Litchfield enquirer., 1876-05-11

of my few thouaand- dollars when die.n
 Father, cannot do business in the way that you propose; should lose my self-respect; and I cannot sell myself, even if your thousands were millions"
 "Nobody wants to buy you sir, be- lieve, at any price! am sorry that have no more time at your disposal" So saying. he, dropped his eyes on the interest-table, and Robert went away with swelling heart and mist of tears | in his eyes.
 Westward the young couple started next day, their whole personal posses sions in one not very large trunk. Just 1 for half an hour they stopped, on their ] way to the depot, to kiss the sad little face of Lucy and arrange for some method of communication with her.
 'sThe Vest was then even a wider term than now; it meant anything be- tween Cleveland and the gates of sunset. Robert Hammond pushed forward until he reached little city of shanties stand ing on the low, swampy shores of Lake Michigan the embryo of the future Chicago. There he rested, not so much from choice as necessity, his funds being greatly reduced and his wife sick with low fever.
 Very hard, indeed, were the first two years to the adventurers; poverty, suf- fering, and pitiful sense of the incon- gruous elements among which they had fallen, made up their life. But natures like Robert Hammonds, though they may be stunned for time, have in them such clements of life and strength that complete prostration is impossible.
 From the first blank despair hope arose with @ strength and intensity exactly | suited to the circumstances. Work manual work was first obtained, and it's results carefully used. In two more years he had saved enough capital to buy few thousand feet of lumber. don't quite know how such things happen; suppose they are the natural sequence of events; but gradually, al- most imperceptibly, the thousands be- came tens of thousands of feet, and the small lumber-yard extended itself along the slow, sluggish river; while small l fleet of lake schooners waited on the yard, and their every arrival and depar- I ture were very apt to leave balance on the right side of Robert Hammonds books.
 For the first seven years a desultory 1 Gar, but the last news had all been unfavora- ble; Lucy spoke of great losses and re- verses, and intimated that she was afraid 1 they would have to reiinquish their old home. Nor were these her only troubles it was evident that she suffered much from her fathers growing irritability and un- reasonahleness, and that this was espe- ciatly so at any mention of Robert or his l whereabouts.
 The unpleasantness of the news from ! New York was in such direct contrast with the surroundings of his home, that l Robert might well be excused for not seeking more of it; besides, his business was constantly increasing, and required 1 all his thought during those hours in which men may work; so that, when he reached his home, the affectionate care of his pretty wife and children natur- ally claimed his first attention.
 It was about twelve years after Robert Hammond and his wife had first turned their backs upon New York. They were sitting together one evening in that quiet hour which supplements the noisy one given to the children, and precedes those | given to rest. The fire burned brightly. and the lamps, from under rose-colored shades, threw soft, warm tints on all the beauty and comforts of a thoroughly handsome room.
 Sitting in her low chair, with closed eyes and idle hands folded over the dropped sewing, Mrs. Hammond was holding pleasant communion with her own thoughts. Her face had yet the tender look on it left by the children's kisses, just far enough away to make a low, musical murmur; their laughing and talking were fitfully audible; while outside the luxurious home the snow fell silently. and the bare shrubs shiyered against the window-panes.
 It was near Christmas and a Christi mas influence was already in mems hearts. A sudden and great tenderness l fell on Robert Hammonds, as he listened to his children's voices, and looked round his happy home, and in the face of his good, true wife.
 And he remembered his faults that night. -...
 Where were Lucy and his father? For nearly three years he had heard nothing certain, and the last intelligence had beeu O. n uncertain and unpleasant nature. l Perhaps both were suffering the bangs of poverty. while he has enough and to spare. The thought had crossed his mind before, and very often of late, in his counting-house, among his ships, among his children, but never had it af- fected him as now.
 "Mary," he said to his wife, in tones so earnest that she opened her eyes with a start Mary. where do you think father and Lucy are"
 God knows, Robert that is one com- fort-but I was just thinking about them"
 l "Wereyou? That is strange"
 Then, after few minutes of silent thought, he got up and walked up and down the room, pushing, in his preoccu- patton. chairs and ottonfans out of his | way.
 Mrs. Hammoned waited quietly, taking stitch after stitch, and glaneing. oeea- sionally into the troubled face of her husband. Presently he said: 1 "Mary, the river is dead-locked with ice. I can leave my business better now than I could ever have done the last ten years. If 1 start at once can be in New York by Christmas. What do you say. loveY
 God go with you, Robert! I think you are right"
 So the next morning Robert Hammond