Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1876-03-31
NO. IS.
Tales aud Sketehfs.
CHANCE FRIENDS.
CONTINUED FROM YEsTERDAY.7


CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY
And so once more their minds went
back to the great escape of their wedding
morning. 1t was so distant and so like q
bit out book by this time, and the fact OF
their never again having met Mrs. Maye's
preserver seemed to make the incident so
much more unreal that they could afford
almost to laugh over what might have
been such tragedy.
BY strange chance they met in neigh
boring clergymen connection by mar
riage of the Frenchman whose timely
nerve and strength had saved Mrs. Maye
aud through this Mr.. Roberts they learned
from time to time of their friend.
They had written often to him, but he
had never been able to accept their invi-
tations to Stanway, for he was by no
means SO fixed that he could take his pleas
ure at will. He was only clerk in some
banking house in Paris, and though he had
risen in position and salary too during the
last seven years, he had found other ways
OF disposing of his surplus income than
by visits to England. He told them in
one letter Chat was written five years be-
fore) that he was very lonely, for he had
none but very distant relatives living and
his life was dull one.
'Thats a strange admission for
Frenchman," Mr.. Maye had said; and mis-
wife said, Nay. if he had no wife, of
course he was dull She thought his let
ter signified that he had some idea of
marrying, and she was quite right. A
Partisan journal of few months later ar
rived by post, directed in M. Blanchard's
writing, and containing an announcement
OF his marriage, in the list of such celebra-
tions, to Felicie Luneville; after that thev
heard nothing from him and very little of
him.
The one great adventure OF her life was
never very long absent from Mrs Maye's
thoughts; and often she would plan to
herself how some day, when she grew
rich (D she would some how try to reward
him.
While we have told this their steps had
turned to one little grassy mound in the
churchyard which belonged to them, under
which lay the little one who had been
theirs only few brief weeks. ..Not long
enough for them to care about it." some
folks said; but they were quite mistaken.
The mother of Amy Maye, aged two
months" never went home without mo-
ment by her baby's grave. Summer and
winter white blossoms always lay thereon.
Her darling, dead and gone, was always
very dear 10 her
The evening grew chilly as they drew
towards home; the wind sprang up from
the sea, and they gladly closed themselves
in with the cheerful lamplght. The
mother went up and kissed her sleeping
children with happy pride, and sat with
her husband, talking and thinking more
than usual Of the possible fortunes OF Henri
Blanchard
CHAPTER III.
Some fortnight after this Sunday even.
ing Mrs. Maye was in her nursery, spend
ing what was always one OF the most de-
lightlul half-hours of the day to her
watching her children in their bath, dry
ing them, kissing their round velvety
limbs, and gloryipg in their beauty as only
a happy mother can do.
1t was so delightful to be with them
then, for all their little troubles of the day
were done there were only the goodnight
kisses to be given, and in a few minutes
the restless forms would be quietly Sleep
ing in all the thousand charms of their in
nocent childhood. If they had been cross
nurse iorgave them when she was Just go-
ing to be rid of them Tor the long night.
1t was an hour of universal satisfaction and
comfort to the whole household when the
children, darlings and plaques, went off
to bed.
Their father even had come into the
nursery, and had been beguiled into car
rying his boy into the bedroom. The
mother followed, with her great girl clasp
ing her round the neck, and nurse brought
up the rear. when, ust as they were cross
ing the landing at the top of the stairs, the
sound OF wheels was heard coming up the
drive, and loud ring followed at the
door bell.
The whole procession stopped and be-
trayed common anxiety to know who or
what could have arrived.
Jane, opening the door, was heard ut
tering words of expostuation with some
man without; and then an appealing
glance from her to her master, visible at
the turn of the bannisters, was answered
by his running down to see what could be
the matter.
Outside the door was large covered
cart, commonly called "Weaver's." from
the name of its owner. The one-legged
carrier, who stood talking very broad Es-
sex. and doing his best to explain how he
found the parcel he brought ''awaitin' for
he at the Weathertree station''
The man at the office he out wi this
here, and he say, Here he say, Dick,
here be live parcel for yer. For to take to
the parson yonder down at Stanway.'
Says |, why. ter baint for he surely says
he, Just you read what they've writ : and
there ter be, sir, as plain as plenty of ink
can make it. So then couldn't but bring
it; and here ye are, sir. And most un-
common good she've been; never cried
nor spoke scarce. except when she see
some ducks go waddling along the road
Now then. my pretty. come along"
And with these words he lifted out and
handed over to the astonished and bewil-
dered Mr.. Maye pretty little child of four
years or thereabouts. dressed in the deep
est mourning, with big ticket sewed up
on the front of her dress, on which was
written
To the Rev. Mr.. Maye. the minister OF
the village of Stairway by Weathertree.
70 the servants at the Weathertree ter
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