Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1878-06-27
Continued from first page.l

SOlleu moor, several IN a state OF white
passion known to iron in a cooling state
The smith is shaping the last shoe when
dinner-horn sounds, and now blasts
from half score OF tin horns come from
surrounding homesteads. Dropping the
one hundredth shoe into tub of kissing
water, the artisan, leaving doors and
windows open. crosses dusty bit oil
road, and enters clean white porch
door. Without removing his leather
apron, and without any cleansing of his
person. he commences a meal with
corned beef and cabbage But it is a
busy day anyhow, and no time for non.
sense.
TWAS Sugartongs' daughter that blew
the horn as a reminder that dinner was
smoking. He has but this daughter. His
wife has left him; she went to her long.
iar-oh home some years ago. She was
always very weak and weary looking -
quite unlike SugaItongs himself-and was
TOO tempting a bait for the reaper whose
name is Death. So he garnered her,
took her to harvest early-rather an un-
ripe sheaf.
How do you picture Sugartong's daugh-
terP Dolly Warden? But she is Just
Fanny Sugartongs. Every one in the vii
lage knows her as Fanny" She is
eighteen, very cheerful. happy little
soul. five feetfour from earth to the top Of
her back comb. She is busy one-at
tending to the sustaining aud repairing of
life, its wear and tear. and makes very
glad and full the heart of Sugartongs, the
blacksmith. Fanny's face is dear pic
ture, framed by brown locks; her eyes
WI0R-nnnn. ~ obi inc g,1 81,
color, very merry nearly all the time
they seem to be saying: We are having a
very good time, come and play: her nose
is small and delicately fashioned; her lips
red and full. and mischief lies in wait in
the uimpies by their corners to aid herself
when Sister Mirth is playing about the
mouth. Fanny is pretty, but not by any
means beautiful, for her cheek bones are
high, and one wishes he might push them
down a little and give the face better
snow For years things have been going
on much the same with the blacksmith aud
his daughter, except that Fanny has been
nirtlng some with time, and is now lit
tie woman, and the smith can hardly be-
iieve that he has lost his girl in pautlets
and skirts only trifle below her knees.
But lime knew his work. and the father
can find no fault.
The smith has a hearty meal of beef,
cabbage, potatoes, cheese, and bread. for
dessert. he has huge slice of New Eng
land roly-poly and mug of cider, alter
which he kisses his dear little daughter,
leaving smirch of black on each cheek,
in contrast with the red OF her young lips,
crosses the road. and enters his shop for
the last time. Who woHid have thought
that Sugartougs could die 4? Feel of his
arms; feel Of him any where, and find how
he is punched all over with muscle. Why,
ne Is iron! seasoned to the core, and
tougher than granite. He couldn't decay.
so Death lay in wait for him, and felled
him like the bloody butcher did the steer
SO greedy for victim Without warn
ing, Death sneaks up to him, and within
an hour after the smith had eaten his dim
ner smote him across a temple with an
iron bar; a sharp cruel blow, and Sugar
longs dropped like log and died. Then
now the hight went out of Fannv's eyes
foor little Fanny Sugartongs, God nelp
her now!
Inc high, wide, smutched doors of the
olngy OLD smithery We're closed, and bit
OF solled paper was tackled by one of the
windows, saying that the smith had given
up business and gone home. 1t might
have been added that the strong man had
snccumbed, for a mightier than he had
struck a blow. Yes, they buried him with
his long, leather apron, with its stains and
burns. tied about hint was eloquent in
a wsy-and Sugartongs was put out of
sight on raw, rainy Sunday morning
late in September. The little village OF
Silverton had rarely known queter fun
eral
foor little Fanny Sugartongs Doesn't
Your heart ache for herP Perhaps YOU
nave never been quite alone in the world |!
Where was she To look for comfort and
support To God? But she was angry
with Him; she thought she had no friend
In the blindness OF her grief she forgot
the mercy that spared her; but she want
ed to follow. She was afraid to live.
what towards we are But it is pardoua-
bic for lone girl to be cowardly
Like many, Sugartongs hadn't thought
that he would die quite Yet awhile. Only
My years living, and mighty right arm
Death captured him by unfair means,
as usual. For rainy day, the smith had
put aside but little. He had paid hire tor
the cottage with the white porch, and for
the smutch smlthery, with It's high, wide
doors; he had lett naught, we would say
hundred or two in Government bonds
and a heap of old iron. BY the way,
there We're the anvils, and the hammers
that Sugartongs' arms had tossed like
mallets, hundred new horseshoes, and
the discordant piano. Fanny hated the
sight oil the piano now, just as the smith
had once disliked the sound OF it. The
girl knew nothing about the value of iron.
nor the worth OF an old-iashloned, tweaky,
six-and-a half-octavo keyed instrument
but she resolved to sell al. aud fiy from
the associations OF her lite. The grim
look OF the closed black shop across the
road was an agony. Only YESTERDAY the
girl had stood IN the porch-where some
late roses were still a-blossom-the biz
doors OF the smithery were flung apart.
inc morning sunshine entered and clad
dened the place. searching and prying
among the smut and there, by an anvil,
stands her father. huge and muscular.
raining blows on lurid bar of iron; bis
smirched lips pursed for a whistle-such
an honest, happy, hopeful, uniearing face
linen the tragedy, the conspiracy to xiii,
enacted by monster, had brought to IN,
high black doors with cank. shutting in
all OF the girls lile-all that was worth