The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1877-07-12
hat was hanging at bis side, and he hest

The whole truth flashed across him in
an instant, as he shook off the slight
touch and moved to the window; and
there, as if concluding an unfinished
sentence, he said:
Why, yes, | did"
"Oh, Hewr" said Uncle David. much
startled. And then he added quickly:
:. But, praise God, you could not tell
lie.n
The rapid red flush crept up again over
the happy boyish face, but not such
guilty red Is that which dyed the white
forehead hidden on Uncle Dayid's knee.
Little Davie rose unsteadily, and put his
hand out to the hand that had sheltered
him in every trouble of his life-the
strong hand that could dare to bridge the
gulf between them, and touch him now.
He shiyered little, and Hew said:
What, cold, Davie, with such a fire?
Good night, Uncle David; we are going
to bed"
@ | must punish him." Uncle David
thought, when he was left alone, "be-
cause | said 50. My dear boys, how can
| have the heart to do it?''
SO the good man, with a faltering
hand, dealt out justice to the two boys
he loved almost equally-one for his
weakness, the other for his strength.
Out in the passage Hew waited for an
instant, expecting what? Whatever it
was, it did not come, however; for Davie,
waiting, too, said nothing, and Hew
presently put his hand on the child's
trembling form, and understood and
forgave the cowardly heart that could
shrink from any physical pain, but
could dare to tell lie.
"Im in for it now" thought the boy,
with a sort of logged pride; " the first |
ever told, and to Uncle David, too! but,
it's for him."
To be sent to school at once! That
was the verdict Uncle David pronounced
in his study next morning, and that
Hew listened to with assumed indiffer-
ence.
"And when?" he inquired, directly
Well, to-day" said Uncle David,
clearing his voice, and looking worried
and perplexed He is so i'll, you see;
Morris was up with him all night"
81 Know" said Hew. Then all his
petulant anger seemed to die utterly
out, and he came and stood close in front
of Uncle David's chair, and spoke
earnestly. Uncle David, promise me
promise me on your sacred word of
honor, that if-anything happens to
Davie, you will send for me directly.
1t is unjust and terrible to send me
away now" the lad went on, almost be-
side himself with excitement; "but |
will bear it as well as | can, if you swear
that to me"
"Of course" said Uncle David,
promptly, though his voice was very
husky; "but don't say anything more
may look at the child, too, if you like,
but don't speak to him or rouse him in
any way, because he is in such pain. |
trust you
Trust him. who indeed, could Uncle
David trust if not the boy he had loved
so long-the boy who was running up
stairs now, and in another moment
would be standing at the door of a
hushed and darkened room, watching a
tangled head upon the pillow? The
quick, deep sobs trembled away into
silence, the angry heart was suddenly
stiiled, as Hew stood III the doorway for
moment, and heard the rapid, uneven
breathing of the restless little sleeper.
That was the end of it all, as far as
most people were concerned. Davie got
a little better as time went on and when
Hew came back from schOOl-happy,
cheerful, and the winner of two prizes
every one was ready to receive him JOY
fully. Uncle David held him at arms
length, and had tears in his eyes as he
said: my dear lad, this is like old
times-l have forgotten everything"
At that Hew turned his head for an
instant to certain chair in certain
sunny window, from which a pair of
great eyes watched his every movement;
but he was only met by a gentle laugh,
and flush that crept up over the white,
delicate face, as he went across and sat
down on the arm of the chair, taking the
thin hand in his. He saw then that the
truth of that old story would never be
rightly known by any one, for much suf
fering and much sorrow had blotted out
all remembrance of that one day from
poor Davies life.
He was silent for a minute, perhaps,
and then he said, startling them all by
his vehemence:
Then we start fair, Uncle David! |
feel such great rough fellow beside you
two"
And Davie said, with the rapid tears
in his eyes:
Not rough, dear Hew; just strong.
Fourteen years afterward came q time
that | suppose never will be forgotten;
time of heroism and bloodshed, of wars
and rumors of wars in the Crimea-a
time of terror and suspense and heart
sickness ut home. How many house
holds in England gave up one life to the
terrible game of war-gave it freely and
willingly.
You may count those dead heroes by
the miniatures and locks of hair hidden
away from sight to this day. among the
most precious treasures; by the medals
that came too late to honor those short
young lives, but are the browning glory
of many homes; by the silver hairs that
shone i'll bright brown tresses, and the
wrinkles that furrowed smooth white
brows. You may count them easiest of
all by the names that were added to
to every graveyard, in that year of grace
1885, to the memory of the glorious
dead who died in the Crimea
oul Vi tllc lbilie Will NHiCi We nave
to do, they choose their best and bravest,
and sent him forth, with the safeguard
of many prayers, into the far east
And he said goodbye to them all in
his pride, and kept up their hearts by
his bright and fearless spirits, and went
away eastward with the rest; and Uncle
David looked little older, and Davie
fancied the house was not so pleasant as
it used to be, and grew tired of his sofa
in the sunny window, until such time As
the months had rolled on their slow
course, and the troops were returning.
Then they frightened up the old house
for the heirs return, and the bells rang
out, and they gave great feast in honor
of their boy; for Hew was one of those
who did return-proud and bright and
glad, and with Victoria cross upon his
breast.
There was nothing to remember, moth
ing TO forget, at this homecoming; and
Hpw thOurht that Dohndy hut b;,,Salf