The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1881-11-24
[From the Living Age.l
MY FAITHFUL JOHNNY.

er a husbands letters should be
They were more like husbands let
ters, with very few protestations il
them, but a gentle, continued refer.
ence to her, and to their past life to.
gether, which was more touching than
any rhapsodies. She brought them tc
me often, folding down, with a blush
which made her look like the bloom
ing Ellen Of old, some corner Of espe-
cial tenderness, something that was
too sacred for strangers eye, but al
ways putting them back in her pocket
with word which sounded almost
like grudge, as who should say, For
this once all is well, but next time
you shall see." Thus she held on to
her happiness as by strained thread.
expecting every moment when it
would snap, and defying it to do so,
yet throbbing all the time with pas
sion Of anxiety, as day after day it
held out, proving her foreboding vain.
That winter, though l constantly saw
her, my mind was taken up by other
things than Ellen. 1t was then that
the children finally prevailed upon me
to leave the Road. A row of cheap
advertising shops had sprung up
facing US where had been the great
garden [ have so often mentioned,
and the noise and flaring lights We're
more than | could put up with, after
all my resistance to their wishes. So
that at last, to my great regret, but
the exultation of the young ones, it
was decided that we must go away.
The removal, and the hustle there
was, the change of furniture,-for our
old things would not do for the new
house, and Chatty, heaven save us!
had grown artistic, and even the little
ones and Fraulein Stimme knew a
great deal better than | did occupied
my mind and my time; and it took
still longer time to settle down than
It did to tear up our old roots. So
hat there was long interval during
which we saw little Of Ellen; and
though we never forgot her, or ceased
20 take an interest in everything that
concerned her, the distance of itself
threw us apart. Now and then she
'ald us a visit, always with Johns
etter in her pocket, but her time was
10 limited that she never could stay
ong. And sometimes |, and some
lines Chatty, made a pill grimage to
he old district to see her. But we
lever could have an uninterrupt ed |
ong talk in Pleasant Place. Either
ellen was called away, or Mrs. Har-
wood would come in and sit down with |
Ter work, always anxiously watching
Ter daughter. This separation from
he only people to whom she could
ak OF her own private and intimate
oncerns was further narrowing and
imitation Of poor Ellen's life. But
What could do? could not vex my
hildren for her sake. She told us
hat she went and looked at the old
louse almost every day, and at the
quare window in which I used to sit
nd see John pass. John passed no
Onger, nor was | there to see. But
Ellen remained bound in the same
pot, S eing everything desert her
owe, and friendship, and sympathy,
nd all her youth and her hope. Can
ou not fancy with what thoughts
his poor girl Though she was a girl
o longer would pause, as she passed,
0 look at the abandoned place so
Ioven in with the brightest episode
t her life, feeling herself stranded
here, impotent, unable to make
tep-her breast still heaving with
IL the vigor of existence, yet her life
ound down in the narrowest con-
racted circle? Her mother, who had
OF to watch her narrowly, told me
fterwards that she always knew
hen Ellen had passed No. 16; and
1deed | myself was rather glad to
ear that at length No. 16 had shared
he general fate, that my window ex-
Sted no longer, and that great shop
18th plate-glass windows was ulging
ut where our house had been. Bet
er when a place is desecrated that it
hould be deSecrated wholly, and have
o vestige of its old self at all.
Thus more than year glided away,
pring and winter, summer and au-
umn, and then winter again. Chatty
anne in one November morning, when
Iondon was half invisible, wrapped in
list and fog, with a very grave face,
0 tell ME that she had met Ellen, and
illen had told her there was bad news
rom John Il can't understand her."
hatty said. Il couldn't make out
that it was; that business had been
ad, and things had gone wrong; and
hen something with sort of laugh
nat he had got other thoughts in his
lind at last, as she knew all along he
'ould, and that she was glad. What ;
ould she mean?'' I did not know
hat she could mean, but | resolved
} 60 and see Ellen to astertain what
he change was. 1t is easier, howev-
r, to say than to do when one is full
ones own affairs, and so it hap !
ened that for a full week, though
to go every day, [ never did
}. 1t was partly my fault. The
,miiy affairs were many, and the
amily interests engrossing. 1t was
OF that [ cared for Ellen less, but my
wn claimed me on every hand.
When one afternoon, about fort
light after, | was told that Miss Har-
-ood was in the drawing-room and
-ished to speak to me, my heart up
raided me with my neglect. | hur-
led to her and led her away from that
ublic place where everybody came
nd went, to my own little sitting
oom, where we might be alone. Ell
IN was very pale; her eyes looked
cry dry and bright, not dewy and
oft as they used to be. There was a
everish look of unrest and excitement
bout her. There is something
Trong," | cried. What is it? Chat
y told me-somethlng about John"
Il don't know that it is anything