Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1874-03-27

reading and tears and meditation.
In the morning he locked the door Of bis
home and walked "over TO Petes." As he
met his friend, he said in a clear voice, but
with his eyes ayerted, "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'll have the
funeral, say on Thursday"
Pete hesitated a moment, then took the
key John offered him, and said, "Yes,
John, will tell my womau, and we will
| 60 over and fix ii, and be there when you
come back And so John went on bis
way. "Downer" was the minister, and
"the things" we're coffin and a shroud.
On Thursday was the funeral. Pete took
care 10 have all the people Of the neighbor-
hood there, although 1t hardly seemed as
If John desired it. The popular voice hav-
ing once decid3 it, still held John as a
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.like. While others wept but few
tears fell from his eyes, and even these
seemed wrung from him by an anguish for
the most part suppressed or concealed.
He chose that his mother should be
buried, not in the "burylng ground" at the
settlement, but upon their own little farm
where she bad lived. And so in spot be-
low the rocky ridge, where wild violets
grew, she was laid to rest.
John spent the night following the fun
eral at Pete's house, then returned to his
own home, and from that time his solitary
| life began. lie took his cattle and his sheep
over to Pete's, made all fast about bis home
and resumed his boating upon Lake Cham
plain. He fully realized that he was a
marked man. He was advised, IL was said
even by his own loyal counsel, TO leave the
country, and to leave his name behind him;
| but no words influenced him. Firm and
steady in his course, strictly temperate and
| just, he won respect where he could not
| gain confidence.
The years rolled by. Captain John was
still boatman, and still kept his home at
the lonely log.house on the edge of the
great valley. From each voyage he return
ed and spent day and night alone in the
old place, and it 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 boarded 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 often seen
! by Pete at nightfal upon the top of GER
tain rocky ridge, standing clear and sfiarp
| against the cold blue steel OF the winter
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 same.
But there came a 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 in
the door, looking out on the magnificent
landscape, tho broad lake and the dim line
| of mountains away across the valley. The
| lovely day seemed TO cheer this stern, lone
| ly 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, John, do you know
me?"
The voice seemed to strike him with a
sharp, stunning shock. He quivered, held
his breath, stared into the eyes Of the ques
toner, and then suddenly becoming un-
naturally cool and collected, said, ais it
you, William?'
The two who stood back had once been
Johns warmest friends. They now came
| forward and with such words as they could
command told the story of Williams sud
den return, and sought for themselves for
giyeness for the cruel suspicion which had
so long estranged them from their friend.
Juhu seemed to hear this as one in a
dream, he talked with William and the
| men in manner that seemed strangely
| cold and Indifferent about where William
had been voyaging so long in distant seas,
and Of 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 in
vitaton with warmth, and such true feel
ing as our voices express when a dear
friend has been greatly wronged, and we
humbly ack knowledge it.
John said absently that he did not know.
He looked uneasly around as If in search
of something, perhaps his hat. He es-
sayed to rise from his chair, but he
could not and in moment he fell back
ashy pale, fanting and breathess. The
Hson had not looked for this but accustom-
ed as they were to the rough life of the
wilderness, they were not alarmed. They
famed the iainting man with their straw
hats, and soon as water could be found, ap-
piled il TO his hands and face. He soon
partially recovered, and look ing up, said
in broken voice, "Give me a little time,
Toys" At this hint, the two old friends,
who were now crying, stepped out OF the
door, and cousin William sat down upon
the doorstep.
John found that Il MtIe time was not
enough. He had travelled too long and
far in that fearful desert of loneliness, east
ly or quickly to return. A nervous fever
| followed the shock he received, aud was
confined TO his bed. But the old house
was not lonely. The men and women
came, both his old friends and some new
comers, and tried TO make up TO him in
some degree the love and sympathy he had
50 long missed. But for many days II wa;
evident their kindness pained and oppress.
cd him.
at appears like" said Pete, ''that q
rough word don't hurt him, but kind one
he can't stand" And this was true. Hi:
soul was fortified against hatred and con
tempt, but kind voice, or gentle caress
seemed to wound him so that he would
sob like an infant.
As he recovered from his illness he ron.