The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1876-04-14

his fingers to the floor. Fortunately the
policeman was in time to catch him, and
lay him ON the sofa. For moment the
boy was forgotten, every one pressing
around the master of the house.
"I Is it stroke 2" asked the policeman,
anxiouly. "What does ii means"
At any other time Mrs. Somers would
have been reticent about family affairs
but she was too furried to think clearly.
Surprised out of herself she took her
audience, unconsciously, into her conf
dence.
"No, it's not q stroke" she answered,
with the experience Of long years of
nursing. His face isn't awry, you see;
and he's only limp, not paralyzed.
There, I've opened his cravat; and now,
Jane, bring some water. It's but o
fainting ft; he often has 'em when he's
worried; often, mean since his daughter
went away. She run of, yon know, ten
years ago. He's never forgiven her, or
rather she 'snever-leastway of late years
asked to be forgiven. The last time
was when she came herself, just after she
was married, on q night as bad as this. "
All this while Mrs. Somers was busy in
trying to revive her master, chafing his
hands, holding smelling salts to him,
even ordering the window opened. "He
turned her from his doors in a perfect
rage-I never seed him 30 angry afore
or since. But he's been sorry for it
many and many time, know. / have
heard him sigh so He was a-thinking
of her. He'd have forgotten all, years
ago, if she would have come again; but
she was as proud as him; I don't know
which was the prouder. She went to
forrin parts with her husband-he'd d been
her music teacher, you see-that's what
made Mr.. Ascot so angry-and she has
not been heard of FOR these years and
years. There-he's coming to; what
sigh Stand aside, Mr.. Policeman,
please, and give him some air. Poor
man but he's nobody to blape hut him
self after all. 1 don't uphold disobe-
dience in children, of course; but a
dearer, sweeter girl than Margaret Ascot
never was. Many and many's the time
I've carried her in my arms when she
was baby and her mother was alive.
How are you feeling now, sira
This last sentence was addressed to
her master, who, with deep drawn
sigh, opened his eyes.
What-wbat is the matter9" he slid,
looking vacantly from one to the other.
" Yes, I remember" putting his hand to
his brow, 4" Margaret--"
His eyes wandering about fell on the
boy who, during this episode, had en-
tirely recovered consciousness and was
now looking with strange sort of won
der at Mr.. Ascot.
"Please, sir" said the lad, seeing he
had attracted the old mans eye, can
you tell me where Mr.. Ascot lives? /
was to go to him-only lost my way
mothers very sick-and she's had moth
ing to eat today"
With these words he broke down with
a great sob, the tears streaming along
his thin, wan cheeks.
"Where's the note? Order the car
rage" said Mr.. Ascot, incoherently,
rising to his feet. "Is it from Mar
garet9 Did somebody say she was starv-
ingg" His poor, weak, shaking hands
vsinly tried again to unfold the paper
which the policeman had handed him.
ell am not strong as used to be 4; L
think am getting old ;" and he looked
piteously at Mrs. Somers and sank again
on the sofa.
"Drink this" said the housekeeper,
him restorative.
He drank it and rallied.
"Ah! il is her-her writing" speak
ing to himself. "She is a widow, and
her only child is named-after-after-
me-"
he stopped reading and turned to
look at the boy.
"Are you grandfather ?" said the lat
ter, timidly. "I think you must be, for
mother has O picture she looks at and
cries over, and it's like you"
Tie letter fell again to the floor. But
this time it was because he opened his
arms and the boy, catching the meaning,
came to him.
"You won't let her die, will you 2"
said the boy, looking piteously into his
face.
Die, die l' cried the old man, rising
up and his voice and air were that of
youth. "She shall not die. Where is
the carriages I will go at once and she
shall come home tonight. The
carriage, / say" he cried, almost
angrily, and he turned toward the door,
where the footman now appeared.
"The carriage waits, sir" said the
servant, obsequiously.
sect your cloak and bonnet, Mrs.
Somers, few blankets--a bit Of food
there's not minute to lose. Good Godi
Margaret dying, and we wasting our
time here No, my brave little fellow |;
your mother shall not die"
In few minutes, during which the
thoughtful Mrs. Somers had provided a
biscuit and some hot tea for the boy, the
little party set forth. While the carriage
is rolling over the snow, its destination
being one of the most obscure streets of
the great metropolis, let us say few
words about the daughter.
Margaret Ascot had been one Of those
sweet tempered, sympathetic natures
that everybody loved. Beautiful, &C
complished, wealthy and well born, she
had crowds of suitors, but at nineteen
she turned from them all, and gave her
heart TO penniless lover. This was not
because she was foolishly romantic, like
30 many others, but because her suitor
was worthy of her in every way except
riches. He was only poor music
teacher, an Italian exile--for this was IN
days now fortunately long ago, before