Daily Kennebec journal., 1876-12-21
Continued from first pare. |

the prison door. Mrs. Potter drew hasti-
ly back. She felt sudden unaccountable
aniipathy to this man. though she had new
er seen him before. He was tall and lean,
with small features set In red hair and
whiskers. One of his thumbs was gone,
she observed. Like other women, she be-
lieved that all her likings and sudden
whims had some infallible divine reasen
TO back them. Something would come OF
that! She would hear of the one-thumbed
man again. she thought with decisive
nod.
Mrs. Potter's house was on little island
that lies between the Ohio and Virginia
shores, and was occupied then by dwell
ings and market-gardens. Her husband
was in Europe, and she could follow out
her own vagaries in politics or hospitality
uncontrolled.
About a week later she sent Tor her
brother They had not met 10 the mean
time, and the alienation between them had
been growing more bitter. The readiness
with which love then turned to hate in
families we can only comprehend by re-
membering that the whole atmosphere
was charged with electric passions, and
that the solid basis of daily business had
crumbled away; employment OF every
kind had stopped with a sudden jar; a
man had not the corrective of hard work
for either his anger or his suspicion. In
New England or Carolina he was swept
along by an overpowering current of opin
ion, but in this border region he was in a
dizzy swirl or eddy; he saw little here of
the lofty purpose of the war on either
side, but he did see much of its savagery;
its turbulence, its mean trading spirit.
This man Pomeroy, for Instance. While
his brothers-in arms were doing mems
work under Ashby, he was forced TO loi-
ter in this mill-town, watched by spies,
as he told his sister, at every step.
81 met Clingsby just now. He tells me
my men are in disguise at Gallipolis. But
l cannot pass the Ohio side to join them,
for Captain Poole has been following me
for days"
Poole the butcher, Federal officer !
Oh, John, ! wish you were with the boys
and Ashby. Perhaps they're wrong. But
they are gentlemen, at any rate"
BE calm, Elinor. Tut! tut! Child >
smiling, very well pleased. II did not
suppose your radical folly had left you so
much sound judgment. Why did you
send for meP'
Have you been annoyed in any other
way, JohnP" disregarding his question.
.'Some mill men-Welsh brutes fired
At me the other evening. But what can
l dop The city is under martial law. and
l dare not bring myself into prominent
notice. l can leave 1t, hOwever-shake
the dust off my feet-forever, hope"
''Aud the PomerOys built the miserable
town. The tears were in her eyes: she
stroked her brothers hand. quite forget
ting that he was one of the traitors and
tyrants whom she prayed God to crush.
but you wanted me, Nell ?"
"Yes," after pause. at was story
heard-a woman that wants help. No,
you needn't put your hand In your pocket
1t is not money. She is girl from some
hill-county In Pennsylvania, who knows
no more of the world than one of the
sheep on her own farm. Three or four
years ago young man came to the neigh
borhood as teacher OF theidstrct school,
child-a boy christened John Knox, for
the girl is an Old-School Presbyterian, af-
ter the straitest sect of her religion"
"Scotch-Irish?"
Yes
IL know the sort in Pennsy ylvania,
nodding - red-hared, high-cheek boned,
obstinate as the devil--sure that their own
kin are booked for heaven. and calmly
sending all the rest Of the world to dam
nation.n
''fm afraid Margaret is of that stock
At any rate, the cast iron in her makes her
hold the stronger on the only things she
knows, her church, her husband and her
child. About a year ago she received from
New York proofs of her husbands marriage
with another woman, still living. She is
modest and clean-minded. / believe the
sense of shame was as bitter as the loss.
for she loves the man-loves him still.
He tried to make her give it up. that it
should be brought up in the true faith, for
it appears he is Catholic.
ut Is hardly fair to load the Church with
every scoundrel that chooses to call her
mother" said Major Pomeroy, whose Rit-
ualism was the highest.
Well, that's not to the point. | suspect |
Margaret forgave him for his other wife |
more easily than for his Holy Mother. The
man six months ago stole the child, and its
mother, who is an ignorant country-girl,
never out OF her own county before, has
worked or begged her way hundreds of
miles, and seems to have lost all sense of
fear. She heard that her husband was
trying to make his way into the South
lost sight Of him here; she was hopeless
and starving, her reason gave way"
''She was the woman who threw herself
into the creek last week Pn
Yes: | brought her here. VIII you
see her John ?"
The little man ruf1led his plumage
Here? The hospital would have been the
proper place of refuge. But we will see
what can be done--we will see."
They went into the next room, where a
homely, red-haired young woman sat
mending stockings.
Margaret, this is my brother, Major
Pomeroy. He has come to advise yop
about your boy"
She looked up without any hope or
tightening in her face.
''She is tired out" said Mrs. Potter.
How have you looked for your son,
madame ?'' said the major gently.
Just walked up an down. an asked in
every town If anybody had heard of a
man called Peter Brodie. told them Of
the boy too; nobody caud have forgotten