Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1877-04-25
1 Will Go to My Father.

old-fashioned occupant. A prim, tiny room
full of quaint treasures and fanciful, un-
fashionable devices a prim, tiny head at
the window, full of quaint treasures too,
and fanciful, quaint ideas. A head which
the NAV moonlight touched rather sadly, as
Nettie O'Neill raised the blind slowly and
looked up, up beyond the unmoved white
blinds opposite, up beyond the tiles on
which the moonlight glistened white and
wet, up beyond the pure, pale moon itself
searching the strip of deep unfathomable
blue which hung above the narrow, quiet
street.
Perhaps the wistful, child-like eyes could
read no answer there to the one great ques-
tion which troubled them, for when Nettie
drew the blind down again, as lingeringly
as she had raised it, there was great Sc
riousness on her small face.
She moved her dressing-tabe back into
its place before the window, lighted her
candle again, and standing in its light at her
narrow chest of drawers, opened her desk.
Each thing had to be taken out separately,
that it might be put in properly afterwards
old-madishly," as Nettie used to say.
First the little square, embroidered case
with postage stamps worked elaborately
on one side, and containing the one stamp
still, which had been put into it at its manu-
facture. Then the beaded pen-wiper, the
ink stains on which were so scrupulously
confined to the black cloth, leaving the scar
let dazzling and unspotted. Then a little
fiat bag of thin white silk, with tan
spered " worked in black letters across it
and that was set aside too, for in it there
lay only four letters, and though they were
neither yellow nor crumpled nor worn, they
were within six years as old as the girl who
| l... Hal tL.,. l.rl,
second little bag, of blue silk, this one la
beled Unanswered" in white letters, not
very bulky in appearance, for there lay but
one unanswered letter in it.
This Nettie drew out and slowly opened
1t was but one sheet of note paper, and barely
| filed, yet it took her long time to read
Perhaps she was not used to skimming over
delicate, lady-like epistles. Perhaps the ten
| der, aifectionate terms were new and delicious
to her who lived on those four letters which
her dead mother had written to her fifteen
years before. Perhaps she was trying to
read in the straight black lines (as She had
| tried to read in the glmpses of moonlil
heaven) an answer to that doubt which puz
| lled her.
Almost unconsciously she turned back
when she had finished, and read the last leaf
loud to herself:
Gas say, dear | should have urged all this
before, but | waited until you should be of age
that no one might have any right To interfere
| with your decision. Now | hope You will come
10 MS at once. We are waiting to welcome Won
| Nette. my child, and longing to do So Write
| md tell me when to send for you for should not
| like you to come alone. Your cousin, Graham
| who has not much TO do at home here will be
very glad Of the excuse for II journey for you.
| DO not send me any scruples, for | cannot listen
| to them. Nette, love, do you think your mother
| would have countenanced the life you leadY dc
not tn mince the matter II he is your father,
ne has lost all claim to your gratitude, or love, by
| his conduct. do not care even to remember that
| he is your father, merely remember that you
| are living in wretched way, alone with man
| who Is very rarely at home with You, and who,
when he is, is very rarely sober Is this what
| your mother would have wished my dear? l.
this the life you can bear to think she looks upon?
| know her choice would be that you should come
| to me Ny heart bleeds for YOU, my poor little
lonely girl, and can feel how she would rejoice
| to see you here In Greenlands with u.s. Who so
| proper to be . mother to you, Nettie, as your
mothers only sister? Come and be "A daughter to
me, and a sister to Graham, the only cousin you
| have In the world and in coming you will do the
only good that is in your power to the man that
| am ashamed to call your father. Remember that
| any scruples you may urge shall look upon as
insults to your mothers memory and only ex-
pect TO hear how soon Graham may fetch you.
am, dear child, your own loving Aunt,
ELLEN LYrTELToN,"
There was long silence in the room af-
ter Nettie had read these words aloud to
herself, then the candle was snuffed with a
quick, resolute little hand and Nettie,
still standing against the high drawers, be-
gan to write the fifth answer she had com
posed to this letter, which had only reached
her two days before.
This one should be posted this should be
the real one but. How hard it was
to know exactly what to say She wrote,
slowly and carefully, that she could not go ;
that her first duty lay with her father ask
ing who UGs TO live with him, or care for
him, il hi own daughter would not Whose
duty or pleasure-put in with rather a gulp
ought it to be, if not hers
She signed her name with many words of
love and gratitude, read the letter over
twice, folded, sealed and addressed it, put
ON the one stamp out of the perforated
case, and then in a new haste jumped into
bed, and tried TO think of infinite vacuity,
and so fall asleep. But trying to think of
nothing is the best way to think of every
thing; and the puzzled little head upon its
pillow was as far from sleep as the thoughts
were from vacancy. The lovely eyes wOuid
, keep so wide and Nakeful in the moonlight.
Their lids might have been bad fitting ones
for their perfect incapaoity for keeping closed,
, while the quick ears were open to every
, sound. They need not have been very quick,
, though, to catch the sound that broke the
silence at last--a peal that clashed through
the house with peremptory impatience. Net
tie sprang out of bed and slipped on her dress
with nervous, hurried fingers, then ran
noiselessly Downstairs and unfastened the
r door as the bell startled the silence once
more.
r Have you kept me waiting long enough
( yet2" was the sneering greeting she re-
/ ceived, as her father passed her, steadying his
steps with difficulty.
, Such a slouehing, pitiable figure, despite
b its height and good proportions. Such q
| mean, unmanly face, despite its regular fea
{ lures and soft, gray hair, that it did wei
4 to hasten out OF the shamed moonlight
/ Into the gloom of the little passage, WHERE
i the girl stood with bare feet on the worn
;, noorcloth.
4 "You told me never again TO sit up fol
you, father. You said you should have
your key"
Did 2" he drawed, fumbling in on,
pocket "Then why didn't you give i
l. TO me ?"
y al did. You took it with you," saiC
- Nettie, quietly, as she stopped to bolt th'
l. door again.
e Don't argue with me. Where's m,
e supper Z"
r "It's Just one O'clock" the girl said, yer,
5. low, without raising her head; surely yol
p have supped p
d "That's no business of yours. Get mt
some hot water"
e "Not tonight, father" whispered Nettie
% coming nearer to him. "The fire is out, an'
rs it is so late for me To light aDother.'
@ For an instant silly, softened look stol
If over his face at her touch. In the next it wa
h gone, and something he little guessed of wa
" gone with it, lie gave her an impatient push
L. Get the girl up TO light it, then, and yo
VI go to bed. never can see what use you ar
" in the house. Call the girl up say, an'
e. let me have some hot water. You seem t
g, forget who is master here | would hav
~ you remember | am both," he answered
~ trying to strike light but failing in the al
tempt and as he did so he muttered word
which made Nettie shudder, as the chi
es night air had no power to do.
a ~