The Wheeling daily register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1864-1878, 1876-09-23
BY A LEAP.
CHAPTER TRUE OF HEART.

CHAPTER TRUE OF HEART.
A small, old fashioned cottage where 8
woman sits working in the porch.
A tiny cottage, in garden stocked
only with fruit and vegetables, save for
the hardy creepers cllnging to the porch.
But then their blossoms CLEAN as white
and pure as any rare exotics, and the
dark leaves move softly in the fairy light,
as the breeze nestles there, after It's flight
across the health from that far line of
brilliancy which, though but ribbon 5
width, is the broad sea flashing in the sun.
A slight, pale woman, wearing widows
cap upon her smooth brown hair, but
with such look of love and longing on
her face that she Too has beauty which
it is good 10 look upon. Small and isola
ted as the cottage may be, 1t is home of
love and peace; and plain and quiet as
the country woman looks, she has q
wealth of warm affection in her heart.
AS she sits there alone Mary Sullivan
Is dreaming the old dreams which have
cheered her through her tea years of
widowhood-bright but never impossi-
and she is glancing backward, too, over
her own life, wondering little, just a
little, If many women OF her age have
seen no more of the world than she, VINO
has not spent one night of all ner life
nor ever wished 10 do ss-beyond this
village where her husband has been
schoolmaster. Is it to be always so? A
steadfsst light comes into her eyes, and
her quiet lips into smile, made beauti
tul by proud aud loving trust-"That
shall be left to Dayy," she says, uttering
softly the one name which now means all
the world to her. "His choice will be
my choice"
From the porch where Mary sits she
can catch glimpse, through the trees, of
the road along which the stage coach
daily passes. This spot she is watching
eagerly, and when the four horses come
within sight at last, she drops her knit.
ting and rises. Nervously drawing her
hand across her strained, glad eyes, she
turns and enters the cottage; as if she
dare not wait those few minutes which
will bring the coach into sight again
close to the garden gate.
Tea is laid for two in the pleasant little
kitchen, and the table-though it bears
upon its snowy cloth no luXurIes beyond
homemade cakes and fresh laid eggs
has quite festive look. The mother
stands and gaZes around her with a SMILE
Is there nothing more she can bring for
Davy? Her hands are clasped together,
and her breath is quickening, for she
knows any moment her boy may rush in,
past that lire of sunshine at the open
door. But she does not know how in
tently she is listening for the footstep
upon the gravel, nor how her face bright
ems when he comes at last.
"Motherw
"Oh, Davy, DavyE
The greeting bursts from the hearts of
both, IN that first moment; then the boys
lips are clinging SO to his mothers and
her arms hold him in that entire love,
which n widowed mother so often laviShes
upon Nh only son.
The meal which she has prepared with
loving hands is over and tue mother and
her boy sit together in their lavortc
corner of the porch, while the sun sits far
across the sea.
"Four whole weeks of idlencs', and Of
home and you, mother David says. alt
seems too good to be true"
"But you like school, Davv?" Mrs.
Sullivan asks, wistfully. "fou are hap
Ply there?'
"Happy? oh, yes; and getting on capt.
tally. or course try to do that, moth.
er, as grandfather urged it 50 when he
condesCendcd to put me at this school.
Perhaps he will help me little even
when the five years arc over. | will soon
rise, if he gives me II start after the prom
ised term"
And if he does not, this education ls n
great help, Davy. You Will be seven
teen when you leave the college and
clever, and able TO do anything
"Anytbing-cverything, mother as
serts the boy, softly, drawing her arm
about his neck.
IL shall be man, and you shall never
want anything again. You shall have n
large house and garden, and shall come
hsme every evening from my Office
where | shall earn the money, you know.
1t must be near London, because men
don't get rich except in London, | ex-
pect. Shall you like it, moLher?"
"lou have made up your mind to be
rich, Dsvy2'
.'Only," the boy answers, his eyes upon
his mothers, "only just rich enough to
make you comfortable and happy, that
you may never have to work, MS you
work now, or deny yourself. You have
so little, mother, to make your life easy
and bright"
"LittIe~ she cried, through her happy
tears. Little, when | have you, Davyr
ave both have all we need, dear
mother" the boy says, laying his curly
head upon her shoulder. 81 would not
change homes with the richest boy in all
our college, though he would laugh at the
notion; but still mean to give you more.
| am making the most of nay time"
"And what do the masters say of you,
Davy?'
THAT | am the best arlthmetician in
the school," the boy says, laughing; "and
best (tor my age) in one or two other
things. But, mother, ! beat every fell
low, older, or younger, hollow at gym
nastics."
what are they?" asks Mary, wonder
ing
But though David explains at length,
her idea of the science is only little less
vague when he finishes than 1t had been
when he began.
ave have splendid gymnasium at
school, and you should see me. There's
not fellow who can come anywhere
near me. And have prize to show
you, mOther-not for that he added,
with laugh at her surprise, "but tor ac-
counts. | won it to please grandfather,
because, after all, he was very good to
put me to school, though he will not per-
sonslly notice either of US. 1t is almost
like giving me fortune, isn't it? and
therefore better than if he asked me -
his hOnse, although that would show be
had forgiven my father ior-settlng
here