Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1874-04-22
From the Alline for April.
The Story of Jock WilliStOn,


From the Aldine for April
The Story of Jock WillistOn.
Some of our folks 90 over to the
Island to meeting to-day; you'd like to go
along, mavbe?" queried our host ut
breakfast, on the morning of our second
To the Island9 Delightful. Let us
go. of course."
Its a good piece of walking from the
landing to the church, You know
How far?"
About two mles-up hill and down
dale
"Onlv two miles A mere nothing" "
we chorused. smiling ut each other as we
remembered how impossible two miles of
our native pavement might have seemed
on that midsummer day But here, with
the woonm note of the sea in our ears,
and the strength of the salt air tingling
through our veins. what might we not do
and dare?
So light was the breeze, rs we stood
waiting on the beach, that we scarcely
felt it strike our raised hands; Yet the lit
tie boat which came to take us off caught
the soft breath in her sails, and waited us
across iIt ClLtIt!icl StHliN ''ti't i4'A7NiNN7ii
as I spirit.
need not pause to describe the walk
that followed. although we remembered 1t
long afterward with keen delight.
The small, white church, with its odd
cupola and slowly swinging bell, came in
sight at length, crowning the summit of a
gentle elevation. Entering, we took our
places among the worshipers.
tha SiI ,1lp
| have long since forgotten, but the clos
ing words, spoken in the low, musical
voice of the preacher, rs he bent above
the pulpit rail, sound in my memory
still:
Hear then. once more, the WOrtiS OF
the text: That was the true Light, which
liohteth every man that cometh INTO the
world. Sometimes, my brethren, we
look lone for the brightness of that rising.
Even the eyes that watch for the morning
NAV scarce discern night from dawn.
Yet there Is no soul but some time-somC-
where-stands in the shining of that
Lipht. Every sacrifice of self. every vic
tory of love. is but its broken reflection.
God forbid that any one of you, having
felt the divine radiance, should 90 away
again into the outer darkness.
\ hvmn was sung, the fervent blessing
asked. and. passing ont with the cOngrega-
ton. we turned aside into the churchyard
to spend the hour of MONDAY intermissiOn.
Strollin@ about among the quiet graves,
many of which, especially the resting
places of little children, were strewn ten
derly with bright-hued shells and pebbles,
my attention was arrested by the contrast
between the low. plainly carved stones
around me. and tail, slender shaft of the
purest Italian marble, rising from Il solid
granite pedestal ut Il little distance be
yond Drawing nearer | read in beauti-
fully embossed characters:
IN MEMORY OF
JOCK WILLISTON,
Who came to himself, and to his
Fathers House.
On Christmas Day, 1910.
Ihegthat sat IN d0rhness Sa'C q greet ttght.
The brief epitaph, beneath whose quaint
phrase some unusual significance seemed
concealed, aroused in me II strong desire
to know more of the quiet sleeper below.
The wish must have been unconsciOusly
expressed in my countenance, for Il wrin-
kled, kindly-faced old lady, who sat upon /:
bench near by, with an open lunch basket
and two rosy grandchildren at her knee
suddenly beckoned me to place beside
her, saying, as if in answer to a spoken
question.
1.-The words do seem odd for II grave
stone, ma'am, but indeed the Lords deal
ins with poor Jock were past our tindin
out You never heard tell of him,
judge"
"No,-but have never been here be
fore"
Likely enough, and yet every child on
the coast could tell You the story. 1t was
in the Portland papers, too-but-bless
me. that must a been nigh twenty year
ago No wonder you wouldn' t remember.
The old danes eyes frightened, anC
she paused, as if to please herself with The
anticipation of an interested listener.
You knew him, then, this Jock, a.
YOU call him?" limited gently
knew him?" she answered with ;
musing smile 4 dressed him the nigh
he was born,-;t strong-llmbed, hearty
babe, with bright, black eyes, and hair Il
dark and curly as Jamie's here. That wa
Christmas Eve, and just one week after
ward, on New Years Day, the brig, SCI
| Gull, foundered off the coast of Newfound
land, with Cap'n Williston and all hi
men, and so the poor baby never saw hi
| father lace.
"Poor Mrs. Williston! l can see jus
how she looked, lynn there day after day
as white and helpless as u broken day-lily
with that little brown head tucked agains
: her cheek; twas only the baby that KEEP
her alive. She'd make me hold him t.
the light dozen times day. YOUR
sure his eyes won't turn any lighter, Mrs
Dawson?' she'd say. You see the capt.
had coal-black eye. And then again
He grows, Mrs. Dawson? You thinl
he's very we'll, don't you?' in a voice S.
wistful, that had IA master fight with my
| self to keep the water out of my eyes, in
stead of answering her up right cheerful
sWelle l should think he did, the dea
little cap'n! And CROWN? Look at tina
arm, Why. he'll be liftin' his mother Of
the bed before she knows it! Then she'
smile little pale smile. and put her tw
arms around my neck. poor thing! for sh
7 was scarce more'n a baby herself
well, the time passed on, and littl
Jock grew up. as brave and handsome /
lad as you could wish to see. 1t was rea
sunshine to my eyes to see him walkin
alongside of his mother, drawin' himsel
up and keepin' step with her like grow
man. So tender of her, too, he was, leav
| -, III h;o ,,,afnc for har If che waS alOnf