Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1877-09-28

had Travelled the twenty miles between Hook
field and Saverne.
| shall not tell you all the dreadful things |
thought of as pressed onward Besides re-
pentance for my carelessness, / was full of
anxiety for the future | had grown from n
boy into II man in those two weeks of suffer
ing. | knew we were not rich / knew there
was a mortgage ON the property My fathers
business as lawyer was based upon his high
reputation for probity and intelligence and it
would die with him. II our house were TO be
sold, what would become of mother and the
little ones / had been good scholar But
what could boy who had not finished school
do to support family! l envied my poorer
neighbors. Their sons could learn a trade
some of them even now, no older than my
self, were earning their own living.
Instead of approaching our own place by
the highway, l went round by the lanes. |
could ford the river (Which was low and /
came out unperceived under those windows of
the house which overlooked the garden.
| was about ten yards from my home when
n sharp cry of anguish struck upon my ear.
No words can describe that cry or the effect
it had upon me.
In those days there was no ether. no chloro-
form, to lull the patient TO insensibility. The
doctors cut right down into the quivering
from cries. | do not know how long the ago
ny of my poor father lasted, nor how long it
was that my suspense and suffering endured.
When | recovered myself | was lying on my
face in the midst of Il bed of geraniums,
Bfasping my mothers plants-which i had
pulled up by the roots-in both my hands.
heard no noise. The house WAS perfectly
still.
rose shook myself went in by
4. 4 II. Il. E..
of the stairs / met my mother coming down.
Mamma, mamma, is it all over?'
Calm yourself Frank. What had TO be
done is all finished. The doctors say he will
get well.
Then she began to wonder over my return,
to scold me for leaving my uncles house, to
lament over my new clothes, which had not
been improved by the dust of my double
journey, or my passage through the Zorn.
The dear, dear patient slept He was not
told of my return for several days, for it had
been his particular wish that we should be
away at the time of the operation.
At last my mother had to tell him. for she
never kept anything from him.
He asked to see me and tried to comfort
me. and made me remark that he was getting
back his color. II was happy moment for
us both. He wept nearly rs much as my
mother aud l.
Il mislcd you. my son" he said. because
if anything sad had come of it, hoped you
would never suspect the truth.
"Ah, papa! even now | shall get never over
it."
"Oh, yes, you will Frank. Now. you must
stay by me until school begins. You shall be
my nurse, my head lacquey, my hospital
steward. My dear boy, you have suffered so
much from my accident that it is only fair
you should enjoy my convalescence."
From that hour began happy intimacy be-
tween father and son. which WINS one of the
greatest blessing of life to me. The dreadful
accident which had happened through my
heedlessness made me careful and thought
full; my fathers courage and great kindness
made deep impression upon me.
One day when | was grieving over his ILL.,
ness, as l stood beside his bed, (for he was
well long before I could be comforted), he
said:
I'VE were both careless. Frank Your
heedlessness was not grave fault at your age,
but ought to have been upon my guard. As
your teacher and your father. was wrong to
take my stand, i'll order to shoot IA rabbit my
self within two hundred yards of you
ought to stood near you and seen after you,
and have given up shooting myself that day.
That is what | mean to do the next time we
go out together"
No. father. no." ! exclaimed vehemently
Il shall never 90 out shooting again"
''Iou are wrong, my son, want you to be
n sportsman. The exercise is invaluable to
us lawyers it stretches our legs Besides,
the time may come when every Frenchman
who knows how to handle gun may be of
great value to his country
My dear mother did not at first like the
idea of having two sportsmen in the family.
She had been married sixteen years, but she
always felt anxious when dear papa went out
with his game-bag and rifle However"
she said, what can't be cured must be en-
dured; and if Frank must go out shooting l
will give him a tailsman which will keep him
from being imprudent"
have the talisman still. and here il is.
This pin. which you have no doubt noticed
in my cravat. See the little silver dove bear
ing the tiny chain, at the end of which is a
leaden bead 1t is No. shot. My poor
dear mother had it made for me by the best
jeweler in Strasburg. The little bit of lead.
which is almost worn away TO nothing, is the
shot that came so near killing my father
Now tell me, can | ever forget to be care
full, my young friend, with n remembnncer
of my own helplessness fastened in my bo-
som EdmOhd IJOm