Morning journal and courier., 1880-05-07
Annette FFrom the Golden Rule.

All III IuS pAfty GACepbluB Lu6 Sulu0 AUQ myself had gone to the neighboring camp. Un-
 cle Ben and I were seated on huge rock hoI- lowed in the centre which nature had provid : ed as 8 fireplace for us the flames were leap- ing high in the air, throwing fantastic shad- ows on the trees Uncle Ben sat busily mend ing net preparing for the next days fishing, I silently watching him, wondering whether any romance and fallen into his pro- saic life. Uncouth had awkward as he WAS, I | felt attracted to him because of the mingled strength, shrewdness and tenderness of his character.
 At last he broke the silence by saying: ''Well, if the wind don't change we shall get good haul of fish to-morrer. Yes,a good haul, maam."
 "Uncls Ben" asked, ''have you always l lived in Main ?"
 ''Yes, nigh upon fifty years, excepting nine
 months when was in Californy, about ten years ago."
 But why did you stay so short time, and why did you go? Please tell me all about it."
 "Why there isn't much to tell, :" he answer ed. ''1 was half sick folks said there was | nothing would cure me this way, but should l sartin sure get well in Californy.' So I start ed, thinkin' I'd get health and work there. 1 and by and-by could send for my family. | had long voyage, but every day grew bet ter, and by the time I got to Californy I was all right agin. Then got place on 8 ranch, | earned my board and little besides to send home but tell you was downright lone-
 some, and mighty glad to get letters, but ev- cry time my woman wrote she wanted me to come right home to Maine. l was planin. | to send for her in couple of years, when at l last came three letters from folks in the vil-
 Isge tellin' me if didn't come home soon | shouldn't have any wife, she was a frettin' and grieven' so, for fear she'd never see me ag'in. | Then she wrote if I'd only come back she'd | be willin' to live on potatoes frozen at that. | tell you, that argument fetched me, and l just packed up and started, and rather guess 1 in at the door,"
 By the irelight saw tear on the old trap l per's cheek.
 l ''Yes," he continued, s'thats the only time
 I've been moved to quit home. I can't un- | derstand how some men can leave their
 women as they do. Even goin' out blueberry- | in take twice ag'in as much comfort if my Annette is with me-"
 There was something very pathetic in this | plain mans love for his wife-his wife, who was on the other side of the mountain from
 us keeping, with her boys, the little farm
 during the summer months. while her hus- band guided the parties coming up into the | wilderness from the far away cities" The following day, as Uncle Ben had pre- | dicted, we had good 'thaul of fish :" but I | noticed that every now and then he glanced | toward an ominous cloud of smoke hanging | over the mountain.
 "What is that, Uncle Ben ?" asked. l "A fire in the woods. My little farm lies
 thereabouts, and if the wind changes I fear l nothing can save 1t.
 l He said no more, but was gravely silent. I knew his heart was with Annette. At Rnight
 the wind did change, but alas! in the wrong l direction. We told him to leave us at once ;
 we could stay alone that night, and he could
 return to us the next day. It needed no urg- | ing for him to step into his boat his sinewy
 arms sent it swiftly through the dark waves, | and in Q moment he was lost to view. l We returned to our camp fre but not to | tell stories or sing songs as we usually did, | but to watch the silent stars above, and to
 listen to the splash of the waves opon the sands. Our thoughts were with Annette, and | the brave man going to her relief. Our guide did return the next day, but not
 alone; Annette was with him. Uncle Ben
 awkwardly, but with tender, chivalric spirit,
 helped his wife from the boat.
 "We have no home now, ma'am," he said, l turning to me.
 Annette could not speak she trembled, and
 sat down on the fallen trunk of a tree.
 ''She is well nigh used up," the guide con-
 tinued, in a broken voice, Ca fghtin' of the
 flames. I got there just in season, for she'd | used up all her strength savin' the goods. | Yes, maann, she saved nearly everything, and sent them by Jim down to the village, five
 miles away. We have left the children there | at a neighbors Then he added, with 6
 touch of pride and love in his tone, '.But I
 brought her along, for she wanted to be with
 me to day, and thought you would be will | lin, under the circumstances"
 Willingl Of course we were willing. We
 drew her to the tent, and she laid down on
 the hemlock boughs to rest. remained be- | side her little while. Her face was strong, | loving and beautiful, but deadly pale. I no ticed that she did not breathe naturally, and
 spoke of it.
 Tt is my heart, fear. Will you call Ben | jamin, please?"
 He came to her, knelt by her side, took her dear hand in his two strong ims. We chafed her feet and hands, gave her brandy.
 What else could we do Miles away from any l physician, we were helpless. | Annette watched her husband with all her wifely love and tenderness in her eyes. At | last she gasped:
 "We-shall- be- nearer than when | you-were-away-dear. I-shall-be-al- | wRys-near-you."
 We left them together in the tent, and \ sought the rocks on the beach. When night
 came, Annette's strong, brave spirit had fled. l In the twilight broken-spirited man stole ! frcm the tent and went into the forest. We
 ken'B rot what was there revealed to him, but
 ~hs II be returned we feltas if there, upon the