The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1878-04-11

ue haue, my 1asS, w Dccu always CouAC
ng of you, night and day, these four
7ears, aud looking out and longing for the
lime when the Prudence would come in
light, and could give you hail and get
/ wave Of the hand back"
I could feel the color coming into my
checks again ~ l heard him speak, and
knew how anxiously had looked out for
MS barge coming up or down the river;
md then began wondering what it all
meant. and soon knew.
Prudence, my lass" he said, "l've
saved up ten pounds, al my own; and
Dur owner has Just given me the COM
mand of new barge, with az pretty a
cabin as you'd wish to see; and so, my
lass, thought I'd ask you if so be as
now we've been counting four years, you
come to me and be my wife"
No." I said, "po," and shook my
head. II belong to father, and could
never leave him-never."
But you'll have to some day, Pru-
dence," he said, looking dreadfully down.
hearted and miserable.
"No," l said, ~ shall never leave him;
he wants me more and more every day,
and I must stay"
Prudence" he said, sharply, "you
amt playing with me, are you!'
"Playing with you2"
"Yes; mean you amt going to take
up with any one else, and go aboard any
other barge no, no." he cried won't be
80 mean rs to ask you that. But, Pru-
dence, dear, some day you may have
to leave him, and when you do, will you
please recollect as John Grove loves you
better than aught else in the wide world,
and is waiting for you to Gomez
"Yes, John" I said simply.
"You mean it. Prudence?" he cried, in
delight, as he caught my hand.
"Yes, John; I don't know any body else
and there's no one as cares for me-
Hundreds on he river" he said
sharply.
"Then don't care for them; john" I
said, simply; land if you like me-, and |
ever do--do-leave--O, dear! what am l
saying?"
sat down on a fender and covered my
face with my coarse red hands, and began
to cry; but he took nv hands down, and
looked long and lovingly in my face,
with his great honest brown eyes; and
then he couldn't speak, but seemed to
choke. At last be gasped out:
"Thanky, Prudence, thanky. am 60
ing away now to wait, for you'll come
soon to me I know"
didn't answer him.
"For the time may come, my
lass. when you'll be all alone in the world
and when it does come, there's HE cabin
Of the Betsy Ann, clean painted up, and
waiting for you, Just as her masters
awaiting too
He went quietly oyer the side and cast
off the rope, and was gone before l knew
it; and sat there in the cam afternoon
and evening, sometimes crying, some
times feeling hopeful, and with IL sense
of Joy at my heart such AZ never had felt
before.
And so that evening deepened into
night, with the barge quarter OF mile
the tide to hep US on our way.
1t must have been about ten o'clock at
night when was forward seeing to the
light hoisted up to keep any thing from
running into us, when I heard father
come stumbling up from the cabin, and
make as if to come forward to me.
"Prue," he cried, Prue!''
eyes, father, coming" said; and
then uttered wild shrek; and rushed
towards where the boat hung astern by
her painter, hauled her up and climbed
in; for no sooner had answered than I
heard cry, and heavy splash, and I
knew father had gone overheard.
was into the boat in a moment, and
had the scull over the stern, padding
away in the direction that the cry had
come from; but, though fancied in those
horrible minutes that saw hand
stretched out of the water, asking as it
were for help, / padded and sculled
about till I was far from our barge, and
then sank down worn out to utter moan
of horror, and sob, 80, father father
what shall doy"
Ills that YOU, Prudence2" said a voice
eyes, John, ves," cried, looking out
through the darkness, out of which boat
seemed to steal till it was alongside. when
John stretched out his hand and took
mine.
"Quick!' l gasped, "save him, john
fatber-gone overboardr'
"When you shrieked out, Pruc2"
eyes, yes" I walled; 80, save him
save himE'
MY poor lass" he said, ''that's a goot
quarter of an hour ago, and the tides run
ming strong. I've been padding abou
eversince, trying to find you, for 1 wen
up to the barge, and you were gore.'
"But father" ! walled, tather-sav'
himy'
MY poor little lass" he said, tender
ly, aid jump into the water now, if 20,
bid me, but what can I do, you know
Prudence, what can I do2"
did not answer, tor did know tina
he must have been swept tar away before
then; and l was beginning to feel that
was alone-quite alone in the world.
1t was not quite six months after tina
dreadful night, that one evening Johl
came ashore from his barge to the cottag,
where was staying with his mother, ant
had been ever since he had brought MI
there, without seeing him to speak to
only to wave my hand to him as he sailet
by. That evening he came and looked
wistfully at me, and ssid but little; ant
at last his time was up, and he rose Il
60. ., =.
I walked down to his boat with him
and on the way he told me that he hat
cot leave to alter the name of his barge
and it was called the Prudence, too; ant
then without word about the past, h
was saying good-by, when put my
hands in his, and said. quietly:
."John, dear: haven't forgot my prom
ise."
"And you are alone now, Prudence, my
lass7 he cried, eagerly.
"No, John, no." ] said softly, as tbt
tears ran dow, my cheeks; II never shall
be while you live" Never, my lass
never" he cried. "And you'll be my
little wife?"
"Yes, John, yes; I promised you."
"When come back from this voyage?'
"Yes John, when you WILL" said; and
With one long hand-pressure we parted
and went back to wait for another
vn0n<h an1 +hon 7 ~,an h;o hsnrv it'll