Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1881-07-19
AFTER LONG YEARS.


Icon O. Cgast in the Culitornion.
AFTER LONG YEARS.
"What is this, Burt ?"
"Th1s is the mortgage of an estate call
ed the Derby Place, Mr.. Faxon, fore
closed more than year, I believe"
"Well, it's what I've been looking for
I will take charge of the papers and at
tend to the matter soon. Down East,
isn't it ?"
"Yes, SIR"
Mr.. Faxon put the papers into the
breast pocket of his coat, came down the
office stairs and stepped into the glitter
ing, purple lined ph@tOn, beside his
wife.
The delicate Arabian, Mrs. Faxon's
horse, sped away out ofthe city confines,
and soon tossed his jetty name along
the open roads, lined with gardens, orn-
ate cottages and villas.
"Going away tomorrow, dear ?" ask
ed Mrs. FaxOn, suddenly lifting her fair
countenance, as she interrupted her
husband. "You seem to be away all the
time lately. Take me with you"
mot this time, Violet"
And Violet FaXon's husband fell into
a fit of abstraction, from which the
smartest chatter failed to arouse him.
They came at last to the Faxon man
sion, grand and simple, and fulfilling
the promise of q beautiful interior.
And amidst the white lace and GRIM
son silk of her chamber, Violet was brush
ing out her long fair hair, when her hus-
band paused in the doorway, and look
ed at her sharply. Then he came slowly
+, n n kk,c fno
in his hand, looked closely at the rose
ate cheek, pearly ear. and curved eye
lashes.
"What is it ?" asked Violet "a free
kle?"
"No," he answered, smiling family
and stepping across the chamber. "You
looked like my sister, then-that was all.
"Your sister, dear? You never told
me about her."
mo-" he answered, and said no more.
Mr.. FaXOn bore no resemblance to his
delicate patrician wife. A little less
than thirty-dark, strongly built, active,
vigorous, he impressed one as strong
character. If, with a remarkable rich
cOmeliness of countenance, there were
some sensual lines, there was also GER
tain evidence of strong, good sense, and
look of deep experiences. Mr. FaxOn
looked like man who carried weight.
He was up and away at daybreak the
next day. An early train bore him east
ward, and nine o'clock found him land
ed at a little station called Seabrook.
The dismal little building was set in
q field of clover, around which q road
wound away among the mounds of ver-
due.
After a glance around, Mr.. Faxon took
this road, and walked slowly along. The
robins hoped across it; the bobbolinks
sang in the trees over it. The unassum-
ing white clover among the grass per-
fumed the cool merning air.
He paased only few houses, but he
observed them attentively. They were
all old and humble farm houses. Ap.
parently this property, which had by
the foreclosure of q mortgage fallen to
rich or enterprising neighborhood.
When he had walked nearly mile he
came to green door-yard, among wide
among them, and a residence, though
plain, more pretentious and more COM
Portable than the others.
There was a narrow, aud well-wOrn
path among the short grass and butter
cups to the porch, where a bitter-sweet
twined its strong arms. In corner,
under the verdure, was .an arm chair,
with book on the seat, and cane ly-
ing across it-a gnarled, twisted stick of
hickory, that Faxon looked twice at
The book he saw was Bible.
There was an old lady, with sweet,
faded face, and snowy cap-strings tied
under her double chin, knitting at q
window near by, but his quiet step had
not disturbed her.
He had put his hand to the knocker !;
he took 1t down again as he caught sight
of this placid face. He stood there quite
still for several minutes. A gray cat
came and rubbed a. ainst his leg. Some
apple blossoms, floating down, touched
his cheek.
At length the gentle lips moved.
"Father," said the mild old lady, "you
had better lie down and take rest"
"Such old people, and have come to
take their home away" said Mr.. Faxon.
There was strong pain in his dark
face now, as he stood looking down at
the porch floor.
After a moment he stepped off the
porch on the further side, and walked
away under the apple-trees.
When Mr.. Faxon came back from his
brief stroll, his presence, as he crossed
the yard, was observed.
A white-haired old man, who had
come to the open door and taken up the
hickory stick, turned back hastily with
a few hurried words, and the aged wo
man dropped her knitting and rose up
with paleness dropping over her face.
But, while Mr.. Faxon hesitated on
the porch again, both came to the door.
Sad, startled faces, they both had, but
they were civil. Their greeting was
kindly, as to a friend.
"My name is Faxon," said the visitor,
81"
1--WE know who you be, sir" said the
old man; we know who you be, though
we have never seen you before. Will
you come in ?"
Mr.. Faxon stepped across the white
hall floor into the quaint, cool and COM
Portable sitting-room.
The rough blue paper, like chintz, on
the wall, some honesty" and dried
grasses in Opaque white vases upon the
high, narrow mantle-piece, unconsci-
ously struck his eye while he took bis
seat, his mind occupied with other
thoughts.
"We've been long expectin' you, sir, }"
said the old lady.
Her hands, clasped on her spotlesa
gingham apron upon her lap, trembled
a little, but the serenity of her manner
Was not much changed.
But the old mans eyes swan in tears.
He rested both hands on the hickory