The Indianapolis leader. (Indianapolis, Ind.) 1879-1890, 1881-10-22
THE DEACON'S DREAMS.

MARY, look at the bread, won't you? II
done, guess"
"In u minute, mother" and the youn
girl bent still lower over the book she W,
reading. A footstep sounded upon the vel
beaten yard, and both mother and daughtt
started nervously, the latter slipping ht
book hurridly out of sight, and startin
toward the stove.
81 might just as well give up first as las
L suppo-e."
"Oh, Willie, did father say you couldn
go2''
1t was the little girl who spoke, and he
face famed red and hot as she turned to he
brother.
"Of course he didl l might have know
it" he added, in choked voice, "but L di,
think that surely he would consent when b.
knew how much wanted to go to College
and how hard L had tried to prepare for en-
terlng this fall "
"Did you tell him about it, Willie?"
"Yes, but he only said | needn't say an
other word; he had set his foot down thai
his boys should be farmers, and farmers haC
no need of college; it only made them lazy
and stuck-up-lazy and stuck-upl As if
wouldn't work my fingers to the bone and
study all night long, if oniy"-and his voice
broke away In sob.
He was sixteen; a great, shy, awkward
boy; with promise of manly beauty on the
smooth face, and broad, white brow; a pro-
phecy of noble manhood in tue clear eyes,
and the firmly set lips and well poised
head
This was his ambition: to go to College.
to know the many, many things that stu =.
dents knew; by day and by night it had
been his one wild hope, sleeping or waking,
ever present with him.
Il do think it's too bad, and father is Just
rs mean as he can bel L don't care!" she
exclaimed deiantly, turning determinedly
away from her mothers admonit Dry, Mary
Mary Child" Il don't carel If father
wanted US all to hate him he couldn't try
harder than he is doing all the time to bring
1t about. There isn't day that be doesn't
set his foot down." as he says, to something
we all hate and protest against. You know
as well as do, that if hadn't been for
some things Lis beth would never have left
home, ana if he don't mind, there'll be one
or two others missing one of these morn
ings."
And having "said her say" she turned her
flashing gray eyes and flushed, burning face
away from them toward the heated oven
where, after giving the nicely baked bread
vigorous thump and shake, she deposited
it again, instead of upon the table, she
should have done.
.Well, grieving won't do my work." said
the boy, with pitiful attempt at cheer
fulness. Ill just have to quit thinking
about it, that's ALP and he walked slowly
away from the house, and off over the
meadow lot, with sad, hopeless air that
made the mothers heart ache. A whittier
- fha GO.
and the lines about her mo nth settled into
tense rgidiLy as Mrs Heyworth's eyes fol-
lowed her son. Was it right2 Was it Just
that her children's lives should thus be
cramped and narrowed down to the stand
ard of one little soul2
So well she knew her children's troubles
that she could not at heart blame them for
this sudden outburst that had taken place.
She went about her work in cherries,
mechanical sort of way. Ever and anon
she recalled the words of Mary with y
SILVER: "If he don't mind, there'll be one or
two others missing one of these mornings"
Would it really end in that at last2 Al
ready they were searching elsewhere for the
freedom to think and act that was denied at
home Was it right that all the sunshine,
all the happiness should be crushed out of
their lives? She knew that it was not, and
had not she an equal right to determine
upon their future with their father?
The sunbeams slowly heightened, creep
ing up and over her feet, her work, and her
folded hands, until they flashed upon her
with q sudden blindness.
"Come Mary it's most time for supper,
md father'll soon be in from the field" and
she gathered up her work with weary
Ugh.
The Deacon is kind enough at heart"
she thought, half apologetically, "only he's
so SET
For moment she fingered in the doorway,
then, turning away, said hurriedly:
THE men are coming; you skim the
milk, child, while cut the bread. Where
is the bread2" and she glanced inquiringly
from the empty bread-cloth to her daughter.
''Oh, motherl As 1 live, / do believed"
She opened the oven door slowly, and with
the air one might be supposed to wear going
to their execution. The bread was almost
in a blaze, and blacker than any hat you
ever saw, or any Chloe that ever lived.
This was the climax of misfortune; burnt
bread was the Deacon's particular aversion,
the eating of which he always considered by
him worthy of an indefinitely greater
patience than the incompatible Job evel
possessed.
Before this new evil all other troubles
'"paled as stars before the SUM-" and for q
while Mrs. Heyworths sorrows were swal
lowed by the trembling question, "Wha
will father say2"
Deacon Heyworth's days work was don,
long ago, and he sat as usual, In his easy
chair, with his feet upon the fender. Th'
evening was cool-just cool enough to MAKE
fire enjoyable and with his paper and APP
Piles, and glass of cider beside him, he pre-
pared to enjoy himself to the full. Hi
wife sat near him with busy fnge-s; he
work was not yet done-would never be
she often thought, YEARLY, until her hand
and feet and heart were still in death.
The corner clock struck 9, and the Deacon
laid aside his paper; Mrs. Heyworth's op
portunity had come at last, the moment sh
had waited for anxiOusly. Something mus
be done. Oh, if only l could say somethin,
to convince himl His heart is kind an,
good enough, if only it could be got at
kind o. like green moss and shining bell
under the water when its frozen over-eas
enough To be got at when the ice breaks an
floats away"
Father" she commenced, desperately
college begins next week"
Eyes, know" and the Deacon's voice 81
pressed slight irritation.
"Willie does want to go so bad, pear
like it's shame for the boy to be disaE
pointed"
The Deacon's face became flint
1--WE explained to William my reason
for not letting him 60 to College. tol