Connecticut western news., 1878-04-11

U0UUCA UNldbA 6SuSAU OAoO III 0A4O WAuo WO1Au' and is waiting for you to come ?"
 Yes, John," I said, simply.
 "You mean it. Prudence ?" he cried, in delight, as he caught my hand.
 Yes, John I don't know anybody else, and there's no one as cares for me. y
 Hundreds on the river," he said, sharply. ...
 Then I don't care for them, John, D I said, simply "and if you like me, and I ever do-do-leave-O, dear what am I saying?"
 sat down on fender and covered my face with my coarse, red hands, and be- gan to cry but he took my 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 he gasped out
 Thanky, Prudence, thanky. I'm go- ing away now to wait, for you'll come to me some day, I know"
 I 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 the cabin of the Betsy Ann, clean painted up, and waiting for you, just as her master is awaiting, too.''
 He went quietly over the side and cast off the rope, and was gone before I knew it and sat there in the calm afternoon and evening, sometimes crying, some times feeling hopeful, and with 8 sense of joy at my heart such as I never had felt before
 And so that evening deepened into night, with the barge quarter of mile astern of us, and no wind coming, only the tide to help us on our way.
 It must have been about ten o'clock at night. when was forward seeing to the light hoisted up to keep anything from running into us, when I heard father come stumbling tp from the cabin, and make as if to come forward to me.
 Prue," he cried, "Prue p
 Yes, father, coming" said !; and then [ uttered wild shriek 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.
 I was into the boat in moment, and had the scull over the stern, padding away in the direction that the cry had come from ;, but, though I 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 ca barge, and then sank down worn out to utter moan of horror, and sob, 70, father father 1! what shall do ?"
 els that you, Prudence ?" said voice.
 Yes, John, yes," I cried, looking out through the darkness, out of which 8 boat seemed to steal till it was alongside, when John stretched out his hand and took mine.
 "Quick p gasped, "save him, John -father-gone overheard! p
 "When you shr1eked out, Prue?"
 "Yes, yes," I walled |" o, save him! save him p
 "My poor lass," he said, "that's a good quarter of an hour ago, and the tides running strong. I've been pad ding about ever since, trying to find you, for went up to the barge, and you were gone"
 "But father," I walled, "father-- save him! p
 "My poor little lass,' he said, ten derly, :" I'd jump into the water now, if you bid me, but what can I do, you know, Prudence, what can I do?'
 I did not answer, for I knew that he must have been swept far away before them? and was beginning to feel that I was aIone-quite alone in the world.
 It was quite six months after that dreadful night, that one evening John came ashore from his barge to the cot tage, where I was staying with his moth CT, and had been ever since he had brought me there, without seeing him to speak to, only to wave my hand to him as he sailed by. That evening he came and looked wistfully at me, and said but little; and at last his time was up, and he rose to go.
 I walked down to his boat with hun, and on the way he told me that he had got leave to alter the pane of his barge, and it was called the Prudence, too; and then, without a word about the past, he was saying goodbye, when put my hands in his, and said, quietly:
 "John, dear, I haven't forgot my promise"
 "And you are alone now, Prudence my lass ?" he cried, eagerly.
 "No, John, no,' I said, softly, as the tears ran down my cheeks; "I never shall be while you ive."
 "Never, my lass never," he cried "And you'll be my little wife?"
 "Yes, John, yes {; I promised you."
 "When I come back from this voyage?'
 "Yes, John, when you wil," 1 said and with one long hand pressure WI parted, and I went back to wait for an other month, and then was his happ, little wife.
 And there seemed no change, for wa once more on the river, or out at sea leaning upon the tiller and gazin, straight before me, with the gulls vail ing as they wheeled and dipped an, skinned, or settled upon the water while the soft wind gently stirred tn print hood that was lightly tied over m, , wind-ruffled hair. Only bargeman' young wife living on the tide, but yer happy; for John often points to tn great ships that pass us, with their cap