The Portland daily press., 1879-11-04
s,,san and Millr looked at each other an

Susan and Mil1y looked at each otnef ap-
prehensiyely Milly was five years younger
than her sister, two sons having been born
between them but she was quite old enough
to understand the family troubles, and to
marvel what fresh misfortune could have
occurred that had nothing to do with money
matters or Tom.
Tom was the only variation in the shape
of trouble that Milly's experience could re-
member.
They had not finished breakfast-Susie,
indeed had only just come down stairs after
taking up her mothers second cup OF tea
when loud and demonstrative double
knock resounded through the quiet house.
THAT is Mr.. Marlees,' said Susie, turn
ing apprahensively to her father. shall
see him, as YOU do not seem very well"'
Mr.. Yarrel hesitated; quick sensitive
color fed over his face and then vanished,
leaving it paler than before. Clearly man
not fitted to cope with adversity, to whom
the strong boisterous world might well have
afforded to be generous.
Mr. Marlees was a solicitor in good prac-
tice in the neighboring town distant some
four miles from Bersey village.
He professed, and perhaps his profession
was true, that though in the course of his
business it often fell to his lot to press Mr..
Yarrell for money, he desired to stand his
friend; and he had accordingly called so
often during so many years totryto arrange
matters" that his knock was as well known
as that of the postman, and his visits as
much dreaded as those of the plague.
All this time Margaret in the kitchen was
washing her hands and rolling down her
sleeves and tying on clean apron prepara-
tory to opening the door, and Mr.. Yarrell in
the parlor was nervously walking from open
window to fern-filled fireplace, and at last
saying,
II wish you would, Susie; and, wait
moment dear; tell him l must go to Lon
don this evening, and that I'll call upon him
about"
Margaret having opened the door at that
instant, Mr.. Marlees' voice rang through the
hall, and involuntarily Mr.. Yarrell ceased,
speaking.
81 won't detain your master one moment,
my girl" were the first words Susie heard
| spoken. ''Not finished breakfast? That is
| capital. I will announce myself, thankyou."
! And before Susan could reach the door he
was in the room.
Passing Miss Yarrell by, but doing so
with an apologetic smile and confiding
! glances, Mr.. Marlees advanced toward the
| vicar.
Il fear I am intruding, SIR Hubert. but
| really could not resist the temptation OF be-
| ing the first to offer my congratulations.
| trust every happiness may now attend you.
| The past has been bitter; even mine may
| have been hated presence here often,
though Heaven knows it has always been
| my endeavOr to pour oil on the waters
Miss Yarrell, you look astonished. Is it pos
| sible, is it credible, then, l am the bearer of
| this good news?"
mot good news, Mr.. Marlees," said the
| vicar gently; "most sad and terrible: such a
fearful death! Not a moment for-for-
1t has unnerved me-" he added, turning
aside. Il have not as yet mentioned the
matter even to my wife,
''God bless me!' exclaimed Mr.. Marlees.
"Of course it was very terrible, and so forth
some time, and it is to be hoped he was duly
prepared" 49,.
''Do you mean that Sir Henry is dead"'
interposed Susan, in gradual cresendo.
''Yes, my dear young lady. Killed in a
moment-railway accident; lived an hour,
but never spoke after the collision; his boy
was dead when found"
80 papa, papar' cried Susan, finging her
self into her fathers arms, the tears stream
ing down her cheeks. 80 poor Sir Henry
and the little boy and his widow
''Queer family" remarked Mr.. Marlees,
when he was recounting the above particu-
| lars during the course of the day. Il wenl
there expecting to find them jumping for
| joy all over the parish, and 1 give you my
| word, sir the father and daughter took on as
if they were broken hearted. If did not
know them to be genuine-if l was not as
sure they are sound at the core as that l
am standing here-Fd have said they were
shamming, by Joye l should! But not bit
of it. Sorry for the dead man, who would
have seen the vicar die of starvation before
| he'd have sent him five pound note; sorry
for the boy, who stood between them and
twelve thousand ayear; sorryfor the widow,
who was never, I'll be bound, sorry for
them; and sorry, daresay, if the truth were
known, they will for the future be able to
keep balance at their bankers, and snap
their fingers at the bishop.
1t was quite true.
| A man like the vicar, even if he be an
Indifferent preacher and but an incompetent
clergyman, cannot read Gods word and
preach His message, and receive into
Christ's ~fock, and read under wintry skies
and summer sunshine that most tender and
touching Order for the Burial of the Dead,
without being sure there is something in it
all; something which makes the mere fact OF
stepping across grave to fame, rank and
wealth, very sad and solemn act; that rem
ders rejoicing in such a case as unseemly as
the mirth of fool, and for an hour places
the utter worthlessness of money promi-
nently before the eyes of even the most i'm
pecunious of created beings.
| ITo pE CoNTINIrEn