The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1881-02-02

he should separate himself from the
world, even as she had done. When,
therefore, Charles announced to her
his intention of sending the boy to
Cambridge, it was to her a cruel and
4 bitter blow.
For a few moments she sat in 81
lence, the gloom deepening on her
face, and her heart growing icier than
ever within her.
at will not be with my will or
consent" she said at length, "that
he goes. But, know my will and
wish have no weight with you,
and that you delight to thwart
Them"
NAY, mother" said he, mildly,
Il am thinking only of Teddy's
good. 1t would be far pleasanter
for me to have him at home, but
both DR.. Vardy and Mr.. L. 'Oste have
assured me that Teddy has remark
able abilities, and that he ought to
go. The boy himself is eager to 60;
and | know he will distinguish him
sslf, if honest work can bring him
distinction"
''And what good" she flashed
out, "will his distinction do him +?
knowledge puffeth up and it shall
vanish away. There is but one
thing needful, and of that he is like
" to learn little among gay and
thoughtless youths, whose homes
are all of this world. You are will
ing to crafty your own small and
worldly ambition, by sacrificing the
boys only true interest"
Mother" he pleaded. IL wish
you would be a little more reasona-
bic
"Ay, 'reason!"' she broke in.
"Reason is the will-'o-the-wisp that
leads you astray, not only to your
own undoing, but that Of others.
You think yourself wise; and you
may be wise in the ways of this
world, but God has said, 81 will de-
stroy the wisdom of the wise, 1 will
bring to nothing the understanding
of the prudent
She was ready with quotations at
every turn to justify herself, and
condemn her son. He would have
avoided giving her pain, had he
known how to do SO, but having
made up his mind as to what was
best for the lad, he did not shrink
from carrying it out; and as he
walked the fields alone, month after
month, he was oppressed by dull
sorrow, which he was compelled to
bear in utter solitude, for to no liv-
ing soul could he complain of his
mother. His only consolation was,
that in his college career Teddy fully
justified every expectation that had
been formed of him.
His last long vacation had come,
and he was to spend it with his old
school chum, who had been his
dearest friend also at college, lat
had left the university in the pre-
ious year. Turenne Jermyn was
a young man whose friendship was
worth having, clear-headed, sound
hearted, of exuberant vitality. He
had often heard from Teddy OF
dear old Charlie" and in arrang-
ing for this long vacation an earnest
invitation had been given that he
should join them. 1t offered a
tempting break in dull, monoton-
Gus life and was accepted.
Sir Frederick Jermyn's seat lay
on the slope of a lovely Berkshire
hill, shut round by woods, but over.
looking wide and charming land
scape. As Charles Pemberton pass
ed the lodge gates, and saw on eth
er side the evidences of wealth and
social station, he began to regret
his acceptance, feeling that he would
scarcely be at his ease amid sur
so much above his own
state. The cordiality of
his welcome, however soon chased
away these missgivings, and he had
not been many hours at Wilmore
Court before new set of feelings
took possession of his mind.
He had exchanged greetings with
Sir Frederick, Turenne, and his
brother, was reading with their as
sistance, the noble view from the
window. when he was conscious of
presence in the room, and
turning beheld Miss Jermyn, con-
corning whom, curiously, Teddy
in his letters had said no.
thing, but whose presence, as
he though, made of the hall
a temple. Not that she was a beau
ty. 4 fair-haired girl, with large
gray eyes and rather blunt features,
there was nothing of classic grace
about her; but in every line of her
fair face there was the light of a beau
tiiul soul. There was a faint flush
on her face, and two good little dim
pies marked her pleasant smile,
as, looking straight into his face,
with frank, clear eyes, she held out
her hand to greet him, and made a
captive of him forever.
Your BROTHER" she said, SIS al
ready one of the family, and he has
made you well SO known to US that l
feel as though l were welcoming an
old friend"
Thank you very much," said he.
Il hope may yet be privileged to
give you better reason for regarding
me as SUCH"
That night, as he sat in his room,
long after the household was asleep
he could but ask himself, with a |
beating heart, whether it were pos
sible that there was in store for him |
a compensation for much weariness
in his life hitherto, SO soimmeasurably |
rich as the love of this girl. Was
he too old to hope for this bliss? He
was barely thirty-seven in years,
and he was younger in that he had
never been hackneyed in the ways |
of love, and his heart had never
bowed to a meaner passion. When
he descended next morning, there /
was the light of hope and love in |
his face.
"Why, Charlie, exclaimed Teddy, |
show young you look! If you grow |
at this rate while you are |