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


But the old mans eyes swan in tears.
He rested both hands on the hickory
stick between his knees, as he sat in
corner, and bending his borehead upon
them, partially hid his face.
Eyes, yesl but it comes sort o. sudden
now" said the old man.
Mr.. Faxon sat in speechless sympathy.
After little pause, old Mr.. Derby
looked IN 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. L
think SO, don't you, mother?"
The old lady lay back among the
cushions of the dimity-covered chair.
She had look of physical weakness Mr.
Faxon had not observed before. She did
not speak.
Her husband looked at her attentiyely.
A sudden flush went over his thin face.
.Is is not for myself care-it is her!"
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 lynn so weary now in her lap, sir,
was put to. She was up early an late,
children. God never made better wife
an mother. And now, sir, it's hard, it's
hard, that she should be turned out of
her home in her old age!''
s'Hush, hush, Danielr' said the old
lady, softly. s'The Lord will provide:
and it's not long we have to stay in this
world you know"
"Will you tell me the history of the
place Mr.. Derby?" asked Mr.. Faxon.
Glow did you come to lose it?"
"It was mortgaged, sir" said the old
man, at last, ''to pay the boys college
bills. You see, we had three children
| Selwyn, Roscoe and little Annie. Mother
an I 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-an' by-an-by we
fitted them off for college. Bright,
| smart boys they were-everybody said
my boys had good parts, though Roc was
| always little wild. I 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 tru-
ant, 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 col
was steady as clock. Mother an I had
been scrapin' together for years and at
last we fitted them off.
eve went on denying of ourselves, for
it was just the one hope of our lives to
have the boys graduate with all the hon
ors; an time went on, but many of the
crops failed an there came disappoint-
ment here and disappointment there, an
failing to get together the money the
boys sent for-especially Roc-we mort
gagged the farm for five hundred dollars.
'.They were nearly through you see,
an mother and Annie thought that Sell
wyn might be principal of the academy
or something 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 I didn't like, as to how Roscoe was
up in his old wild ways; and at last it
came like o thunderbolt-Roc was sus-
pended 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 I saw that the son we
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
Annie was like Selwyn-go good an patient;
delicate-like, too. We didn't mind it at
first, but her cheeks grew thin an too
red; cough she had from child grew
harder, and though the best doctor we
could get came early an late, it was only
a year after Selwyn died before we laid
Annie down among the SHOWS. Thank
ye, sir, for your pity Mother an have
shed most of our tears"
Mr.. Faxon put his cambria handker-
chief back into his pocket.
'sYour other son, Roscoe, Mr.. Derby
did he never come home q
'sNever! It's nigh eight years since
we have seen Roc. He knew he disap-
pointed us; but that was nothin' was it
mother?"
ST never think of it, !" said Mrs. Derby,
shaking her head. .'Perhaps--I don't
kDow-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 al
ready. Your son, Roscoe Derby, who
ran away at nineteen years old, is proba-
bly, living, and it may come in my way
to obtain some information of him for
you."
The old people had risen eagerly
from their seats, but he went on,
quickly:
Meanwhile, be at no inconvenience
regarding your stay here in your old
home. Your right to occupy it is nm
questioned in my mind. and let me assure
you that you will never, during your
lifetimes, be required to go hence. There
is the mortgage placed some papers |
on the table-"the Derby place is your
own."
He rose. putting them gently back, as
they pressed toward him, trying to ex-
press their gratitude.
ssNo-no thanks! Believe me You owe
me nothing--nothing"