The Republican journal., 1881-02-03

| III lHC puioCo VI luO SiCdU Olu-IdSulUilCu
clock in the corner, and both the women
had begun to feel alarmed at the deacon's
prolonged absence, when they caught the
click of the gate latch, and heavy tread
along the foot path They saw him stop
as usual at the wooden trough at the well
and wash his hands there, and then he
came into the kitchen.
"Why, father" began Mrs. Palmer,
with a little witely admonition, ''what
has kept YOU so long? really began to
get scared about YOU"
"And the supper isabout burnt to Gin
ders,' added Rebecca, who was in some
thing of Il hurry to get the table cleared
| in time for singing school.
he deacon was a square built, sun
Drowned man, with shaggy eyebrows and
weather beaten face. He came forward
to the table with a slow, CROPPING move
nent, which neither of the pre- occupied
women noticed, and he cleared his throat
twice before he spoke.
81 was detained short time on some
matter Of my own :" and Mrs. Palmer and
Rebecca at once concluded that he was
alluding to some bargain with aneighbor.
.Don't you sec the chair there, faith
u dShttl htDtCGo. lUl lllt Oli lldl
stood still as statue before the table,
though his daughter had Just placed his
seat al his elbow, and now he sat down
without speaking word.
"Nhy, husband, | do believe YOU are
deaf tonight; you have not taken your
hat off yet 2" exclaimed the astonished
Mrs. Palmer.
'Don't, wife, don't" and the old man
laid his straw hat on the floor beside him.
The two women bent their heads rev
erently over the board, waiting for the
deacon to invoke his customary blessing
upon the meal, but no sound broke the
stiffness.
Mrs Palmer looked up at her husband.
His head, too, was bent over his plate,
and Il stream of le-light, which fell
on his face, revealed it full to her gaze
",John, there has something happened
to you tonight" she said, leaning toward
him, and breathlessly searching his face.
A deep, convusve sort Of groan heaved
ont of the deacOns lips, and both of the
women grew white as they heard it.
go, what is it, father? DO tell u.s."
tiuttered up the frightened voice Of Re
becca.
Mrs. Palmer rose, and went to her hus-
band, and laid her shaking fingers on his
hard hand.
20, John, it amt anything about Reu-
ben p
She cried out the words as one might
if a sword had struck suddenly into his
heart.
Rebccca had sat still at the table, her
sweet face struck white with wonder and
fear, and her brown eyes fastened on her
parents; but she now sprang up, and
dropped down on her knees at the dea-
cons feet:
"Oh, father, do say it is not Reuben -
and her voice is like her mothers.
The deacon opened his lips but he
could not speak. He took the hand of
his wife and child, and covered them
With bis own trembling ones.
"Oh, I.ord, have mercy" groaned the
stricken man, and then they knew.
Mrs. Palmer crept up to her husband,
and whispered in a faint, broken voice
"Just say my boy isn't dead, father.
can bear anything else"
And the deacon made no answer; but
the great tears rolled down his turroWed
cheeks, and it was enough.
The tidings Of the disastrous battle at
Long Island, which closed the summer of
l776, had filled the land with mourning
for thousands of widows and orphans had
been made in that terrible hour when 50
many brave Americans lay dead on the
battle field and the news of the success
full skirmish which took place the follow
ing month near Kings Bridge in New
York, was everywhere hailed with glad
ness and gratitude, and the little village
OF Woodstock bore its part in the general
rejoicing on that autumnal night when
the stage first brought in the tidings.
The deacon's family was the only one
in Woodstock to whom the news brought
any sorrow, for it was in this engagement
that Reuben had fallen. He was a great
faVorite through the village, and every
heart was filled with sadness, when it
thought Of that bright, handsome face
lying stark and rigid on the battle etield.
1t was late that evening when Parson
Hunter entered the stricken house, for
friends and neighbors feared to intrude
on its awful grief But the tender-heart-
ed minister could not rest till he had car
rled the sweet balm of his love and faith
into their broken hearts.
ParsOn Hunter was a tall, white haired
old man, a fine representative of the
staunch old Puritan minister, but beneath
some statelnesS and austerlty OF manner
beat heart where were all fair and fra
grant blossoms and golden fruits of char
ity and love-a heart in whose pleasant
and goodly paths the angels loved to walk
with thair ChjninT toppS and of uhnp)
they wrote:
''Of such is the kingdom of heaven"
The minister found the family in the
kitchen, where he left it, entirely crushed
down by grief which expressed itself
neither by means nor tears.
Mrs. Palmer sat in the large arm chair
before the fire, where her husband had
placed her, the crimson light tiuttering
over her face, which seemed frozen to
stone, and her fearless eyes fastened in a
blank gaze on the wall and it is well,
perhaps, that alarm for her reason or her
life had somewhat diverted the thoughts
Of the deacon and his daughter from the
dead to the living, though it seemed to
the minister that the last hour had done
the work of years for both of them.
''Nly friends,' said the minister, speak
ing in his deep solemn tones, ~ should
not have come into your house of mourn
ing tonight, feeling that the Lord could
speak to your hearts better than but
remembered that it was twenty four years
ago this very month when you brought
Reuben up to the altar to dedicate him
to God, and felt that had right and
a title to come"
And these words unlocked Mrs Palm
er's face. She turned suddenly toward
the old man, as the vision of that Sunday
morning rose and walked up its long path
OF years, and stood before her.
''l see him? | see him." she sobbed
out, with his little brown curls -dancin'
round bis face, and the merry brown
eyes blinking under them. My little
Reuben, he was the sweetest baby that
ever gladdened mothers heart, and |