Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1875-01-22

fore, fitted about as usual. Mr.. Foster
was sitting on bench at some distance
from the cabin looking at some new
specimens OF ore one of his men had re-
Gently discovered. II was richer than
had ever been taken before from his
mines, and he was sitting, lost in golden
visions, with his sombrero down over his
handsome blonde face, ra
What 90 DOOM, papaT
SO absorbed was Mr.. Foster In his gold
en- dreamings that, as he was sorry TO re-
member afterward, he did not respond TO
her childish question till after IL was
three or four times repeated, and then
he bade her "run away, he was busy.p
But little Winnie had something upon
her mind and was not to be put away.
Papa, mamma Is killing herselfp'
What is itY" This drew his attention
very thoroughly. "What is 1t you say,
Mamma is killing herself, and she
said you wouldn't carel She said you
didn't love her; and then mamma cried,
she did. Don't you love her, papaP She's
a dood mamma, fink" TT
What do you mean by her killing
And then Winnie went on with great
minuteness TO explain the rise and
progress OF the conversation.
u said: Mamma what 90 doin'P
Mamma said: l killing myself work
ing.'n
lieved look. 1t was only womanly,
nervous complaining that was all But
little Winnie went on:
"That wasn't when she cried-when she
said she was killing herself! She said YOU
a.. -.
she did, awful hard, she cried she said
you didn't love her. Don't you love her,
papar"
And little Winnie, who was constantly
asking questions of everybody, and
would, If possible, never give up her
pursuit OF knowledge upon any subject,
IN her eagerness to discover the truth of
this most singular assertion of her moth.
er's, repeated the question looking up
into his face with innocent, wondering
eyes.
Don't you love her, papa, my dood
mamma?"
Love herr OF course. What n
question! Run away now, am busy"
And he turned away once more to ex.
anime his golden treasure, and delight in
it. But, somehow, after the little form
had fitted away, as he had hidden it. he
couldn't help letting his mind wander
from the golden treasure in his hands to
the words OF the golden-haired little
preacher who had SO lately spoken to
him. 4" Love his wifeS" The words had
come glibly enough to his lips when he
was speaking to little Winnie
"Of cuufse he loved herl What a
question! Wasn't she his wife-his law.
fui wifeS The idea of his love for her
being called in question:; he church
member; he who read the Bible every
Sabbath, and who had always kept his
heart from wandering after strange idols.
Love his wifel What an ideam But he
couldn't quiet his conscience-his re-
morseful emotions, by thus Drawing It
out. His conscience, that had been his
servant, a careless servant, too, sleeping
at its post, woke up now and was his
master; more relentless and inexorable
MASTER because it had so long slum-
pered, and was now arisen, a king In
deed.
In what way had he shown his love for
her, for years past? Were frowns and
Indifference and cold harsh words the
language of love? Was it in that way
he had won her from all other suitors in
the long forgotten springtime of their
lives? That sweet girl-wife, so fair, so
dear, so blooming. "Her good mamma
Yes, she had been a good mother to the
child, good wife to him. Memories of
her unselfish, patient devotion, her life
given for him, rushed upon him like
wave-a wave that, long held back by
icy barriers, rushed on more overwhelm-
ingly, relentlessly. There could not be
more complete abnegation of self than
had been here, all through their married
life. Her life had been given for his as
truly as If she had laid it down for his
sake on some battlefield. 1t was not an
easy thing for him to stand thus, face to
face with conscience, with these remorse-
ful memories, these new anguished
thoughts of the patient love he had so
long sighted. But he had made
home for her. So he said to him.
self; he. had supported her, fed and
clothed her. But this relentless con-
science said to him that he would
have done all that for a servant
and never would have dared to treat a
servant as he had her, knowing the SER
want would leave him if he did. This
legally bound, patient thrall he knew
could never leave him, bound as she
was by her pride-her love for him.
But he had worked hard himself for
their united interests; had been success
full; and was it not for her as much as
himself? Was it? His conscience asked
him now. Was it to crafty his ambi-
tlous desire to be rich man, or was it
to make his wlfe's life easier, happier,
more perfect and complete that he had
Many, many questions did his
put to him, questions which
he tried to evade, but could not. But
above all did his heart ache with the |
thought of the patient love, year after
year, for his comfort, yielding to his most
wishes, patient with his
his GOODNESS, his cruel
words, and loving him-loving him
through ALL
The sun stole upward and stood over
his head, and slowly, silently the shadow
Of the pine tree crept toward the east.
lie did not notice that the dinner horn, |
which always sounded punctually at
noon had not been heard; did not notice |
how far the shadow of the pine tree over
his head was reaching eastward. He sat
there with his face in his hands and his |
golden ore falling unnoticed in glitter. |
ing mass at his feet, till the loud sound of |
excited voices reached his ears, coming |
rom the cabin. The rough miners made |
way for him to enter his own door. And |
here, by the half-prepared dinner table, |
fallen like good soldier at her post, lay |
Mrs. Foster. An honorable soldier, wor- |
.hy of commanders stars and straps, |
N that wide band of household martyrs |
who fall unknelled and undecorated by |
nations; but who surely will |
rot be forgotten by the great Chief Cap
ain of the world when He makes out |
lis true roll of honor. tH.
Dead! So they all called her. Dead
SO the sorrows stricken, conscience -smit-
EN- man, white to his lips, said, as he
'eat NainH over nsh her, I calling her by the old
we're still outside the heavenly gate,
would waken her 10 blissful conscious
less. Deadl And he could never tell
Ter his remorse never, never beg upon
lis knees for her forgiveness.
But Mrs. Foster was not dead. Slowly
lid she come back out of the terrible