Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1879-11-27
CHAPTER III.

Some years before the opening of this
little story Sarah Burton had been the
belle of the rather considerable shire
town where she resided, and when from
half a dozen suitors she chose the thriy-
ing young tradesman, Charles Wexford
every one predicted an unclouded life
for them and pronounced her a most
fortunate girl. They did not see the
little secret corner in her heart where
another image was yelled away from
human sight, so closely that even she
herself did not see it. But truth to tell.
had William Henshaw been less modest.
Charles Wexford might not have found
it so easy to win his bride.
just before her wedding Young Hen
shaw had hidden adieu to his native
place and " gone to seek his fortune" as
he said, and since that time no one had
learned whittier, though it was believed
he had gone to Australia.
Sarah had often wondered, in common
with her husband and others, about
him; but never until these adverse DAYS
had she done more. Now, as the iron
entered her soul, plowing up that
which lay hidden there, she found her.
self frequently thinking of him, and a
queer little thrill, such as she used TO
feel in his presence years ago, would
send a delicious pain quivering all
through her heart, only to end in the
dull wonder ifhe were still alive.
This Thanksgiving day, as she moved
about Aunt Betsey's kitchen (Which I
should have told you before, was sit
uated in the front Of the house, right by
the side of the best room), humming a
gay, little English air, which, to be frank
with you. was undoubtedly inspired by
the appetizing odors of their unusually
good dinner, she made pretty picture
to look upon.
She had just thrown off Aunt Betsey's
kitchen apron of homely check and was
brushing the specks Of flour from her
arms, when a shadow darkened the
doorway. and turning, she met the out
stretched hand of him who had been
most IN her thoughts as she caroled the
ballad they had so often sung together.
William!" with q joyous ring in her
voice, long unknown to it.
Sarah, my poor dove!" and the story
which should have been told years be-
fore found utterance in the tone, so full
of protecting tenderness in which those
four words were spoken.
What q Thanksgiving day was that, {,
Mr. Henshaw was introduced to Aunt
Betsey, and captivated her heart forth
with by his frank, manly ways, as well
as his ha Idsome face, with its pleasant
/ brown eyes and lips red enough for a
maiden's. He accepted her invitation
to dine, and contributed to the dinner
such dessert as they had never dreamed
of an hour before. He was Southern
planter now, and down at the landing
he had a boat-load of tropical fruits
going northward, from which he select
ed an abundance of the finest, to grace
Aunt Betsy's Thanksgiving.
After dinner, when the others had
discreet y excused themselves, Aunt
Betsey taking for walk Mrs. Welford's
little ones. who had been duly admired
and petted by Mr.. William Henshaw,
Sarah Wexford learned how the Being. !.
whom she had thanked for the poor
dinner as well as the good one, had
wrought from her direst misfortune her
/ greatest blessing.
! A fortnight since, as Mr.. Henshaw was
experimenting the loading of his boat,
he overheard a conversation between
two river men, in which her name, men,
toned by one of them, had attracted his
attention, and he heard the whole story
other trials and prosecutions, told by the