The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1880-07-30
AFTER LONG YEARS.

AFTER LONG YEARS.
ssWhat is this, Burt ?"
.sThat is the mortgage of an estate
called the Derby place, Mr.. Faxon. fore
closed more than year, / believe.
s'Well, its what I have been looking
for. I will take charge of the papers,
and attend to the matter soon. Down
East, isn't it?''
''Yes, SIR"
Mr.. Faxon put the papers into the
breast pocket of his coat, came down the
stairs, and stepped into the glittering,
purple-l lined phaeton, beside his wife.
The delicate Arabian, Mrs. Faxon's
horse, sped away out of the city confines,
and soon tossed his jetty name along the
open roads, lined with gardens, ornate
cottages and villas.
"Going away again tomorrow, dear r
asked Mrs. Faxon, suddenly lifting her
fair countenance, as she interrupted her
husband. ssYou seem to be away all the
time lately. Take me with you"
"Not this time, Violet"
And Violet Faxon's husband fell into
a fit eof abstraction, from which her
smartest chatter failed to arouse him.
They came at last to the Faxon man
sion, grand and simple, and fulfilling its
promise of 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 cheek,
pearly ear and curved lashes.
ssWhaf 30 ~ 90 aoka6 Vin1at-Ga
freckleY
ssNo," he answered, smiling family
and strslling across the chamber. "You
looked like my sister then-that was all. J"
eYour sister, dear? You never told
me about her ?" said Violet.
tsNo," hevanswered, and said no more.
Mr.. Faxon bore no resemblance to his
delicate patr1cian wife. A little less than
thirty-dark, strongly built, active,
vigorous, he impressed one as strong
character. IF, with remarkably rich
comliness of countenance, there were
some sensual lines, there was also a GER
tain evidence of strong good sense and a
look of deep experiences. Mr.. Faxon
looked like 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 yer-
dure.
After 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 unassum-
ing white clover among the grass per-
fumed the cool morning air.
He passed only few houses, but he
observed them attentively. They were
all old and humble farmhouses. Appar-
emily this property which had, by the
foreclosure of a mortgage, fallen to Mr..
Faxon, was not situated in very rich or
enterprising neighborhood.
When he had walked nearly mile, he
came to green dooryard, among wide
spread apple trees, with q well-sweep
among them, and residence, though
plain, more pretentious and comfortable
than the others.
There was narrow, well-worn path
among the short grass and buttercups to
the porch, where bitter-sweet twined its
strong arms. In corner, under the yer-
dure was an armchair with book on the
seat, and a cane lying across it-a
gnarled, twisted cane of hickory, that
Mr.. Faxon looked twice at. The book
he saw was bible.
There was an old lady with a 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
L. -ks1 f.. A
cat came and rubbed against his leg.
Some apple blossoms, floating down
ouched his cheek.
At length the gentle lips moved.
Father" said the mild old lady, 'tyou
had best lie down and take rest,
ssSuch old people and have come
to take their homes away" said Mr.. Fax
On.
There was strong pain in his dark face
now as he stood looking down at the
porch-foor.
After moment, he stepped off the
porch on the farther side, and walked
away under the apple trees.
When Mr.. Faxon came back from his
brief stroll, his presence, as he crossed
the yard, was unobserved.
A white-haired old man who had come
to the open door and taken up the
hickory stick, turned back hastily. with |
a few hurried 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 friend.
s'My name is Faxon, said the visitor,
"I-
I'VE know who you be, sir" said the
old man-sswe know who ye be, though |
we never seed ye before. VIII you
come IMP
Mr.. Faxon stepped across the white
hall floor into the quaint, cool and COM
Portable sitting room.
The rough blue paper, like chintz, on
The wall, some "honesty" and dried
grasses in obaque white vases upon the
high, narrow mant1epiece, unconsciously !
struck his eye, while he took seat, his |
mind occupied upon other thoughts.
We've been long expectin you, sir,
said the old lady, gently. !