Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1881-05-25

/ sad II again, AS II questioned MN.
- Yes. | mean Just what | say. Your
fathers been late every morning this
week, and the master won't stand it-not
likely. So you're all to turn out OF your
cottage tomorrow for the new shepherd.
Go home and make AS much of the place
tonight, rs it'll be gone morrow At
first was afraid to stir, for | thought if |
did | should fall; but rs soon rs could |
/ crept away from the mans sight. Out in
| he darkness again, all my strength came
back, and ran home faster even than |
had to the hall, crying mothers name all
the way, without knowing what it meant.
The cottage door was open when |
reached it. | think she'd put it open to
guide us-father and me; and looked in,
actually afraid for the first time in my
/ life to meet mother. She was sitting By
! the fire, her face white, and the tears
! falling all the time. While | stood
wondering how to tell her about father,
my sobs burst out and frightened her.
/ But | was by her sids then, and fell on
my knees, and laid my head in her lap
1t was Just then, Jim, that remembered
my little uniedged birds and their ruined
nome, and the mother who had lost them.
I anu lOlutil INV ututls anu lOOhcu up luLO
mothers face almost as if she had been
God. I'm never do it again-never nev
er! never. didn't know it was SO terri
| bic. III put them back Aferward, 8,
while | told her all that Tom had said,
| tried not to see her face, and tried still
more, jim, not to see that old cage in the
/ far corner of the kitchen, where my little
/ prisoners were. When I'd done, mother
got up from her seat, and put on her shawl
and bonnet. No, no, mother | cried,
quite quietly, though, for fear of waking
baby; you mustn't 20 out; you'll be i'll
again, and its quite dark Oh, let me go!
] She stopped and kissed me. It's no place
for you my child. Take care of baby.
| She couldn't say another word, and
could only watch her GO as she had
watched me, thinking what d have given
/ to be able to 90 and take care of her
! &" sat close to baby cradle, and stared
/ into the fire as if thit wide stare could
keep the tears away; but all the while |
/ didn t see the fire at all, but other things
OH, Jim, so plainly!
The white light crept through the
kitchen window, then the sun rose, and
still father and mother didn't come. The
3 sun WIS Sululn8 upHs 'luu Nlllo vas btlC
very day we were to 90, so | woke the
twins, and dressed them, and wrapped
baby ready, and put the room In order,
all without word. for was to miserable
to cry. At last father and mother came
in, very slowly and silently, and father
put his hand on my head, and mother took
baby, and then | knew We were bidding
good.by to the little home where we had
been so happy, and | didn't want to cry,
though my heart was breaking, so | crept
away to the woods for q few minutes.
felt that everything would seem better
there, where | should see the sunshine on
the leaves and grass and flowers, and hear
the birds songs among the bonghs, max
inc the leaves seem full of music, as had
so often heard them; and even higher
still, among the soft white clouds, where
ia often thought that even the angels
must like to hear them, STOPPING to lis EN-
when their own songs were silent for q
bit. But. Jim, when l came into the
wood, there was no note of all these
bright glad songs.
The whole wood was heavy with a
dismal silence; and then | knew that it
was my fault that the birds were unhappy,
and would never sing again. what could
do? Was it all too lateP Sobblng bitter
ly, ran home to fetch the little orphan
birds, and give the mother back her chill
dren and her home. All, jim, what a
change | found in our own dear home
The little kitchen that had always seemed
so snug and bright and cheerful was empty
and bare. Nowhere IN the cottage was
there a step or voice to be heard; only
was left there, and with me, IN that nesl
in the old cage, five little dead birds,
" The dream had been so real, Jim,
that my cry terrified gentleman VINO was
riding past IN the darkness, and heard 1t
He dismounted, and csme into the cottage
kitchen, and | saw 1t was the master
Were YOU asleep, Ned? he asked, IN hi:
kind way. Did you cry out in youI
sleep? Scarcely knowing l had dreamed
told him all about taking the nest, anl
disobeying him, and ABOUT tue woods be
ing silent, and how | came home anc
mother gone, and the birds dead; anC
when he looked kindly at me, fell dowr
on my knees and begged him to forgive
me, and not take our home away from
mother, but to send only me away, be
cause Il taken lhe nest, anu 10 let latuel
and mother and the children stay. Ther
he questioned me till d repeated all tha
lom Harris had told me when | went tc
ask for father; and said how father haC
never been TO the public before that night
and how mother mad been to fetch HIM
| though she was ill. Then he put out hi
kind hand and lifted me up.
, - am glad | heard you as | passed,
he said. Harris has been decelving you
Ned. You might have guessed that
because he is So fond of frightening you
and has grudge against your father
But this amounts 10 wlckedneSs, and ht
snail be punished. guess how 1t Is, my
lad. Your father is in the shed in the faI
> meadow with the sick COW, l dare say
he couldn't send message from there
and has all the while expected he woulC
be able to come home in few minutes
You may be sure he Is as anxious 10 CONT
} AS you are to see him, but he never neg
, lects sick animal. Dry your eyes, M
lad, for the cottage is your home still, an
it doesn't look at all ruined" | think
Now build up the fire, and wait for YOU
mother. I'll see about your father
"Oh, Jim, can you fancy what it wa
: I like thenp I nut my head into the cradle