The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1880-04-01

"Deadr' he said. "Jamie dead
my little brotherp I guess there's
some mistake, Judge, the lad was al
ways well enough. DeadP' he repeat
ed, after . pause; II wish you'd go
over it all again, Judge; 60 over it
slow, l don't seem to have . grip on
things, somehow"
went over it all as he said, slowly
and carefully. His brothers past life
30 far as I knew it, his death, and his
will. The latter was short and easily
stated. Everything was left to his only
brother, John Bunyan Cavendish, If
living; in the event of his death to be
divided, share and share alike, among
the children of the late Mary Ormsby,
of Perth. My companion listened with
q silence that I sometimes feared was
stupor. When l had finished, drew
from my pocket the letter, grown sud-
denly so sacred, and laid in on the Ia
BILE before him. He raised his eyes and
glanced from it to me.
Judge" he said, quietly, 81 don't
want to read that letter here. 1 don't
like the looks o. things. want to 90
to some place where things is CROWN,
an there's fresh, countryfied smell,
you understand. an I want you to go
along"
1 would willingly have left him alone
with his dead, but did not dare to, even
then. So we walked silently through the
narrow, crowded streets to one of those
quaint hillsides overlooking the calm
verdure of the valley and the wintry
SHOWS of San Antonio. My companion
sat down, and motioned me to q seat be-
side him.
"Now, Judge" he said, hoarsely, II
want you to read that letter to me;
you've stood by ME this far, and Think
you'll see me through"
read the letter. It comes back to me
distinctly even now. The scent of the
orange blossoms below us, the attitude of
the man beside me, the strange sound OF
my own voice, even the words that said:
DEAR JAcK-when you read this shall be
look you in the face. You know now how
wroneed you and Mary; she knew it before
x not
me, but she never did. She never loved the
ma man she masried she never loved any one
laid down my life years ago to right the wrong
did, but it was too late. 1 ruined your life
and hers, and yet loved you both, and love
you still. JAMIE"
My listener did not move or raise his
eyes. How long we sat there I do not
know, but our shadows heightened on
the hillside, and the air grew chill.
What the old man was thinking, God
only knows. When he spoke his voice
startled me.
give got good deal of business on
hand, Judge, an if it's all the same to
you, we'll 60 down town. I've been
thinkin' about the children. Do you
know anything about 'em, Judge?-
"Not much. They are orphans. and
very poor; the oldest is girl, and works
at some trade. They are not together,
think"
Jamie little pile goes to them when
I'm gomez"
YES"
He made no further inquiry, and we
walked on in silence. I parted from
him that night with a vague uneasiness.
1t was Christmas eve, and everything
was ablaze with light. 1 walked up
and down among the hurrying throng
in the hope of seeing his face, grown
familiar already; but it was not there.
Very early in the morning I went to
his rude lodgings, and knocked gently
at the door. There was no answer,
and, pushing it softly On its hinges,
went in. Uncle Jack was sleeping
quietly on low bed in the corner.
There was bundle lying on the floor,
and beside it roll of blankets and an
oaken staff. On the table a spent can
die was fla ing in its socket, and beside
it lay an unfinished letter. inscribed to
me in large, unsteady hand:
lam going across the mountains to look
afte. the mine. Take the money back to the
chill iren. and tell them it's Christmas gift
from Uncle Jack. Tell them to stick together.
whatever happens. If had stood by jamie
That was all. The window was open,
and soft flush was stealing over the
gray dawn. In the east lay San Anto-
MO like great uncut amethyst. l went
to the bedside and touched the sleeper
forehead. 1t was icy cold. laid my
hand on his breast. The poor, loyal,
broken heart was still. Uncle Jack was
keeping his Christmas across the
maintains