The Grange advance., 1874-12-29

lie forbid the young man to appear in
his family; he got the school given to 4
another teacher; he commanded his
daughter to put all such nonsense out
of her head in short, he behaved in
sucha way that even Isabella took
sides with the young people. And af-
ter year had passed, and nobody had
changed an atom in determination, the
school-teacher returned to the village,
and married Grace in spite of her faith.
or, who did not try, indeed, to pre-.
vent it, but declared that neither of
them should set foot under his roof
again. Isabella went to chul ch to see
them married, and then, as the folks
| said, '.just went into decline" In
| few months Oliver Newman's house
| was desolate. Then he locked up his
memory, and became the hardest and
coolest of men. All alone in his great
house he lived, growing rich almost
without effort, because he spent little
money and saved much. Many
| letters from his daughter
he returned unopened, until, at
last, no more came. 1t was not SO easy
to prevent thoughts of her from com.
ing; but he smothered them or turned
them into bitterness by making himself
believe that he. and he only, had been
| outraged, defied and deserted. This
| Christmas afternoon, as he sat before
his fire. looking into the blaze, his con.
| science seemed to be unusually aroused.
He began to feel that revenge had
| brought remorse. Not that he re.
membered it was Christmas. He only
felt how lonesome it was. Even the
housekeeper had gone away to spend
| New Years with her relatives IN Yer.
mont; and he, in his feeble old age,
had neither friend or relative in the
world. He had estranged them all.
So he sat before the fire, himself atire
with conflicting emotions. Evil and
good influences were struggling for his
soul; but it was an unequal fight. for
the soul had been too long given over
utterly to selfishyess and hate. If only
some blessed angel could enter, to throw
victorious overweight upon the celes-
tial side!
Or if he could have known what was
at that moment taking place not far
away! Alas poor Grace had lost her
husband, after dozen blessed years of
mingled Joy and sorrow. Poverty they
had always borne, but never absolute
need. But when her stay was gone
there was nothing left for her and her
only remainy child-a daughter, and
named Grace, like herself: Weak and
almost dying, she had managed to re.
turn with her child to the village where
she was born. She arrived the day
before Christmas, and fortunately found
shelter with friend of her youth.
But the story she learned of her fathers
character and manner filled her with
dismay. She began to fear he would
visit his hatred upon her innocent
child; and the agitation which this
thought cost her was too much for her
strength. Before morning it was evil
dent she could not live. She had burst
a blood vessel, the doctor said, and
was too feeble to rally from the shock.
And at noon, with little Grace's head
leaning against her pillow, and her
arms clasped around the child's waist,
she died and was at peace. Her last
injunction to her daug liter was to find
| Mrs. Be:sey Bright, to ask her if she
remembered Isabella Newton, and to
tell her that 1sabella's daughter Grace
had sent her Grace to her mother
dearest friend.
Then she died, and little Grace, a
little child of twelve years, was left in
the world alone. People came and
went, busying themselves with the care
of the dead, while she sat unheeding in
the corner Of the room. But at last
she was reused by hearing her own
name mentioned in the conversation.
''Nice child,'' said one of the women
''just the very image of her mother at
her age. S'pose now, her grandfather
should take her up and do for her;
she'd be a mighty comfort to him. fl
{'he could only see her now.'
"He!' replied another woman: she d
like nothin' better than the chance to
put that child in the poor house. II
tell you. Oliver Newman hain't had al
feelin' since his wife died, except to
hate that school teacher, and the wed.
ding, and all that ont. Not that he
ever exactly hated this poor, dear
lamb, she added, looking tenderly
upon the face Of the dead; ''he never
mentioned her name. as I've heard
tell; but guess no man ever actooally
hated her. But he hain't no call to
love this child.'' :,
"Poor thing said the first speaker.
81 don't see but she'll have to 20 to
the poor house, 'tenny rate, for a year
or two, till she's big enough to be
bound out, and make herself useful
Little Grace had listened with hor-
ror, and heard enough to bring her to
a swift decision. She remembered we'll
her mothers dread of the poor house
and she was determined never to 20
there. She would run away, and find
Betsey Bright. So out Of the room