut,
grateful variety to tavern fare!
So, when he appeared down the stairs, De-
borah hustled round and put plate and
| l,.:f fr~l- fy,as Jn +nl
NO. said Thomas Yarn, nothing to eat"
why! whatsomdever has happened to you,
| Mr.. Yarn" said Deborah. You look as
| white as Sheet
deborah, do you remember witnessing a
paper for Gov. Hammond in his last Illness
WELL yes, l guess l do, Mr.. Yarn. The
Governor was terrible queer in his last sick
ness 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. suppose it was his viii, Civ
ing everything to Miss Emily. Hewas awful
| troubled, the Governor was. After his
son died he got queer, and then, after Miss
Hammond died, he got qucerer. expect
the Governor had been rather hard on the
poor when he was making his fortune
deborah, put on your spcctacles and see
if this is your signature"
Deborah produced some very large glasses,
and proceeded to tit them with difficulty on a
very small nose.
"Well, wee, I wrote that. I never was
! good with my pen; and l was kind of tus-
| tered 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 my dinner on and the
soup was a burnin'.'
Thomas Yarn was half up the street before
Deborah had finished, and had reached the
registrars Office Yes. Emily'S was recorded;
this was not, but this was written 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; he recognized here and there that he
must have secretly 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, vulgar
fraction Of conscience Miserable
PLAYING with justice. Gov. Hammond, like
many Il dignfied gentleman, uncovered his
real character in his will, ana showed the
poor and mean thing which fine appear
ance had draped and ornamented.
Thomas Yarn went to Mary's grave and
considered. He saw from that humble spot
Gov. Hammond's tall COriuthian column
CLEAN through the trees. He thought of the
change it would make in the village treat
ment if he announced the fact. The tavern
window would cease to be his post of obser
vation: he would sit Of an evening on that
broad piazza where Miss Margaret and Emily
| received their guests: it would be his own!
He would become man Of fortune, power
in the State. He looked down at his gar
ments. 1t even occurred to him that he
should have a new suit Of clothes; but, as
these airy visions fiOated before him, he
looked again in the grass at the stone and
read:
"MARY, WIFE TO THOMAS YARN,
DIED DECEMBER B, 1875,
and he decided that he did not want fortune,
fame, consequence enough to take it away
from Emily, his child-friend. She, next to
Mary was the thing dear to Thomas Yarn.
Often he determined to burn the will, but
he did not. He even bought piece of oil
silk and carefully folded it around the paper
before returning it to his ragged pocket.
Sometimes when he was particularly forlorn
he would take it out and read it and become |
rich man for few hours; then Emily's |
laugh would resound through the house, or |
he would see her gay and triumphant, driving |
otf to picnics and to sleigh-rides, the success |
full young heiress and belle Of Mossbrook, !
and he would fold it away.
Thomas Yarn watched with jealous eye |
the men who approached Emily, and he saw |
to his sorrow that she began to blush and |
look down when Horace Frazier came near |
her. 1t began to be village talk that there |
was to be an engagement. |
Now, Horace Frazier had come to Moss |
brook to study law; he was not of the town. |
Perhaps he brought some foreign graces with
him; he was handsome, dressed well and had |
fascinating manners. But the tavern, in this |
instance, had become an important post of
observation, and Thomas Yarn knew of nights |
passed in gambling, of drunken bouts, of the |
Crime and degradation of dissolute life. Yet |
what could he say or do-what Roadway |
make against this young and clever man!
Before he had resolved on his course of &C |
ton Emily had come into the library and had |
announced her engagement to him.
ooh, Miss Emily! don't! He isn't worthy |
of you! He is gambler, drunkard, and |
worse! Don't love such man; don't marry |
him, beg Of you" burst from poor Thomas |
Yarns Inns.