The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1881-06-11

giving a dim light, its long wick not
having been snuffed for some minutes;
for Aunt Betsy had put on her specta-
cles to read a few verses, which eXer-
else at such an unusual hour caused her
to feel drowsy; and unconsciously let
ting the Bible sink gently in her lap, she
closed her eyes. But she was not per-
mitted to sleep long. Suddenly the IN
valid awoke, and sat boltupright in bed
a wild light was in her eye.
"Aunt Betsy, Aunt Betsy!" she cried,
"I've been dreaming about William.
But look there he is. Don't you see
him sitting in that chair? See! he IS
covered with blood! He is turning his
head round this way. Oh, what a look!
Why, he is diving. My darling, I'm
coming With shrill cry, Mary
sprang forward, and fell with her face
en- the coverlet.
Aunt Betsy gently lifted her back to
her place without resistance on her part.
The sudden outburst of energy was fol-
lowed by q reaction. Mary remained IN
a stupor, from which she had not awaK-
ened when the doctor came next day.
Aunt Betsy told him what had occur
red. The doctor listened attentively to
every word, after which he looked at the
young mother lying so calm and still;
the color was gone from her cheeks, her
breathing was so low as to be hardly
perceptible; then he said, slowly: +" She
will awake again-probably in the even
ing. Be in readiness"
The sun was sinking in the golden
west when Mary opened her eyes.
"Aunt Betsy!'' she whispered.
"Here am, dear. You have had q
long Sleep
"Where is my baby? Hold him be-
fore me, please. My William" Mary
continued when the child was disposed
so as she could get full view of it,
"has gone on long journey-don't look
surprised, Aunt Betsy-he has gone on
a long journey, and | am going too, very
soon. Take care of baby, Aunt Betsy,
and call him William, please. He will
never remember his father and mother;
but he will see his fathers form one day
and mind you tell him to lay his father
in my grave. Kiss me, Aunt Betsy; |
feel so tired.' ,osai". e...
Before night threw its mantle over the
earth, Mary Pollarrack's spirit had fled.
No further attempt was made to re-
cover the body of William 'Pollarrack.
Everybody admitted it would have been
of no use. The Adventures had already
decided to abandon the mine; and it
was the general opinion that it would
not be worth while to clear the
run, which could not be done except at
great expense, to find a corpse. Better
to devote part of the money it would
cost to the maintenance of the unfor-
tunate miners orphan. This was ac-
cordingly done. The sum of two hun
dred and fifty pounds was voted by the
Company to be invested in the name of
trustees for the use of the child, who re-
manned in the care of his great-aunt
Betsy. She lived to see her charge
grow up to mans estate. 1t was her
desire that he should be taught some
trade, anything rather than mining; but
young Williams prediction in favor of
his fathers calling was so strong that
it was useless to think of opposing him.
He was allowed to follow the bent of his
mind. Beginning about the slime-pits,
he passed through the several initiatory
stages at surface; then he was allowed
to 60 underground, as boy, at thirty
shillings month, and in due time he
was admitted on equal terms with the
men. All this while he was not neglect
ing the improvement of his mind; fol-
lowing the judicious advice of Aunt
Betsy, he attended, when able, the night
classes held in connection with the c.
Institute.
His steady conduct attracted the at
tention of an influential mine-captain
under whom he worked, and who, find
ing the young fellow more intelligent
and better educated than miners gener-
ally, promoted him from time to time,
and eventually procured him a situation
as under-agent at mine in Devonshire.
William lost Aunt Betsy before receiv-
ing this good appointment; but he had
the satisfaction of knowing that she felt
amply repaid for the pains she had taken
with him; she had seen enough to be
satisfied that her trouble was not thrown
away. 1t was not until she was near
her end that she told him his mothers
last words. The general circumstances
of his fathers fate had been early made
known to him; and in common with
other boys of his own age he used to ex-
perience certain terror when passing
by the shaft where his father had met
his fearful doom. This feeling wore off
as he grew older, yet he could not but
think at times of his father, whom he
had never seen, lying SO many hundreds
of feet down in the earth. And when
Aunt Betsy related the manner of his
mothers death, and the words she had
uttered just before, he promised faith
fully to carry out her dying wish, if ever
his fathers remains should be brought
to light. I,i u.l H.n4.tl ~ I'D
Some months after Williams taking
his post at the Devonshire mine, one of
the men there died underground, which
greatly affected him. The
man had been working with boy in
branch shaft when, saying that he felt
unwell, he left his comrade to go to the
surface. On the boy subsequently, MAX
ing inquiries for him, he could not learn
that he had been seen at surface since
be first went down to work; nor had he
gone straight home, as the lad found on
calling there. His wife being alarmed,
hurried back to the mine with the youth,
and persuaded two miners to go down
and search for the missing man. They