Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1875-04-09

lie LII luxury.
''He made his choice!''
II remember,'' Matte said, in dreamy
voice, as if she had forgotten her listener
s'the day Ned was born poor Mary lay so
i'll we feared she must die, and while Others
were busy around her bed the wee babe
was brought to me. He was like you, 81
mon, with great dark eyes and broad
brow, and yet he had Mary's mouth, so
sensitive and tender, quivering with every
emotion. I remember when he was week
old. had him in the nursery when you
came in staggering like a man under
heavy burden, till you fell on your knees
beside me, to Sob
'sGod has taken Mary, but He has left
my boy! Thank God for my boy!"
A lorg quivering sigh broke from the in
valid's lips.
81 can see him as he was at three years
old, with his brown curls shining like
satin, falling over his little velvet coat,
his soft, round cheeks rosy with health, and
his eyes full of frank, bright intellect. He
was not quite four when he had scarlet
fever. How many nights you walked him
up and down in your arms, when tie fever
would not let him sleep; how many days
you sat beside him calming the delirious
fancies of his baby brain till the day that
life-giving sleep came to restore him, and
again you thanked God for your boys life"
Matte, you torture me! I cannot bear
this!, the sick man murmured hoarsely.
II was at the window one morning."
Matte said, still in the same even mono
tone, 'swhen carriage dashed up the road
with pair of runaway horses. The reins
were in the road, and there was no control
over the terrified animals, who dashed for
ward, the carriage swaying heavily from
side to side, threatening every moment to
be dashed to pieces Inside, man tried
vainly to open the doors. The driver lay
upon the road beyond, thrown from his
seat half intoxicated and badly injured.
While 1 looked, paralyzed with horror.
mere boy, not eighteen, ran from my door
into the road, threw himself before the
horses, battled with them as they reared
and plunged, threatening every moment to
dash him to pieces, and held them until
other aid came. Men ran to help, and the
STRIPPING opened thaH1oor of the carriage
when the horses W 4dfet, to release his
father. The blood was streaming from a
great cash i'll his fa6e, but he never needed
it when his father held him in his close
embrace. thanking him for his life. Again.
Simon, heard you thank God that in saw
ing your life your boy had not lost his
oWn.n
Theirs deep silence in the room, as
Hartwr face was hidden, but his
hands tn ded, covering the agitated fea-
lures. Matte took from her pocket a
letter and read:
sMY DEAR AUNT MATTE: Lucy is
about again, and our boy is doing finely.
He is thorough cartwright, with my
dear fathers eyes. and we have had him
christened Simon. i wrote to my father,
but again my letter has come back to me
unopened How can l ever soften his
heart toward me, if he will never read my
letters? I am weary for his forgiveness!
[ am doing well here, and my salary will
allow some little comforts for Lucy. and
the boy besides mere necessities, but
long to hear my father say, Ned, forgive
you."
eff you knew Lucy in her life here, it
you could see how patiently she bears
every privation, how loving she is when
we are still so poor, how careful she is
never to reproach me for what she. has. suf-
fered, you would not wonder that cannot
say, ssFather, an sorry l married her!''
[ am not; l never can be sorry for that,
vet do sorrow over my fathers anger.
evil you not. see him for me, plead
for me? Tell him I care nothing for his
wealth; we can live happily in our humble
fashion, but long unutterably to hear his
voice in forgiveness, to clasp his hand, to
know he loves me again. Plead for me,
| Aunt Matte. He must be lonely, and my
heart aches for his loneliness.
ssLucy sends love, and this tiny lock OF
young Simons hair. Lovingly, NED"
! ssSimon!'
Mattie's voice was solemn in it's earnest
tone of pleading.
ssSimon, you will not die without for
giving your boy, Mary's boy, who saved
your life at the risk of his own, who loves
you so truly?"
Simon cartwright lifted his face from
the cushions where it had been hidden.
Upon the wasted cheek tears stood like
| GREAT diamonds. and tile voice was broken
and harsh that said:
'sSend for my boy, Mattel"
Gladly the message was written and sent
to the telegraph Office
ssTo Mr.. EDWARD HEAVYWEIGHT: No.
81 - street, New York. Your father
| wishes to see you. Come at once. He is
dangerously ill. MATTE CoLwELL."
The evening shadows were creeping over
| the great room where Simon cartwright
waited for the dread summons he knew
could not long be delayed. Matte Col
well had not left him. By every sweet
memory cherished in her soul she had kept
alive the tender, forgiving spirit her words
had already Weakened in the fathers heart.
The agitation Of the morning had added
much to the invalid's sufferings, and as
evening came on, the gentle, loving
watcher feared the son would come too
late for his fathers words of reconcilia-
ton. He had been doing uneasily, when
he suddenly started awake.
ssThe will! Matte, we forgot the will!
It is in the drawer. Burn it, Mattel
Tell Ned there is legacy for you-ten
thousand dollars! If the will stands my
boy is disinherited. Burn it, Mattie,''
u With trembling hands Simon cartwright