The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1880-01-31
WHOLE No. 1898

Lord is good. God be merciful to me a
sinner. Brethring, can't you pray?'
There was but one answer to the pa
thetic agony Of that appeal. Deacon
Adkins rose and prayed as if his lips had
been touched with a coal from the altar,
and there were sympathetic tears in the
hardest eyes there before he finished,
while Paine low Sobs were heard at in
tervals as if they were the very convul-
sions Of a breaking heart.
LET us sing
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,"
said the deacon, after his prayer was over,
and when the last line of that noble dox-
olgy floated away into the rafters, they
all gathered round to shake hands and
express their deep sympathy with the
repentant and bereaved father. 1t was
almost too much for Squire Paine; the
breaking up of the great deep within had
worn upon him exceedingly; humbled,
sad, yet wonderfully peaceful as his spirit
felt, still the flesh trembled and was weak.
He was glad when Roxy came up, and,
taking hold of his arm, led him home
ward.
Was he glad or death-smitten, or, as
he thought, suddenly in the heavenly
places, when his own door opened before
his hand touched the latch, and Louise,
darting forward, threw her arms about
his neck?
LAND o liberty shrieked Roxy
Do You want to kill your pa outright?
And how came We here anyway? We
heered you an him was both stun-dead!'
Roxy's curt and curious interposition
seemed to restore the equilibrium sud
denly. Squire Paine did not faint, and
Louise actually laughed. Here was some
thing natural and homely to shelter in
after the dream-like agitation of the day.
mo, said Louise's clear voice, 1--WE
want hurt, not much-only stunned and
scared bit. But there was two in the
next seat who-well they Won come to
their folks Aunt Roxy. We thought
maybe you would be anxious. and then
somebody said, right before us, that we
were both killed, and they'd sent the
news over to Bassett; SO we thought the
best thing to do was to come back and
show ourselves. Here's 'Lisha.'
Squire Paine must have been converted. |
for he shook his son-in-law's hand with |
all goodwill, and kissed his daughter
heartily. His voice was somewhat weak |
and husky, but he managed to say, so as |
to be heard, AN now we've got home |
reilly, you got to stay home. sha mt |
hev no more sech risks run. An, 'Lisha, |
we'll open the store real early to-morrer.
dono when it's ben shut twenty-four
hours before
This was all he said: for the New Eng |
land man, saint or sinner, has few words |
when feeling is strongest: but the squire |
actions spoke for him. He never referred |
to the past but strove with his might to
live a new and righteous life. Not all at |
once the granite gave place to gold; there
HSiC loobo Vi DiltcliitS ttuSt SUllN VI |
the old Adam, many and often, but none
who had once known him doubted that |
Squire Paine was changed man. At |
his own earnest request he was allowed
to make new profession of religion;
and after relating his experiences in due
form to the assembled deacons, he wound |
up the recital in this fashion: at was
the Lords hand done it fin lily, breth-
ring; but, next to Him, | owe this here |
real conversion to Roxanny Keep
"1allelooiah.' exclaimed Aunt Roxy.
when Mrs. Deacon Adkins betrayed her
good husbands confidence far enough to
tell her this. Il tell ye. Miss Adkins, l |
took my life in my hand that mornin',
but | felt call to do it. Ye know,
David killed Goliath with a pebble, moth
in more; an alters could sling straight"
Harpe,'s Monthly Magazine.