Litchfield enquirer., 1879-07-31

Eveshanl, who was provided with philosophy of her own, which amounted to a gentle ob tuseness, and made her a comfortable non-con- ductor, preventing more electric souls from shocking each other.
 On the morning of the fourth day, Dorothy came out of her mothers room with tray of empty dishes in her hands. She saw Evesham at the star-head and lowered about in the shadowy part of the hall till he should go down.
 Dorothy" he said, "rm waiting for you" He took the tray from her and rested it on the 5annisters. ''Your father and have talked over all the business. He's got the impression Pm one of the most generous fellows in the world. intend to let him rest in that delu- sion for the present. Now may speak to him about something else, Dorothy? Have not waited long enough formy hearts desire?"
 ''Take care P said Dorothy softly, ,-''theell upset the tea-cups ]"
 'Confound the tea-cups!" He stopped to place the irrelevant tray on the floor, but now Dorothy was halfway down the staircase. He caught her on the landing, and taking both her hands, drew her down on the step beside him.
 "Dorothy, this is the second time you've taken advantage of my unsuspicious nature This time you shall be punishedl You need | not try to hide your face, you little traitor There's no repentance in you" ''If I'm to be punished there's no need of | repentance"
 Dorothy, do you know, I've never heard l you speak my name, except once, when you | were angry with me-
 ''When was that ?"
 ''The night caught you at the gate. You said. I would rather have one of those dumb | brutes for company than thee, Walter Eve sham You said it in the fercest little voice! Even the thee sounded as if you hated me-" ''I did," sad Dorothy promptly. T had reason to-"
 Do you hate me now, Dorotny?" ''Not so much as did then" "What an implacable little Quaker you are!" "A tyrant is Glaoays hated" said Dorothy, trying to release her honds. | ''If you will look in my eyes, Dorothy, and and call me by my name just once,-lll let thee go.'
 "Walter Evesham ]" said Dorothy, with great firmness and decision.
 ''No! that won't do! You must look at me,-and say it softly,-n little sentence, Dorothy!''
 "Will thee please let me go, Walter?" Walter Evesham was a man of his word, but as Dorothy sped away, he looked as if he wished he were not.
 The next evening, Friend Barton sat by his wife's easy chair, drawn into the circle Of | irelight, with his elbows on his knees, and his head between his hands.
 | The worn spot on the top of his head had widened considerably during the summer, but Rachel looked stronger and brighter than she had for many day. There was even little l flush on her cheek, but that might have come from the excitement of long talk her hus- band.
 "Pm sorry thee takes it so hard, Thomas; was afraid thee would. But the way didn't seem to open for me to do much. l can see now, that Dorothy's inclinations have been turning this way for some time, though it's not likely she would own it, poor child; and Walter Eveshams not one who is easily gain sayed. If thee could only feel differently about | it, can't say but it would make me very hap py to see Dorothy's heart satisfied. Can't thee bring myself into unity with it, father? He's a nice young man. They're nice folks. Thee can't complain of the blood. Margaret Eve sham tells me a cousin of hers married one of | the Lawrences, and we are kind of kin, after l all "
 q don't complain of the blood; they're we'll enough placed as far as the world is concern ed But their ways are net our ways Rachel! Their faith is not our faith!"
 "Well! 1 can't see such very great differ ence, come to live among them By their fruits ye shall know them.' To comfort the widow and the fatherless, and keep ourselves unspotted from the world !-thee's always preached that father really can't see any more worldliness here than among many house. holds with us,-and Pm sure if we haven't .I been the widow and the fatherless this sum- mer we've been next to 1t y
 Friend Barton raised his head little, and rested his forehead on his clasped hands.
 ''Rachel," he said, ''look at that l" He pointed upward to an ancient sword with belt and trappings, which gleamed on the paneled chimney -piece-crossed by an old queens arm. Evesham had given up his large sunny room to Dorothy's mother, but he had not removed all his lares and penates.
 ''Yes dear; that's his grandfather's sword Colonel Evesham, who was killedat Sarato- gal"
 "Why does he hang up that thing of abomi- nation for light and guide to his footsteps, if hls way be not far from ours p ..
 "Why, father! Colonel .Evesham was good man !"-1 dare say he fought for the same reason that thee preaches-because he felt it his duty !" ........
 II find no fault with him, Rachel. Doubt les he followed his light, as thee says; but he | followed it in better ways too. He cleared land and built a homestead and meeting house. Why don't his grandson hang up his old broad-ax and piowshare, and worship them, if he must have idols, instead of that symbol ofstrife and bloodshed. Does thee want our Dorothy's children to grow up under tue shadow of that sword ?"
 There was a stern light of prophecy in the old mans eyes.
 'sMay be Walter ABweshanl would take it down." said Rachel, leaning back wearily and closing her eyes. "l never was much of hand to argue, even if had the strength for it; but it would hurt me good deal-I must say tiff thee denies Dorothy in this matter, l Thomas. It's a very serious thing to have old 1 folks try to turn young hearts the way they l ought to go. 1 reheinber now, ,-l was think l ing about it last night and it all came back as l fresh I don't know that ever told thee l about that young friend who visited me before ] I heard thee preach at Stony Valley? We'll! tathes, Ae was wonderful pleased with him. but didn't feel any drawing that way. He urged me good deal, more than was pleasaNt l for either of us. He wasn't at all reconciled 1 to thee, Thomas, if thee remember" ''I remember, " said Thomas Barton, Fit was an anxious time" .e.. :'Well, dear, if father had insisted, and sent l thee away, can't say but life would have l been very different thing to me-" II thank thee for saying il, Rachel" Friend Barton's head dropped between his hands. al l tThee's suffered much through me ; thee's 1 had hard life, but thee's been well beloved" The flames leaped and f1ickered in the chinl- l ney, they touched the wrinkled hands, whose only beauty was in their deeds; they crossed the room and lit the pillows where, for three l generations. young heads had dreamed, and 1 gray heads had watched and suffered; then they mounted to the chimney and struck 8 l gleam from the sword. ,;....... l "Well, father,' said Rachel, "what answer is thee going to give Walter Eveshanl?' l II shall say no more, my dear. Let the young folks have their way. There's strife and contention enough in the world without my stirring up more. And it may be Pm re- sisting the Masters will; left her in His care; this may be His way of dealing with | her. .sss ..s..f ...,....z .,.,, fs..... .. 3. l Walter Evesham did not take down his grandfather's sword. Fifty years later anoth- CT went up beside it,-the sword of young Evesham Aho never left the field of Shiloh ;; and beneath them both hangs the portrait of the Quaker grandmother, Dorothy Evesham, at the age of sixty nine.
 The golden nipples, silver now, are hidden under ''round- -eared cap." the quick flush has