The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1880-07-22

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hid his face.
Eyes! yes but it canes sort o. sudden
now," said the old man.
MIR. Faxon sat i'll speechless sympathy.
After little pause, old Mr.. Derby looked
up, and met his eyes.
"Of course, it's all right, sir We don't
question your right to the place; but we've
been sort of unfortunate think so-don't
you, mother?"
The old lady lay back among the cushions
of the dimity- chair. She had a look
of physical weakness Mr.. Faxon had not OBJ
served before. She did not speak.
| Her husband looked at her attentively. A
sudden flush went over his thin face.
Its not for myself 1 care-it's herr"
he cried, striking his cane violently upon the
floor. She helped earn this place when
| she was young. There was no kind O. work
but what them hands you see lyin' SO weary
now in her lap, sir, was put to. She was up
early an late, always a-doin', a-doin' fur me
and the children. God never made better
wife an mother. An now, sir, it's hard, it's
hard, that she should be turned out of her
home in her old age"
"Hush, hush, Daniel said the old lady,
softly. "The Lord will provide; and it's
not long we have to stay in the world, you
know"
"Win you tell me the history of the place,
Mr.. Derby?" asked Mr.. Faxon. "How did
you come to lose it?"
xyoC u,ortrroroJ c;r cold tho ola
man, at last, "to pay the boys college bills.
You see, we had three children-Selwyn,
Roscoe and little Annie. Mother an 1
didn't have an eddication, but we said all
along that our children should have an
they went to the distric' school an then the
academy-and by nd-by we fitted them off
for college. Bright, smart boys they were
everybody said my boys had good parts.
though Roc was always a little wild.
think mother, there, loved him better for
that. He was more trouble, an she clung
to him closer because others blamed him at
times. Annie, his sister, was always a.
pleadin', too. for Roc. He played truant,
and he whipped the boys who told on him;
he was always putin his bones in peril, an
twice he was half drowned-yet in spite of
all he was ready for college when Selwyn
was, though Selwyn was steady as clock.
Mother and had been scrapin' together for
years, and at last we fitted them off.
"We went on denying of ourselves, for
it was just the one hope of our lives to have
the boys graduate with all the honors an
time went on, but many of the crops failed,
and there came disappointment here and |
there, an failing to get to-
gether the money the boys sent for-espe.
cially Roc-we mortgaged the farm for five |
hundred dollars.
They were nearly through, you see, an |
mother and Annie thought that Selwyn |
might be principal of the academy or some-
thing when he came home, an Roc would |
be lawyer, cause he could argufy an speak |
SO smart in public, an the money would be |
paid back easy.
"But from time to time there came ru-
mors 1 didn't like, as to how Roscoe was up
to his old wild ways again, and at last it
came like thunderbolt- was suspended
and had run away to foreign parts. Well,
pass over that, sir; tried not to be too
hard on the boy. Then Selwyn came home.
He had graduated well, but he had a cough.
He didn't complain, but he was thin an
pale, an soon mother an 1 saw that the son
we had meant to rely on was an invalid upon
our hands. The thought struck me dumb.
But mother was all energy. We travelled
here with him, we travelled there. We saw
all the noted doctors, East and West. We
borrowed more money on the old place, and
we never paid any back. had made one
Or two payments at first, but they were but
= drop in the bucket. At last we brought
Selwyn home to die"
"Don't Daniel " said the mother, softly.
''He wants to hear the rest. There's only
; little more, but it's no better. Annie was
ike Selwyn-good an patient; delicate-ike,
100. We didn't mind it at first, but her
cheeks grew thin an too red; a cough she
had had from childhood grew harder, and
though the best doctors we could get came
early an late, it was only year after Sell
wyn died before we laid Annie down among
he SHOWS. Thank ye, sir, for your pity!
Mother an have shed most of our tears"
Mr.. Faxon put his cambria handkerchief
back into his pocket.
"Your other son, Roscoe, Mr.. Derby
did he never come homer"
"Never. It's nigh eight years since we
have seen Roc. He knew he disappointed
Us but that was nothin'-was it mother2"
"I never think of it." said Mrs. Derby,
shaking her head. "Perhaps-I don't
know-we took the wrong course with Roc.
He was restless an active. He was wild,
but he was lovin'-"
Her voice broke.
"Mrs. Derby" said Mr.. Faxon, 81 find
know something of your story already.
Your son, Roscoe Derby, who ran away at
years old, is probably living, and it
may come in my way to obtain some infor-
nation of him for you"
The old people had risen eagerly from
their seats, but he went on, quickly:
Meanwhile, be at no inconvenience re-
garding your stay here in your old home.
Your right to occupy it is unquestioned in my
mind and let me assure you that you will
never, during your lifetimes, be required to
go hence. There is the mortgage "-he
placed some papers on the table the Der
by place is your own" as
He rose, putting them gently back, as
they pressed toward him, trying to express
their gratitude
"No-no thanks Believe me, you owe
me nothing
He took his hat. The old man, who was
wrung his hand. MIR. Fa1on
turned to Mrs. Derby, and taking her soft,
wrinkled fingers in his strong palm, bent
low and kissed them. Then he turned to-
ward the door, but in moment he had
come back.
'Mother-father 4" he said, 81 cannot
go, for know you have forgiven me?"
And tho raxf II tho ctroncr man xxas |