Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1879-05-08
riage in the family before the year was

out.
There was suppressed sound like a
behind the clock, as Deacon
Shermer fumbled on the shelf for the
clock key.
These springs must be out of order,
said the deacon, decisively.
How scared you look, child. There amt
no cause O. bein' scared. l don't put
much faith in your aunt James old time
Where in the name of all
possessed is the key? / could ha' de-
clared l left it on the case.
Isn't it on the shelf, father ?" asked
Mary, guiltily, conscious that it was
snugly repOsing in the pocket of her
checked gingham dress.
mo, nor faint in my pocket, neither"
And down went the deacon, stiffiy
enough, on his knees, to examine the
floor, lest perehance the missing key
might have fallen there. "Well, new
er knew anything so strange in all my
life" said the deacon.
"Itis really very strange" faltered
hypocritierl Mary.
I'll have regular search tomorrow" !"
said Deacon Shermer. at must be some
where around"
'"Yes it must" answered Mary. tremu-
lously.
"Only," the deacon went on, slowly re-
suming his place by the fire." kind O.
don't like the old clock to stand still a
single night. When l wake up, you
know, it seems like it was sort O. talkin'
to me in the stiffness. The deacon look
ed thoughtfully at the fiery backlog.
Mary fidgeted uneasily about the room,
Strengthening table covers, setting back
chairs and thinking-oh, if he would on
ly go to bed As he sat there his eye
lids began to drop, and his head to nod
somnOlently. Maryis eyes frightened
with sparkle something like hope.
"Child," he said, suddenly, Strengthening
up in the stiff back chair, you'd better
go to bed. III sit up little longer till
the log burns out"
But, father, I'm not sleepy"
go to bed, my child" reiterated the
deacon, with good-humored authority
to brook no opposition; and Mary crept
out of the room, ready to cry with anxi-
ETY. and modification.
IF Tim will only keep quiet little
while longer" she thought, sitting on
the steps, while the moon streamed in
in chilly splendor. Father sleeps so
soundly-and he is sure to go to sleep in
his chair-I could just steal in and re-
lease him as quietly as possible"
She sat there, her plump fingers inter-
laced, and her eyes fixed dreamily on the
floor, while all the time her ears were
strained to the utmost capacity to catch
every sound in the kitchen beyond.
Harki was that wall of the wind, OF
was it something to her literally "neaIer
and dearer?" Yes; she could not be
mistaken now; it was actually a snore.
Mary rose softly to her feet with re-
newed hope. Surely now was the ac-
cepted time. Noiselessly as the floating
shadow she crossed the hall, opened the
kitchen door, and stole across the creak-
ing boards of the floor. The candles
were burnt out, but the shifting luster
of the freight revealed her father nod
ding before the fire with closed eyes
and hands hanging by his sides.
"He's certainly asleep" thought Mary.
With heart that beat quick and fast,
she drew the key from her pocket and
proceeded in spite of the nervous trem-
Cling of her fingers, to lift it into the
lock. So absorbed was she that she nev-
er noticed the cessation of the heavy
breathing-never saw the deacon start
suddenly into wakefulness and look
around him. Love is blind, and it is
equally true that it is deaf. The deacon
rose quickly up with shrewd twinkle
in his eyes, and Mary gave little fright
ened shrek, as hand fell softly on her
arm, possessing itself quietly of the key.
Let me help you," said the deacon.
Father, have found the keyw fal-
tered Mary, "and-"
Found the KEY" returned the sur
prised deacon. "Well, that's lucky; and
now we can find out what's the matter
with the clock.
Mary's heart, throbbing so wildly a
moment ago, seemed to stand still as
her father turned the key and opened
the door of the clock case.
"Halloow exclaimed the deacon, as
Mr.. Timothy Marshall tumbled into the
room. $50 you was the matter with the
clock, eh?"
"Yes, sir" said Tim, composedly. 81
hope haven't seriously interfered with
the works of the clock"
you've seriously interfered with me-
said the deacon, waxing indignant.
"What do you mean, sir, by hiding in
my house like thiefP"
"Indeed, indeed, fatherI' cried Mary,
bursting into tears, ''it was not his fault.
He did not want to hide, but put him
in there"
"You did, Ell? And may 1 ask what
for?"
"Father," faltered Mary, rather irrev-
erently, 81 love him, and-he loves mew
as that any reason why he should
hide in the clock case, miss ?"
No-but-fatheri Oh, fatherl can
never marry Mr.. Stanley. He is so soft,
and L"
Mary's tears finished the sentence for
her. The deacon looked (not unkindly)
on her bowed head and the tender arm
that supported it. Apparently, "the
course Of true love-" roughly though it
ran, had overwhelmed all his own world
ly-wise arrangements in its tide.
"And so you young folks really think
you love each other?" said the deacon,
meditatively.
sir" said Tim Marshall, earnestly. I'm
uOt Tlcu, huON, Uul l. eau WOIh IoI HoI.
"And can work for myself, too,
interposed Mary, with eyes that
shone like softened stars.
"And you said yourself, sir" went ON
Tim," that the stopping of the clock
meant either death or a marriage. OF
course we don't want any deaths, so
don't you think the most sensible thing
we can do is to help on a marriage as
soon as possible?"
The deacon laughed in spite Of him.
self.
"It's late" he said. "Come around to-
morning, and we'll talk about
it. No, Mary, 1 am not angry with you.
child. L s'pose young folks will be
yovng folks, and there's no use tryin' to
stop them"
As the deacon rehung the pendulum
and set the iron tongue of the old clock
talking again, Tim Marshall paused ON
doorstep to whisper to Mary:
"What shall it be, Mary death or a