The Portland daily press., 1875-11-15
from the alaxyl
Twenty Years Of Waiting.

-
think of my old friend Phil Rodent I don't
think ever heard a story quite like bis.
Twenty years of mans life spent in wait
ing! and waiting is the hardest kind OF work.
The other day he came into my study,
looking worn and anxious. "What is the
matter, Phil ?" l asked, as he threw himself
into an easy chair.
''Why, that Johnston woman is dead. No
need of her dying any more than you or me-.
And her husband just come home-as' fine a
lad as ever stepped. Nice news to meet a
man with-'Here's your wife dead now,
what's to be done with the children?' His
vessel was wrecked, you know; and though
she heard the crew waspicked up, that foolish
woman was bound to have him drowned. l
tried my best to keep her alive, but she just
frett+d herself into her grave."
"All have not your patience, Phil" said
gravely.
He SAT thinking for some minutes, while
that calm resolved look came into his face
that so loved to see there. The lines of his
forehead smoothed themselves away. We
often sat thus, each thinking his own
thoughts. 1 could guess what PhiPs were.
knew the thought that brought that light
of rest and strength.
What grand, grave face my friend had !!
His powerful frame bore very lightly the
burden OF its threescore years. His step was
quick ald elastic, and his hand-soft and
white as a woman's yet with a grip like
steel-was as firm and steady as it had ever
been.
Presently he rose and began drawing on
his gloves. " must 60 now, Archie; my
patients will be very impatient this morning,
l fancy. You have done me good, or taught
and, Archie, if you think the story of my life
will help some other life that is weary of liv-
ing, tell it, Archie, and tell them though the
way be long, the rest that 'remaineth' is at
its close"
So had said my sermon and began my
labor of love. Need say my sermon was
laid aside, for what nobler sermon can there
be than good mans life.
Unjust ask your patience while go back a
long, long way to b-gin my story properly.
How like picture galleries seem the years as
We look back upon them. Here an open
meadow, with. the sunlight sleeping warm
and bright upon it; there bit of rocky coast,
on which the long liue of breakers crash and
thunder, the only hint of life tiny sale far
out 10 sea; and as we glow older we see more
and more plainly that to learn the real duties
of the pictures, the light must come from
above.
One evening about ten years ago was sit
ting in my cherries, unhomelike hotel parlor,
when letter was handed me bearing the
postmark of remote little village among the
Connecticut hills. I had been there once
long years ago, land as took the letter watt
from the breezy hills and fragrant woods
swept over my remembrance, causing again
the thrill Of pleasure with which 1 first well
coined them.
opened my letter; the writing was fami-
liar. glanced at the signature. 1t was that
of my old college friend, Phil Rodent.
shut my eyes then and thought while.
The tide of memory was too strong for me,
l had to let it float away. Twenty-six years
before Phil and l had clasped hands over our
farewell, he to finish his medical studies
abroad, to enter the theological seminary.
And now here was an old man with failing
health. and he the physician of the quiet little
village where we had once idled away our
summer vacation, with many jest at the
inhabitants. Are lives what they ever hope
to be? How many eyes grow dim with
watching for the dawn that never breaks.
Oh, may we not hope that in the great here
after blighted buds may swell and blossom in
to the perfect flower.
81 have heard of you my friend" wrote
Phil "You are out of health and spirits
Come to me, and we will cheer you up. 1
have a room ready for you in my bachelors
hail. and we need you here. Our minister.
good old man. has gone to his well-earned
rest, and we are shepherdless flock. We
have had young man preaching for us, tai
ented and good-intentioned, but he scared
among the clouds too much for us; our heads
grew dizzy watching his aerial flights, so we
shut our eyes and left him, thinking that as
he seemed to know the way, he would some
time reach terra firma again. But that is not
what we want. We want to be baptized and
married and buried in the good old way, and
you must do it for US. Say when you will
come, and Ned (my horse) and I will meet
you at the station"
kind and hearty as ever. ''If any man
can g, give me strength and happiness, it is
Phil Rodent" said to myself.
Early in the next week the train LETT me at
the quiet station. little different from what I
remembered it, and no sooner had 1 stepped
upon the platform than a CHEEKY voice eX-
claimed, welcome, old fellow; come at last"
and Phil clasped my hand in bothiof his. I
saw the brakeman smile as we two old men
walked of. together, PhiPs arm thrown across
my shoulder-a boyish trick of his-but l
thanked God in my heart for this strong faith
ful friend, who had kept the memory of our
boyish days still fresh and green amid the
frost of age and the chilling winds of change
and absence.
L
stalled pastor of the old fashioned little
church, and then l went to housekeeping.
Phil and were busy all one week getting my
home ready, and then wrote to Abby, VINO,
poor girl, was glad enough to leave her board
ing-place and come to keep house for me.
Many years ago she had buried her hopes OF
happiness in the grave of young Richard
Phelps. and since then herliie had been rath-
er cherries one. We had two brothers
married, but though "Aunt Abby was very
useful if the children had measles or scarlet
fever, there was no place she could call
her "home;" so now we two, the odd ones
in the family, planned to end our days togeth-
er. Phil and were much with each other,
and one evening in the beginning of Decem-
Der we were sitting in his sanctum smoking
quiet pipe together, and he was telling me
OF some Improvements he meant to make on
his place, when l said jestingly: 'What
pity it is you haven't made some woman. hap
Ply with the gift of your hand and pleasant
home, with all its etceteras of lame horses
and charity patients" Phil pulled cloud of
smoke into the air, and sat watching the
soft rings in silence for some moments; then
he said quietly. II have been waiting these
twenty years, Archie. for my wife, and still
believe that she will come, though it's long
time. long time" he repeated musingly.
Was my friend dreaming? said nothing,
but sat waiting some further enlightenment.
You never knew my brother Paul, did
You, Archie ?" Phil commenced in his full
quiet voice. "Poor fellow, he met with an
accident when child which famed him for
life. When he was-!et me see-about twen-
ty-two The was eight years younger than my
self took him to Germany to consult ia
nous physician, in whose skill I had great
faith. Just before our sailing three passen-
gers came on board, who attracted my atten-
lion and interest from the first. One was a
man between forty and fifty, handsome and
stynsn-looklng, but with an unpleasant air of
orayado about him, and flrtive way of
people, which impressed me very
unfavorably. He was followed by a man
some years younger than himself, on whose
I'm leaned young and very pretty lady. As
hey passed into the cabin many ewes were
urned upon them. The men were talking
wholly in French, and paying little or no at
ention to their silent companion.
s'Paul had bis meals brought up on deck,
md at dinner ! found was seated next the
1oung lady who had SO excited my interest
hat morning. 1 never asked you, Archie,
whether you cared to hear this long story;
ny heart was SO full of it tonight that be-
IAN almost without thinking. Ii L weary
'ou. you will try to pardon me.
.'Well, that night many glances OF admir-
ition were cast uoon my neigbbor, glances
sot unmingled with pity; the pale, beautiful
ace was so very sad, and the large brown
Eyes seemed heavy with unsfed tears As