The Osceola times., 1878-05-11
lection I'LL his heart failed him, and he
could bear 1t no longer.

+" He entered the church. The eve ming
service was concluded and the congrega-
tion had dispersed, but II was not yet
closed. His steps echoed through the
low building with q hollow sound, and
he almost feared 70 be alone, IL was 90
atill and quiet. He looked round him.
Nothing was chanpe1. The place seemed
smaller than II used to be, but there were
the old monuments ON which he had
gased with childish ave thousand
times; the communion table before which
he had 10 often repeated the command.
ments he had revsrenoed a q child and
forgotten a. man. He approached the
old seat 1t looked cold and desolate.
The cushion had been removed, and the
bible was not there. Perhaps his mother
now occupied poorer seat, or possibly
the had grown infrm and could not reach
the church alone. He dared not think
Of what he feared. A cold feeling crept
over him, and he trembled violently a.
he turned away.
"An old man entered the porch just
as he reached 1t. Eimunds started back
for he knew him we'll many . time be
had watched him digging graves in the
chnrchyard. What would he say to the
returned convict?
"The old man raised his eyes 70 the
strangers face, bid him good evening"
and walked slowly on. He had forgotten
him.
He walked down the hill and through
the village. The westher was warm,
and the people were sitting at their
doors, or strolling In the little gardens
as he passed, enjoying the serenity Of
the evening and their rest from labor.
Many Q look was turned tewa ards him,
and many q doubtful glance he cast on
either side to zee whether any knew and
Stunned him. There were strange faces
10 almost every house in some be rec.
ognised the burly form Of some old
schoolfellow, q 10y when be last saw
him, surrounded BY troop Of merry
children In Others he saw, seated In an
easy chair at q cottage door, . feeble and
infirm old man whom he only remember.
ed q hale and hearty laborer but they
had all forgotten him, and he passrd on
unknown.
"The last soft light OF the setting sun
had fallen ON the earth, casting rich
glow on the yellow corn sbeaves, and
lengthening the shadows Of the orchard
trees, % he stood before the old house,
the home OF his infancy, 70 which his
heart had yearned with an intensity OF
affection not to be described through
long and weary years Of captivity aud
sorrow. The paling was low, though be
well remembered the tine when 1t had
seemed q high wall To him; and he
looked ever into the old garden. There
we're more seeds and gayer flowers than
there used to be, but there were the old
trees still, the very tree under which ht
had lain thousand times when tired o
playing In the sun, and felt the soft
mild sleep Of happy boyhood steal gently
upon him. There were voices within
the house. He listened, but they fel
strangely upon his ear; be knew then
not. They were merry, too, and he vel
knew that his poor old mother could moi
be cheerful, and he went away. The
door opened, and q group Of little chill
dren bounded out, shouting and romping
The father, with little boy In his arms
appeared at the door and they crowded
around him, clapping their tiny hands
and dragging him out to join their joyful
sports The convict thought ON the
many times he had shrunk from his faith
er's sight in that very place. He re-
membered how often he had buried his
trembling head beneath the bed clothes
and heard the harsh word and the hard
stripe, and his mothers wailing; and
though the man sobbed aloud with agony
OF mind as be left the spot; hA fist was
clenched and his teeth were set In fierce
and deadly passion.
And such was the return 10 which he
had looked through the weary perspec-
tive Of many years, and for which he
had undergone 70 much suffering! Nc
face OF welcome, no look OF iorgiveuness
no house to receive, no hand to help him
and this, too, in the old village. What
WAS his loneliness IN the wild thick woods
where man was never seen to this
He felt that in the distant land oi
his bondage and infamy he had thought
OF his native place as it was when ht
left IL; not as IL would be when ht
returned. The sad reality struck ooldly
at his heart, and his spirit sank within
him. He had not the courage 70 MAKE
inquiries, or TO present himself to tb.
only person who was likely 10 receive
him with kindness and compassion. HI
walled slowly on; and stunning tn,
roadside like guilty man, turned into
meadow he we'll remembered; and GOV
ering his face with his hands, threw him
self upon the gra~.
"He had not observed that man va
lying on the hank beside him his gar
mens rustled a. he turned round I,
steal look at the new conner; and I'll
munds raised his head.
"The man had moved into a sittin
posture. His body was much bent, an'
his face was wriukled and yellow. Hi
dress denoted him an inmate Of tn
workkouse; he had the appearance Q
being very old, but II looked more tn
effect of dissipation or disease than lengt
of years. He was staring hard at tn
stranger, and though his eyes wer
lusterless snd heavy at first, they aT
peared to glow with an unnatural an
alarmed expression after they had bee
fixed upon him short time, until the
seemed TO be starting from their socket.
Edmunds gradually raised himself to hi
knees, and looked more and more earn
e.tly into the old mans lace. They gaze
upon each other iu silence.
'"T The old man was ghsstly pale. 3
ehuddercd and tot.ered 10 his feet. I'D
munds spraug to his He stepped back
pscs OF two. Edmunds advanced.
"sl.et me hear you speak, said th
convict, In thick broken voice.
"'Ssand Off crisd the old mar, wit
q dreadful oatn The convict drew clos
| tn him