Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1876-06-17

to the works, saw the gates closed,
and the whole place one great, black,
dreary desert. There was no kissing
of steam, no whirling of wheels, nothing
but silence, without so much as a puff
of smoke from the great furnace shafts.
The fires were out-the works were
| closed
l hadn't told Lizzie-I never felt the
heart-all Saturday night and Sunday,
and left her that morning singing as
blithe as q lark. So hung about till
breakfast time, and then went back to
break it to her, and break it l did.
Lord bless you, there's Lothing like
a good wife to give man strength, 1
says" doubles him directly" And
then we laid our heads together to fight
the world ; and after q bit of talk we
settled that it would be pity to break
up our little home, and though we were
half heart broken at having to separate,
there seemed to be nothing else for it.
You see, we had bit of credit where
we were, and Miss Chadds, our land
lady, was easy, and it seemed like TAX
ing Lizzie away from home and friends;
so we settled it that she should stay,
and [ was to go oD tramp down to the
big towns northward, and try and get
work.
1t never rains but it pours, men say,
and now it was as if the big, black cloud
had come with q vengeance, and I
shivered as l stepped out into our
court on as black and dreary morning
as ever made a man miserable. We'd
got it over-that parting for I wouldn't t
let her come out upon the stairs where
the other lodgers could see her, and my
head seemed filled with the picture of
her sitting of heap-like upon the
floor, and ! was obliged, when I tore
myself away, to take her poor arms from
around my neck and run away.
If there's any one thing that will take
the respect out of man who is willing,
it is tramping from town to town in
search of work. And, after all, perhaps
no wonder, for one gets into queer,
low way, especially if mans situated as
I was, trembling for every penny spent,
as I thought of her sitting and waiting
at home for the good news that, as
weeks passed on, could not send.
Home There, that word, and the
thoughts of what was there, kept me up
at many despairing time, when, after
thirty, forty, or fifty miles tramp,
came, almost penniless, to town to get
the same old answer.
1t was the old tale-no work; and at
last, half mad with disappointment, 1
turned my steps homeward.
l had not had the heart to write for
weeks. and at times hadn't had even
the penny to pay for the stamp, because
[ wanted it for bread. l had not heard
from Lizzie, either, for I had been going
about at random; here, to-day, there, to-
morrow-anywhere whore l thought
there might be work.
1t was a weary tramp that, but at last
got to London one evening, and then
I waited until it grew later, because-in
my dirty, ragged state-I was ashamed
to be seen.
It was nine o'clock when I slipped
down our court, and glanced up at the
window-to see it dark.
"Poor lass," says, Sitting in the
dark to save CANDLE"
There was nothing to hinder me, so
slipped up stairs-ours was the first
floor front-and tried the door-fast.
"Gone out marketing" says.
And, worn out, sat down and leaned
my cheek up against the panel, and
waited for q good hour, when I heard
steps behind me, and an up stairs lodger
came down, candle in hand.
"The missus gone out, Mrs. Winkus2"
I says.
When she gave start, half scream,
and ran back up stairs.
"Don't know me-" says to myself,
bitterly; and then in weary, dull rt
of way, got thinking that Lizzie would
know me fast enough, changed as l
was; and then began to be troubled at
her not coming back; and first one
thought, and then another, came into my
mind-terrible thoughts at last, about
what women had been driven to who
had been left penniless in London. I
had left her money, and she had things
to sell; but had been long away; and
of late had not written, and her letters,
perhaps, that she had sent to me had re-
manned unanswered. Had she, too,
turned despairing?
was weak and low, and cloud
seemed to swim before my eyes. grew
dizzy, and cold sweat came out on my
forehead as I staggered down to the
back parlor, knocked, and some one
said "come in !" and [ stood before
Mrs. Chadds, our landlady, who set up
quite shrek as she saw me.
"It's only me-Harry Jones-Mrs.
Chadds," 1 says, huskily. "I've come
back. Where's Lizzy2"
"Ah! Harry--ah My poor, dehr
lad !" she says; and the tears were run
ming down her cheeks.
"Wh-what2-what is it 2" I says,
catching at my throat, for felt as if l
was choking.
"Oh OH my poor soul-my poor
lad u she sobbed again.
"Lizziel where's Lizzie 2" I gasped
and l held her arm so tightly that she
WINGED.
"Ah, my poor lad-she's a bad-bad,
false creature, and -
"It's lie-a lie-a false Iiei'
roared, and in my madness L shook hel
till she dropped sobbing on her knees at
my feet
"It's true-it's true," she groaned
"she went off week ago. He came
one night in hurry, and, ten minutes
after, with her shawl and bonnet IN, she
hurried with him out of the house, and
l haven't seen her since"
"Who-who was it9" 1 gasped out
for two hands seemed pressing my
throat, and my heart was as if on fire.
"Dick Greenl"
That name seemed like lightning OF
! my brain, for there was, as it were, {
bright flash md then a crash, as if some
} thing had struck me, and then all was