The Vancouver independent. (Vancouver, W.T. [Wash.]) 1875-1910, 1881-10-13
AFTER LONG YEARS.

wen, IL WnaC We Deen LOOKING Tor.
1 will take charge of the papers, and at
tend to the matter soon. Down East,
isn't it?''
Eyes, sir"
Mr.. Faxon put the papers into the
brast pocket of his coat, came down the
office stairs, and stepped into the glitter
ing, purple-lined phaeton, beside his
wife.
The delicate Arabian, Mrs. Faxon's
horse, sped away out of the city confines,
and soon tossed his jetty name along the
open roads, lined with gardens, ornate
cottages and villas.
Going away tomorrow, dear?" asked
Mrs. Faxon, suddenly lifting her fair
countenance, as she interrupted her hus-
band. You seem to be away all the
time lately. Take me with your"
mot this time, Violet"
And Violet Faxon's husband fell into q
fit of abstraction, from which the smart
est chatter failed tn arouse him.
They came at last to the Faxon mansion,
grand and simple, and fulfilling the pro-
mise of beautiful interior
Amid the white lace and crimson silk
of her chamber Violet was brushing out
her long fair hair, when her husband
paused in the doorway. and looked at
her sharply. Then he came slowly
across the room, and lifting the oval face
in his hand, looked closely at the ro-
seate cheek, pearly ear and curved eye
lashes.
"what is it?' asked Violet; sis it a
freokle?"
mo-" he answered, smiling family,
and walking across the chamber. "You
looked so like my sister, then--that was
ALL"
''Your sister, dear? You never told me
about her"
"No," 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, Wig
orous, he impressed one as strong char
acter. If, with q remarkably rich come
illness of countenance, there were some
sensual lines, there was also a certain
evidence of strong, good sense, and look
of deep experiences. Mr.. Faxon looked
like a 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 landed
at little station called Seabrook.
The dismal little building was set in a
llciu VI C1ONcI uIOuuu WAlCu u IOdu
wound away among the mounds of ver
dure.
After a glance around, Mr.. Faxon took
this road and walked slowly along. The
robins hoped across it; the bobolinks
sang in the trees over it. The unassum
ing white clover among the grass per-
fumed the cool morning air.
He passed only few houses, but he
nhaaruaJ fban, Automatically, fTbox, ii
old and humble farm houses. Appar-
emily this property, which had by the
foreclosure of mortgage fallen to Mr..
Faxon, was not situated in q very rich or
enterprising neighborhood.
When he had walked nearly mile be
came to green door-yard, among wide
spread apple-trees, with we'll sweep
among them, and residence, though
plain, more pretentious and more COM
Portable than the Others
There was O narrow and well-worn
path among the short grass and butter
cups to the porch, where a bitter sweet
twined its strong arms. In a corner,
under the verdure, was an arm chair,
with book on the seat, and cane lying
across ia gnarled, twisted stick of
hickory, that Faxon looked twice at.
The book he saw was Bible
There was an old lady. with a sweet,
faded face, and snowy cap-strings tied
under her double chin, knitting at
window near by, but his quiet steps had
not disturbed her.
He had PIT his hand to the knocker;
he took it down again as he caught sight
of this placid face. He stood there
quite still for several minutes. A gray
cat came and rubbed against 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 o strong pain in his dark
face now, as he stood looking down at
the porch floor.
After a moment he stepped off the
porch to 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
few hurried words. and the aged