St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1877-06-08

he shook himself and made his way
out of the barn with sidelong gait, as
if he were used to Sinking in and out
of places.
Mrs. Cuthbert meanwhile sped on to
the house, her steps fastened by the
idea that her husband might be there
perhaps he might have slipped out of
the barn while she was up in the loft,
OF perhaps he had not gone into the
barn at all.
Alas for her hopes The sitting
room was empty, and just as she had
left it.
Not despairing yet, she snatched up
the lamp, and determined to search the
house. From room to room she went,
calling upon George, and looking into
every closet and behind and under ev-
cry article offurniture, but not glimpse
of her husband gladdened her eyes, and
at last she sat down by the baby's era
die and burst into tears.
"Oh, how can he be so cruel !" she
sobbed, "and for such little thing.
He might have known I was only in
fun but maybe he's only in fun him
self, and will come in soOn."
Cheered by this last reflection, she
trOtted briskly down stairs, stirred the
fire into blaze, and stood watching it,
too fidgety to settle to her sewing
again. The wood famed noisily, then
glOwed a silent red, then crumbled and
fell, an untidy, dreary mass of whiten-
ed ashes and dying embers, and still
her husband did not come.
The clock struck nine, and Mrs. Cuth-
bert looked at it reproachfully, as if it
were the time pieces fault that it was
so late. Where Was her husband Per-
haps he was wandering about in the
dark, unable to find the house. Why
hadn't she thought of that before She
would put lamp in every room.
And in a few minutes lights were
twinkling from all the windows, giving
the little cottage quite gay and fes-
tive air. Who could have guessed that
a lonely woman and sleeping child
were its sole occupants Not the dark
figure with the ugly face, doubled up
under the lilac bushes that bordered the
gravel-path.
AS the hours wore on, another dark
figure joined the one of the ugly face,
and was greeted with an oath upon his
laziness, and the information that
Something was up" that the first
chance was ''spiled,n and they would
have to ''lay a while !" and then both
the dark figures, with many curse and
shiver, crouched together, biding their
time.
Poor Mrs. Cuthbert, as the night
crept on, wandered from window to
window, with the vague feeling that
il she could not see her husband from
one, she might from another. Some
times she stood at the door, listening
intently, and coniuriDg every breath of
wind into the lOnged-for footsteps, her
heart dying within her at each fresh
disappointment. She must have walk
ed miles in that small house; the baby
waxed restless, and she was up many
times to replace the coverings that the
sturdy little legs had thrown off in
climbing the invisible mountains that
the child is always ascending in his
sleep.
The clock struck one. How like the
voice of fate it sounded 1t was not at
all the cheerful ting that, when the sun
was shining, had announced the dinner
hour that day.
A distant dog barked. and Mrs. Cuth-
bert rushed to the door she had resum-
ed her sewing to keep herself from
going distracted, and closely clasped it
in her hand. What a black, black night!
and how cold the wind was Hark she
was certain she heard voices by the
gate. Yes she did. Just then the ba-
by began to cry, and only stopping to
call back, Sin Il moment, darling" she
plunged down the walk.
All was silent; there was no one
there. She stood with her hand upon
the gate Il few seconds, looking eagerly
up the road, and then walked slowly
back to the house.
As the front door closed, the lilac
bush by the gate quivered, and two
dark figures crawled from under it.
When Mrs. Cuthbert laid the baby in
his cradle, after singing him back to
the invisible mountains, the clock struck
two, and Mrs. Cuthbert looked hopeless
ness in the face.
George was never coming home, she
derided. 1t was no use watching; he
was never coming home any more.
Then, as the next gust of wind sent Il
twig rattling on the gravel, she was at
the window, straining her eyes as she
had been doing all the evening.
How strange every familiar object in
the house seemed the lights burned
so Whitley, and the sitting room looked
so uncanny, with the tea table spread,
and the hands of the clock marking the
small hours. An unreasonable moth
went banging about the ceiling with
what sounded a tremendous noise in
that dead silence, and the fire refused
point blank to be cheerful, despite the
armfuls of wood piled on it.
How the hours dragged! She seem
ed to have lived years since she heard
those footsteps on the porch. Why
had she been such fool?
1t was five o'clock now, and the rOOst-
ers far and near-began to herald the
approach of dawn. The sky turned
from black to gray, and a whitish
smudge in the east announced the rise
of the glorious sun.
Mrs. Cuthbert put out the lights and
went to the front door. A drilling
rain had set in, and the damp raw air
made her shudder. She went back to
the sitting room, and, in dreary, me-
chanical kind of way, lit the fire there
and in the little kitchen then brought
udUy uOWn SIdlrS' WdSHeu anu uIesSeu
him as usual, and put him on the floor
to play while she prepared his bread
and milk. But baby was not destined
to get his breakfast just yet, for at that
moment light step was heard in the
entry, and tall young man walked
into the room. The bread and milk
we're dropped anywhere, and Mrs.
Cuthbert flung herself into his arms,
sobbing, crying, and begging his par
don all in breath.
''rll never do it again. Won't you