The Manchester journal. [volume] (Manchester, Vt.) 1861-current, 1875-09-23
or oF rHK DARK
~ HrsTrR a. nEsrpicr.

! do wish hther'd come said little
Mrs. knowles, laying down the sock she
was mendlng aud crossing over 10 ibc
window that commanded a view of the
street mp which her husband could not
very reasonably be expected for . good
two heurs.
NiSht's setting In early, and pitch dark
too; not . sign Of any moon, ard |
shouidnt wonder II Il siormed. Tie
airs felt Ike itall day She held The
curtain aside aud with one hand and
shaded with the other her anxious blue
eyes that we're strained ont into the
growing dark. ! hope Henry won't get
wet--poor fellowl
She lei the curtain fall, then; drew =
chair over which hung mcrlno dressing
gown, closer TO the hre, which she stirred
vigorously, pulled the tea-kettle over to
the front I'D Of the Stewart, waited a
minute to stroke the side Of the Maltese
cat--a huge, handsome fellow whose
right TO the ehinis-covered lounge no.
body ever thought Of dispuling then she
vent back 10 her mending.
You're a good wifO, Mary, said Grand
mother Keese, Mrs. Knowles mother,
who had seemed too occupied In taking
up the stitches Of a heel just bound of to
hear what her danghter.said or to notice
what she did, but whose keen eyes aud
ears saw and heard everything. A good
wife. There'd be fewer bad men In the
world IL there were more women like
you.
Do you think so, mothers
know so, grsAdms answered, holding
her halfsock up TO the light aud trying
to fnd the stitches. Aud didn't use to
think you'd ever amount to much as
hepmste to man. You were such a
giddy girl, you know.
But | love Harry, mother, the blue
eyes frightened ln the lamplight; aud II
seems to me that any girl with good com
mon sense to start with, and who loves
The man she marrics, will do what she
can to help as well as make him happy.
At least why, here mother, let me take
up those stitches.
Well, | reckon you may, child. My
sight ain't so good as II once was. Hark
amt the wind blowing uncommonly
hard?
AS II for answer, stormful gust shook
tho windows at that moment and beat
upon the door till II few wide open,
letting 10 the snow aud putting out the
lights.
Dearl dearl exclaimed the old lady,
and dearl dearl echoed the young one,
shutting and boiling the door aud then
re-lighting the lamps.
Oh, do wish Harry would come
Mrs. Knowles added sDxiously. Then,
after pause, In which her blue eyes had
been slowly flling with tears: DO you
remember, mother, that 1t was Oh just
such night as this the children went
awayi she asked.
Yes, child, remember II we'll. How
the wind came tearing out o. the beech
woods with the binding beating snow
a-burying mp the fences.
And, mother--Mrs. Knowles' voice
was very lov and full Of sorrow--do
you know II seemed the hardest thing OF
all TO me that the little white souls should
have to start out TO the unknown from
the heart Of 30 terrible night2 So lone.
some for them, so-Oh, mother, don'I
know but II seems TO me could have
borne 1t better in the daytime, with the
sun a-shining and the blue sky full IN
sight.
God was In the dark and the storm, my
girl. Would he let the babies 20 alone
do You thinki
No, mother, no. | know that be car
ried, and carries them In his bosom; bu
mine is empty but for the pain; aud j
aches so hard, mother.
! know, my dear. Grandmother wa
smoothing the brown hair ripping owe
her knee, and her eyes bad far-awa.
look in them, as II their faded lids wer
touched by nngers Of some mourniu
memory.
Aud the old arms went rouad tn
young neck, and the old eyes and th
young wept together in The sileuce--lb'
silence broken only by the hiss Of ih
kettle on the stove, the tick Of HE ciocl
on the manlel, and the feet Of the storm
beating their wild way everywhere with
out.
Toot's go tired, sister, can't We 81
H. Faat q finu rntuufa unm1