The New Bloomfield, Pa. times. (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1877-188?, 1879-03-25

venture into New York again without
proper escort, can assure YOU"
This simple assurance seemed to graf
ify Mr.. Waldon greatly, and the cloud
of care began to slowly fade from his
face.
"Right, my child" he cried, pleas
antly. After all, it was but stupid
affair. A poor woman, who lost child
years ago, fancies she traces resem-
blance to her lost darling in your face,
because, possibly your eyes and hair are
same color. History has many records
of strange results therefrom. Do not
let these circumstances bewilder your
mind; remember you are my daughter,
Lillian Waldron that your mother,
daughter of Judge Farrell, died when
you were but three years"
"Who doubts it, father 2" Lillian
asked, surprised at his earnestness.
My child, there are people in the
world who are silly enough to doubt
anything and everything, even the ex-
istence of the Supreme Ruler of the
universe"
There the conversation dropped, and
John Waldron never referred to the
subject again with his daughter.
The day after this conversation man
neatly dressed paused in front of the
Waldron mansion, and took a careful
survey of the premises. You would
scarcely have recognized in this clean
shaven and respectable looking person
the sailor who had SO frightened Lillian
the day before. A broad grin flushed
his swarthy features as his glance fol-
lowed the fence down to the waters
edge.
C The very place, by jingol' he
chuckled and then INDUCED in low
whistle of satisfaction. I" begin to un-
derstand the resemblance now-but why,
why? That's what beats me. I'd like
to inqnire into the early history of Mr..
John Waldron. There was grocery
store at the corner perhaps the man
man have kept here for years-let's try
him.
He sauntered on leisurely to the cor
ner and went in. His keen eye selected
the proprietor at once, a little plump
Englishman.
Our cosmopolite detected the accent at
once, as he asked for good cigar, and
the groceryman replied that he could
sell him as good one as he could get in
New York. The sailor lit it and pulled
away leisurely.
Z" A real Havana" he said.
"Ah you know good cigar when
you get one," cried the shopman.
"Ol I've smoked the real article in
Havana itself?"
"Ah you have been there-thought
you had kind of seafaring look.'
YOU'RE an Englishman. I've been
there, too"
I" I'm proud to say 1 am. Can't dis
guise the fact, you know, though I've
been twenty years in this country !;
naturalized and got my papers,"
1t was warm, dull afternoon, and
the shopman was disposed to be sociable.
The sailor, leaning against the counter
lazily smoking his cigar, commenced to
extract the information he sought.
" Kept this shop long ?"
" About five years"
The sailor shifted from one leg to the
other; he began to fear, as he would
have expressed it, that he was on the
"wrong tack"
"Ah thought you'd been here some
time"
$50 I have" answered the other,
"but not in this shop. 1 kept one
nearer the ferry, thirteen years, until I
moved here"
"Know about everybody in the place,
eh ?n
"Yes"
The sailor became quite absorbed in
lis cigar for few moments.
''Nice place that above here-beautiful
house and grounds"
80, yes; you mean the Farrell es-
tate ?''
The sailor took his cigar out of his
mouth, and knocked the white ashes of
the end.
"No,'' he said, 81 don't mean that,
mean where Mr.. John Waldron
lives"
" Why, bless you that is the Farrell
estate"
"Ah, indeed p calculated the sailor
absently.
80, yes. 1t belonged to old Judge