The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1876-03-30

~ 4A0A3 $780, ~ -
had resolved 70 come, IS hopes -; Z last
appeal e soften her fathers heart. i
vas : winter voyage and Margaret
caught violent cold, which sthreatened
a inflammation Of the. lungs. She could
only crawl feebly to the nearest lodging
on the night she ded---a m =, j bic
Th;e, next ,,.t day Margaret wrote note
to her father. trusting to her boy to de
liver it, as she was too i'll to 60 out her
self. Knowing that MIR. Ascot would DO
out during the day, sho had deferred
sending the lad until toward nightfall;;
but hardly had he left before. she
began to think Of the perils he
ran alone in that great city. Perhaps
she said to herself: he has fallen down
some open area perhaps he sank cold and
insensible in some bank Of snow. When
eight o'clock struck from . neighboring
steeple, and still her boy did. not. return,
she became almost wild with fright. Ten
o clock came, but still no son. She list
ened intensely for the sound Of his feet,
but she heard nothing but the roar Of
the storm. AT last her anxiety and fear
rose to frenzy she was sure her boy was
dead. Eleven o'clock stuck. Her can
die had burned down into the socket and
was almost on the point of expiring.
Suddenly the sound Of carriage wheels,
mutf1ed by the snow, was heard the car
rage stopped. Surely that was the open
ing Of the street door there were steps
ascending the staiBs. Yes, she could not
be mistaken, they were tho steps of her
J. ~
and her son rushed'in. ''.';.,..
}'tMother, mother!'' he cried, 4linging
his arms eagerly around her, II came as
soon as I could. And oh ! mother have
broug hit grandfather with me. See!''
She looked behind her SON, scarcely be.
lieving her own eyes. There, Just behind
her boy, stood her father. She rose up
in bed; she held out. her arms.
''Father r she sobbed. =.
Margaret, my child!' And then they
were locked In each other arms and both
were in tears.
II can die in peace now" she murmur-
ed, after while, as she chung to her
fathers breast, ''since you have forgiven
me. You will promise to take care, Of
Thornton =
| 'Die!'' cried her father, rising bolt up
right and fairly lifting her from the bed,
all the strength of his youth coming
back in that supreme moment. 'You
shall not die. You are going home with
us we have brought blankets, food, every.
thing. The risk is not so great as re.
naming another night here; physicians--
the best--shall be called in. No. you
shall not die! You have not come home
to die"
Nor did she die. Our simple tale has
already been TOO long in the telling, or
we might narratc how the sense Of rest
and peace that grew up in her now, the
skill Of the best physicians, and all the
knowledge that her boys future was as.
sured, oil combined to work cure that
otherwise, might have been regarded
almost miraculous.
To-day there is no more beautiful wo'
man of her years in that great city than
Margaret. She lives only for her father
and boy /; they como, at least. before
everything else. But she does not
exclude herself entirely from society. To
the select and cultivated circle Of which
she is the center and chief ornament, she
gives freely Of her varied accomplishments
and Of her cxquisit charm of manner.
but the memory Of her dead husband is
still green in her heart and ever will be
and though men of high station and even
worldwide celebrity would WOO her, il
she would to be tile light Of their home,
they know, one and all, that her first and
last love lies buried in that lonely grave
on the blue shores of the Riviera, to which
every year or two, she makes a pilgrim
age.
PREACHER AND ACTOR.