The Manchester journal. [volume] (Manchester, Vt.) 1861-current, 1881-06-16

hhns up hts stocking Ne would tell hiE
VIA, hard times he hsd IS child. ths, b
vas glad TO get enough to eat. without Ssk
ing Tor presents. OF course. even when
had saved up few sirpenees to buy III
child gin, sueh remark took the pleas
ure out OF it. 50 as be grew older. We ssit
nothing about il 10 his father. but used
10 manage 10 slip q re~ handkerchief, or
necktis, or pair OF mittens, in his drawer
Yes. ! understand it. mother, for syer
now, il he looks at me whom have on
new dress, / feel suddenly guilty aud as i
the old one ough, to have served another
year.
Well, he has great many cares, child,
and he cannot help being angry when hs
is in debt Res growing old. daughter.
aud We musn't mind his ways. To night
he WAS especially anrioas to get of early.
and everything went wrong. You know
be is never late to church. added the 10y.
al wife, anxious TO say all possible good.
All that may be trne. mother. and ont in
the world he bears Things like man and .
Christian. I've no doubt he will give q
good testimony 10 the msrciss OF the past
years as any one in the meeting tonight.
but he will fret just as quickly if the
breakfast is two minutes late tomorrow
morning. don't want his kind of relig.
ion, mother A faith that won't help q
man keep his temper isn't worth having
And the girls face flushed with the energy
of her words.
Stop, stop, nay child! You don't know
what you are saying Your brother Harry
said that before he went away. Don't let
me hear it from another child. There's
no fault in the faith. There's no fault in
the precious Christmas gift, sent us from
God. II we take so sparingly and use SO
blindly that is every Christian heritage,
the fault is not in the Giver or the Gift
Your fathers faith is your mothers, Mary,
and she tells you 1t has been her only
strength and comfort and delight. You
will come to know. it, some time. yourself.
and l believe my boy. il he lives. will come
to know it too.
Seeing her mothers agitation, the girl
said no more, but gently led her on to
talk of her brother who had left home at
the age Of sixteen, and had never been
heard from since. At the time OF his de-
parturc, Mary, now on the verge Of wom-
anhood, was four years old, and all through
her childhood and youth her Imagination
had played around her faint memories Of
him, catching eagerly at whatever her
mother could tell Hor father never
spoke Of him except to upbraid his deser-
tion Of his parents and his duty. What
ever had been his offence. the deacon had
not forgiven him, but Mary know how her
mothers heart ysarned and watched and
waited for her boy, and she understood
what secret spring Of sorrow was draining
her mothers strength. He had left them
on the last night of the old year; and ns the
years, one after another crept onward |
Mary always felt the fsvcrish, faint hope |
In her mothers heart, and this night OF all
nights she did not like to leave her alone.
But az the evening wore on, and the moth
er and daughter sat in the flrelight talk
ing over nll the story of the boys young
life, Mrs Frost grew restless. She arose
and went to the window, and looking up
and down the white road over which bent
the boughs Of naked trees. and away
across the snowy fields, she seemed to ask
the earth, which somewhere held his grave
or felt his footstep, and the stars that
must have seen his wanderings, for tidings
Of her boy. As she stood there the clock
in the tower struck eleven.
There's only one hour more in this year
Mary, she said. turning to her daughter,
who sat gazing into the fading fire, only
one hour in this year. He will not come
%. might, and ever since he went away
nave watched the old year out, waiting for
him. He went away while e were at the
meeting Your father insisted
ipon his going with US, but there had been
10 hard words between them that day, and
or the first time he openly rebelled. He
yould not go; ami when / knew it, / want.
ID TO stay with him, but feared it looked
ike sanctoning his disobedience. So |
rent, and all through the dying hours Of
he year my heart was with my child. God
'nly knows how the moments dragged,
low di,cordast seemed the praises, how
impossible to freight the prayers with my
At last, against your fathers {
rishes, / crcpt out aud came home. You
Iere safely asleep in your little crib, and
had said 10 Harry, as / went out, Take Z
ood care OF your little sister.
A strange fear had taken possession Of
le that he meant TO go away. Once when -,
ngry, no had threatened to go. and his :
,ther answered "You will be glad to !,
ONE back to me for yonr breadl' and /
ould not forget that the thought Of 60 1,
~ had once crossed his mind. This rec !.
lection and fear made me bid him watch !,
yer you. He was very fond Of you, and l =
lied ss walked home. TO believe that he !,
ould not leave you alone. But / went /,
ON room to room in the lower part Of the
ouse, passed with trembling steps up .
, his chamber. He WAS not there. ),
,arched for some message. some word or !;
ne to say that he loved his mother, and ! ).
'und at last, what has been . comfort all
lese years, little note pinned to your 4
ightdress 10 the little crib. have it :.
ow / kept il near me till ! wore it out,
, / feared could not read the words: II .
n going, mother. know not where, nor