St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1878-03-01

| iy. OlI1, GueT6 lS Que UuluS L WISH you
could help me about ~ -ta.
"Pll do anything can in the natur'
of things to help ye, marin, as sure's
you're born" he answered to the halt
question.
81 do so much want to have Dea. El-
lery make friends with his son."
"Why, he amt got any !" said jim
with simple confidence.
eyes he has, Jim he has indeed
but they haven't spoken for years."
"Sho now that are can't be; guess
you dreamed it, Miss Annie. Why,
Dea. Ellery's good man Christian
cretur as ever was; can't be; some
body's ben "a"
"Annie |" called Mrs. Palmer, evil
IDENTIFY in haste; and jim drove off,
feeling in an uncertain sort of way as if
he hadn't heard or ought not to have
heard such things about his best friend,
even from the adorable Annie. But the
thing worked in his feeble head, and as
''fOOls rush in where angels fear to
tread" and sometimes do good service
by their folly, so Jim plunged into the
middle of things the very next morning,
as he was brushing the shoes for church.
going, while the deacon read over his
Sunday school lesson by the window.
"Say you hain't got any son, have
ye deacon
The old man looked at Jim with an
air of terror as well as wonder, and
turned pale as ashes.
eyes, l've got son." he answered
mechanically.
"Why, hain't never seen him !" eX-
laimed Jim, as if still he seal lcely be-
lieved.
"He has not been at home for five
long years, Jim lie is prOdigal who
filleth himself with husks," solemnly re-
piled the deacon, who had somewhat
recovered his pOise.
"Well, why don't ye fetch him home
md give him suthin' better to eat 2"
The deacon stared at jim, but could
not answer.
"What's he ben an done anyway ?"
went on the simple tOrturer. "Killed
anybody 2 stole anythin'?"
"No no no !" calculated the deacon,
raging inwardly between the persisten-
cy of his questioner, and the impossi
bility of explaining to him the reason
of Sans banishment. Perhaps. too,
the reason why this was so difficult to
explain, began to wrestle with his con-
science.
"Well, Pm dretful sorry !'' said Jim
musingly. "My daddy, now, was a
poor cretur, drunk mostly; but he was
real good to me. Pm glad he want no
better, mebbe l shouldn't ha' ben good
enough for him to speak to, too"
The deacon could have struck Jim,
who went on brushing the shoes as
seriously as if they were an algebraic
problem.
"WeIl, Jim, the fact is he didn't be
lieve in the Bible, Sam didn't"
''Poor cretur! poor creturw said
jim, warming into sympathy at once.
''Well, deacon ye know what ye was
readin' about to me last Sabba' day ;
tryin' to drive inter my head ye
know ?-takes lot o. time drive any
thin into fools head but l can't dis
remember that, twas SO kinder merciful
like, bout how the good Lord forgiv'
them fellers that killed him, cause he
said they didn't know what they was Il
doin'. Mebbe your Sam don't; what
eff We was to take him to Sabba' school,
an larn him better? You tell me where
he stays, an I'll go fetch him.
Jim was in eager earnest ; his eyes
were lit with unusual rays, and one
hand held out awkwardly toward the
deacon but the old man could not
answer; he stumbled away to the bed
room and fell on his knees by the bed
side. What he said to God is not for
us to know; what he did, was to write
IL letter that very night to Samuel, and
beg him to come home to his old father,
and his loving mother.
As for Jim, the matter passed clear
out of his oddly made up mind; he had
satisfied himself the deacon had son,
the immediate curiosity was at rest.
He did not see Annie Palmer the next
day in fact, so inconsequent were his
mental processes when under the ex-
ternal excitement, he did not once think
of what she said to him; but only
missed her as he would miss sunshine,
or fire, or food for Annie had become
a necessity to the largest share of his
nature,-his heart.
A week after Mrs. Ellery came out
into the garden where Jim was weed,
ing.
"Oh Jim," said she. ''My dear son
my son Sam, is coming home to-morrer
and goin' to be married"
"Well, Pm glad ont" cheerfully an
swered jim.
ayes, he's a comm home to-morrer
Il hain't sOt eyes on him this five year
an more; and Thursday he's goin' t,
: be married to Annie Palmer"
"Oh Lord - said Jim with a gasp
but the good woman did not hear him
heart and head were full of Sam, ant
she turned and went into the house.
Jim did not come in after milkin;
that night the deacon found him curlet
down in a corner of the barn.
/ 81 guess I'm sick" was all he said
but somehow he reminded the deacoI
of an old dog he once had, that wa
moItally wounded by accident, an,
: stole into that very corner to die
/ There was the same hurt, protestin
look in both pairs of eyes.
r They took Jim into his own room
r and in a day or two he was better, bu
t never well again; he lived a fey
months, feeble, patient, smiling, an
doing all he could. The only quee
thing about him was that he neve
asked to see Annie Palmer, or eve
t spoke her name again. Sam went II
r stairs to see him, but Jim was asleeI
| he said, and he wouldn't waken him
Perhaps Dea. Ellery, being reticen
t man, never told his son how much b
owed to the poor fool. Annie forgo
4 him too, probably; but what can yo
= expect of happy young bride9 Whe
| winter came Jim went. DR.. Green sal
the cold was too great for such To-
: state of vitality; perhaps it was. How
t ever that might be, one starry an
r splendid night quick flash sprung int
; the languid eyes. "Mother ~ he sale