The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1877-10-27

| Atany other time Mrs Somers would have
| been reticent about family affairs but she was
too Hurried to think clearly Surprised ont of
herself. she took her audience, unconsciously
| into her confidence.
mo, it's not stroke" she answered, with
the experience of long years Of nursing. His
face isn't awry, you see; and he's only limp,
not paraized. There, I've opened his cTavat,
and now, Jane, bring some water It's but a
faintng fit: he often has em when he's wOr
red; often, | mean since his daughter went
away. She ran OFF, you know, most ten years
! ago. He's never forgotten her. Or rather
she's never, eastways OF late years, asked 10 be
forgiven. The last time was when she came
herself, Just after she was married. all this
WHILE Mrs Somers was busy trying to revive
her master, chatting his hands, holding smell
ing-salts to him, even ordering the window
opened, "on night as bad as this. He turned
her from his doors, in apcriect rage; never
seed HIM so angry, afore or since. But he's
been sorry for it, many and many time |
know. I've heard him sigh so. lie was a
thinking of her. He'd have forgiven all, years
ago if she would only have come again. But
she was rs proud as him don't know which
was the prouder She went TO forrin parts, with
Iher husband-hed been her music teacher, you
see: that's what made Mr. Ascot so angry;
and she has not been heard of for these years
and years Therc-hes coming to; what
sigh Stand aside, Mr.. Policeman please, and
rive him some air Poor man! But he's no
body to blame but himself after all | don't
uphold disobedicncc in children, of course;
but dearcr sweeter girl than his daughter,
Margaret was her name, never was. Many
and many's the time I've carried her in my
arms, when she was baby, and her mother
was alive. How are you feeling now, sir?'
| This last sentence was addressed to her mas
lao ,,;tI an-lr G,rb il
eyes
What, what is the natter he said, look
ing vacanty from one to the other. " Yes |
remember" Putting his hand to his brow.
&" Margaret"
His eye, wandering about fell on the boy,
who, during this episode, had entirely rccov
cred consciousness, and was now looking up,
with strange sort of wonder, at Mr.. Ascot.
"Plcase, sir" said the lad, seeing he had at
tractcd the o.d mans eye, please, sir can you
tell me where Mr.. Ascot lives was TO go to
him-only lost my way-mother's very sick
and she's had nothing to eat today"
With these words he broke down, with Il
great sob the tears streaming along his thin,
wan checks.
"Wheres the note--thc note? Order the
carriage" said Mr. Ascot incohcrcntly, rising
to his feet ." Is it from Margaret? Did some
body say she was starving" His poor, weak
shaking hands vainly trid again to unfold the
paper, which the policeman handed to him
|" liam not as strong as | used to be.
think am getting old" and he looked, piie-
ously, at Mrs. Somers, and sank again on the
sofa.
Drink this, sir" said the housekccper, hand
ing him restorative.
He drank it, and rallied. "Ah. it is her
her writing" speaking to himself. "Shc is Il
widow Her only child is namcd-atter-at.
| ter me"
lie stopped reading, and turned to looI, at
the boy.
Are you grandfather SAID the latter, tim
idly. ~ think you must be, for mother has IA
picture she looks at and cries over, and it's
! like you"
The letter fell again to the floor. But this
time it was because he opened his arms, and
the boy, catching his meaning, came to him.
You won't let her die, will you:" said the
boy looking piteously into his face.
! "Die der' cried the old man. rising up;
and his voice and air were that OF youth. she
shall not die. Where is the carriage? | will
90 at once She shall come home tonight.
The carriage | say" he cried, almost angrily,
and he turned toward the door, where the foot
man now appeared
"The carriage waits, sir" said the servant,
obsequiously.
Get your cloak and bonnet, Mrs. Somcrs.
A few blankets-a bit of ioOd-there's not a
minute to lose Good God Margaret dying,
and we wasting our time here No, my brave
little fellow" he said, your mother shall not
die"
In few minutes, during which the thought
full Mrs. Somers had provided II biscuit and
some hot tea for the boy, the little party set
forth While the carriage is rolling over the
snow, its destination being one of the most dis
tant and obscure streets OF the great metropolis,
let us Il say few words about the daughter
Margaret Ascot had been one of those sweet
tempered, sympathetic natures, that everybody
loved. Beautiful, accomplished wealthy, and
wcllborn, she had crowds of suitors: but at
nineteen she turned from them all and gave
her heart to pennlcss lover This was not
because she was toolshy romantic, like so
many others but because her sutton was wor-
thy of her in every way, except III riches. He
was only II poor music.teacher an Italian exile
for this was in days, now, fortunately, long ago,
before Italy was free, and when to be an ltal-
ian patriot meant Punishment, or lifelong I'M
IprisOnment or even death. Andrea Philippe
had when hardly more than u boy, Joined in
the instruction of AZ and had been compelled
after its failure, to fly the country, He had
come to America, and being pcnniless, had
been compelled to take up the first pursuit that
| offered itself In his own land nearly every
body has some knowledge of music; but An
drca was an amateur of more than ordinary
merit; and he naturally became teacher of
singing Margaret Ascot was his iayorite pu
pill. He saw in her everything that youthful
manhood, in its highest type, admircs: she saw
in HIM II hero and martyr. Compared with
the prosaic young men of business, or the cold,
calculating lawyers, or the idle men of fashion,
who constituted the bulk Of her admirers, he
was prince in disguise, a young god Par
ents do not sufficiently make allowances for
the imaginative element in their daughters
They fancy, tLat, at nineteen girls can feel as
their mothers do at forty; that the dry husks
OF mater-ofiact lie are sufficient for them.
II is not SO, and Mr. Ascot, though sensible
man in other respects could not understand
why his daughter WAS cold To her wealthy
lovers, and had given her heart to the exile.
When Margaret, hopeless of altering his