The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1880-07-22
After Long Years.
What is this, Burt ?"

more than a year, believe"
"Well, it's what have been looking for
will take charge of the papers and attend
to the matter soon. Down East, isn't it p
7 "Yes, sir"
I Mr.. Faxon put the papers into the breast
pocket of his coat, came down the offic,
stairs, and stepped into the glittering, pur
/ ple-lined phaeton, beside his wife.
The delicate Arabian, Mrs. Faxon's horse
sped away out of the city confines, and soor
tossed his jetty name along the open roads
lined with gardens, ornate cottages and vii
las .... f....s..... ..
"Going away again tomorrow, dear? ~
asked Mrs Faxon, suddenly lifting her fair
countenance, as she interrupted her hus.
band "You seem to be away all the time
lately. Take me with you"
| ."Not this time, Violet"
And Violet Faxon's husband fell into fit
ter failed to arouse him.
They came at last to the Faxon mansion,
grand and simple, and fulfilling the promise
of a beautiful interior.
Amid the white lace and crimson silk OF
her chamber, Violet was brushing out her
long, fair hair, when her husband paused in
the doorway, and looked at her sharply.
Then he came slowly across the room, and
lifting the oval face in his hand, looked
closely at the roseate check, pearly ear and
curved lashes.
"What is 2" asked Violet freckle?"
NO" he answered, smiling family and
strolling across the chamber. "You looked
like my sister then-that was all"
"Your sister, dear? You never told me
about herr" said Violet
"No," he answered, and said no more.
Mr.. Faxon bore no resemblance to his
delicate patrician wife. A little less than
thirty-dark, strongly built, active, vigor-
GUS, he impressed one as strong character.
If, with remarkably rich comeliness of
countenance, there were some sensual lines.
there was also a certain evidence of strong
good sense and a look of deep experiences,
Mr. Faxon looked like a man who carried
weight.
He was up and away at daybreak the next
morning. An early train bore him eastward
and nine O'Clock found him landed at little
station called Seabrook-
The dismal little building was set in a field
of clover, around which a road wound away
among the mounds of verdure.
After a glance around, Mr.. Faxon took
this road, and walked slowly along. The
robins hoped across it the bobolinks sang
in the trees over it. The unassuming white
clover among the grass perfumed the cool
morning air.
He passed only few houses, but he OBJ
served them attentively. They were all old
and humble farm-houses. Apparently, this
property which had, by the foreclosure of
mortgage, fallen to Mr.. Faxon, was not stu
ated in a very rich or enterprising neighbor-
hood.
When he had walked nearly q mile, he
came to a green dooryard, among wide
spread apple trees, with well-sweep among
them, and residence, though plain, more
pretentious and comfortable than the others.
There was narrow, welLworn path
among the short grass and buttercups to the
porch, where bitter sweet twined its strong
arms. In q corner, under the verdure, was
an armchair, with book on the seat, and
. cane lying across it-a gnaried, twisted
stick of hickory, that Mr.. Faxon looked twice
at. The book he saw was Bible.
There was an old lady, with o sweet,
faded face, and snowy cap-strings tied under
her double chin, knitting at window near
by, but his quiet step had not disturbed
her.
He had put his hand to the knocker; he
took it down again as he caught sight of this
placid face. He stood there quite still for
several minutes. A gray cat came and rubbed
against his leg. Some apple blossoms,
floating down, touched his cheek.
At length the gentle lips moved.
Father" said the mild old lady, "you
had best lie down and take rest"
"Such old people, and I have come to
take their home away" said Mr.. Faxon.
There was strong pain in his dark face
now as he stood looking down at the porch
floor.
After a moment, he stepped of the porch,
on the further side, and walked away under
the apple trees.
When Mr.. Faxon came back from his brief
stroll, his presence, a. he crossed the yard,
was observed.
A white haired old man, who had come to
the open door and taken up the hickory
stick, turned back hastily, with few hur-
ried words, and the aged woman dropped
her knitting and rose up, with paleness
dropping over her face.
But, while Mr.. Faxon hesitated on the
porch again, both came to the door. Sad,
startled faces they both had, but they were
civil Their greeting was kindly, as to q
friend.
g My name is Faxon," said the visitor.
CT"
1--WE know who you be, sir?" said the
cid man-..'we know who you be, though
We never seed ye before. Will you come
in?"
MIR. Faxon stepped across the white hall
floor into the quaint, cool and comfortable
sitting room.
The rough blue paper like chintz, on the
wall, some " honesty" and dried grasses in
Opaque white vases upon the high, narrow
mantlepiece, unconsciously struck his eye,
while he took seat, his mind occupied with
other thoughts.
We've been long expectin' you, sir"
said the old lady, gently.
Her hands, crossed on her spotless ging-
ham apron upon her lap, trembled little,
but the serenity of her manner was not
much changed.
But the old mans eyes SWAN in tears. He