The Rutland daily globe. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1873-1877, 1875-04-03

used to be rich when she was young, but
she was real bright and learned then, very
learned, for a rch mans daughter. Her
father died, they lost their fortune, and
widow had to work for living. She came
here, and has actually. been Principal Of
our village High School for the last seven
years. There never was q widow held the
place before, and there never was a man
who filled it so well. Her graduates made
the best wives and the best schoolmistresses
in the country. Schoolmistresses always
make good wives, Sam. / used to be
schoolmistress myself"
eyes" said Sam. "Modest, you know"
"And widow has done an Unreasonable
lot of good among the girls here. She
has made them like herself, as far as they've
sense enough to be it-brave, strong, hon.
est and wise. There never was another
like her, Sam. She supports her mother
out of her earnings, and-and dresses like
lady, too" said Sans cousin, adding the
last as the climax Of all praise.
81 don't like paragons," said Sam. cav
full tlresome."
"At any rate, you're in no danger of be-
ing taken for one yourself" replied the
sharp little woman. "You had the world
before you, and we we're all so proud of
you, and had such high hopes of you. You
were going to be famous poet, reform
preacher, and the Lord knows what, and
you've not been any of it. When you die,
/ shall have this label tackled across your
coffin "IIe began like poet, full of grand
hopes and aspirations and ended by being
a slovenly old bachelor, who made for
tune in the brick pressing business"
"Cousin Mary, let's start to the camp
meeting"
At the camp ground Sam Harrington and
little Mrs. Gerry sat among the devout part
of the congregation, and listened to the
sermon like old folks. When it was over,
and they had all left the wooden benches,
a tall, pale lady, with lustrous black eyes,
and dark wavy hair, stood up facing them.
An aged lady, with silvery hair and sweet
placid face, leaned on the others arm, and
the younger lady carefully supported her
feeble steps.
That's widow and her mother" whs-
pered Sans cousin. "Isn't she lovely?"
Sam looked. The fine, delicate face was
the least bit faded and tred-looking, but
not bit soured or gloomy, Oh, no not the
least. 1t was clear, true face-fne,
strong, and pure, like steel or silk, or some
thing of that sort. Little Mrs. Gerty caught
the school mistress hand.
"Widow u said she, "this is Cousin Sam
Harrington. a rich slovenly old bachelor.
l wish you'd take him off my hands. Sam
Miss kildare"
"W-h-a-t!" screamed he, crafty.
"Don't hurt my arm so. What did you
do that forp"
"Mr. Harrington and used to know
each other long ago, when was young"
said the school-misstress calmly, but with
an ineffabe look from her dark, softly
fringed eyes. II met Mr.. Harrington if
teen years ago at camp-meeting. have
never seen him from that day to this"
Then she moved on in a calm, graceful
way, with little spot of quivering sun
shine glancing across her gray dress as
she passed. And the first thing Sam Har-
rington did was to look sheepishly down
at his dusty boots, while his face Redeemed
slowly with the memory of an old flame.
lie laid his hand upon Mrs. Gertys arm.
"Cousin Mary, you said a while ago that
l used to be poe: and an enthusiast, with
bright hopes and aspirations, and it had all
ended in my being a useless, slovenly old
bachelor, who got rich at patent brick-mak-
ing. That woman knows why"
''Then l am sure you wronged her more
than she wronged you. She is the truest,
best, brightest woman l ever knew. l do
wonder if you are the man she nearly broke
her heart about long agor I've heard
whisper of that, I'm sure. You were always
too hard and unforgivipg, Sam"
Little Mrs. Gerty, romantic as girl,
watches them narrowly. Were the old
times little Mrs. Gerty thought they had
never died entirely out from the hearts
of either. Sam Harrington began to
blacken his boots and button his wrist
bands.
One summer moon-lit evening Alice Kill
dare sat in the porch of the little cottage
in which she lived with her mother. She
was looking down the avenue of trees in
front, toward the west, where the sun was
sinking in the glowing sky, Sam Harring-
ton came slowly up the walk, and Joined
her in the porch.
"Widow Kildare" he said, T've come
to bid you good bye"
"Have your" said the widow. She would
not ask word more.
"Yes, must go back to my undertaking
Bricks, you know, and clay, and furnaces
and things. meant to be a poet when l
used to be in love with you, fifteen years
ago. Now / am brick-maker."
Used to be That waswhat she had stayed
an old maid for. Her heart was like lead
in her bosom, but she smiled and said,
"After all, brick-maker is as good as q
poet
care you sure you think that, widow
Kildare?"
eyes; quite sure"
"Wouldn't you like to see 'em-great
brick yards, and the huge furnaces, baking
the patent bricks by the half mllion!"
"Yes;" answered the widow. II could
tell the school children about it, you
know"
Sam Harrington made face. Then he
looked at her and saw that in spite of the
| brave, proud head which she held up so
stately, her face was pale and sorrowful as
face could be, as though she were parting
with last great hope.
And he actually smiled to see it. She
had tortured him bitterly once. He threw
| his hat across the floor, and sat down on the
| edge of the porch at her feet
"Alice," he said, "why haven't you been
married? What have you stayed single all
these years for?'
She looked at him and tried to answer,
but the sound died away In a sorrowful,
bitter sob and she covered her face with
her hands. The barve proud, woman was
crying. He took one of the slim cold hands
in both his own.
"Alice-l never got over 1.-THE old hurt
you gave me once. / never got over the
old love either. BE my wife now, darling,
and let us begin all new again"
A little old fashioned portfolio lay on her
lap. She took from it slip of paper, all
yellow and creased with age. She held the
paper toward him.
"Samuel Harrington! You said in this
note that woman was incapable of truth
or faithlulness. Will you take it back"
she said softly, "will you take it all
backp"
He tore the paper into shreds and frag-
ments, and blew it away through his fin-
gers, and don't know where the wind car
ried it.
$50, please heaven, my hand shall re-
move all that gives you pain or trouble as
long as you live. God bless you, my wife /!
| God bless us all p