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

~ was AAOItSdScu, SlIy SdlU C00 Olu
man, at last, ito pay the boys college
bills. You see we had three children
Selwyn, Roscoe, and little Annie. Moth
er an 1 didn't have an education, but
we said all along that our children
should have; an they went to the dis
trio school and then to the academy
and by and by we fitted them off for
college. Bright, smart boys they were
I-everybOdy said my boys had good
parts, though Roc was always q little
wild. I think mother, there, loved him
better for that. He was more trouble,
and she clung to him closer because 9TH
ers blamed at times. Annie, his sister,
was always pleadin', too, for Roc. He
played truant, and he whipped the boys
who told on him i3e was always putin
his bones in peril, and twice half browne
ed-yet in spite OF all he was ready for
college when Selwyn was, though Sel-
wyn was steady as clock. Mother and
had been scrapin' together for years,
and at last we fitted them off.
I'VE went on denying of ourselves,
for it was just the one hope of our lives
to have the boys graduate with all the
honors an time went on, but many of
the crops failed, and there came disap,
pointment there, and falling to get to-
gether the money the boys sent for
especially Roc-we mortgaged the farm
for five hundred dollars.
"They were nearly through, you see,
an mother and Annie thought that Sell
wyn might be principal of the academy
or something, when he came home, an
Roc would be q lawyer, cause he could
argue and speak so smart in public, and
tie money would be paid back easy.
"But from time to time there came
rumors 1 didn't like, as to how Roscoe
was up to his old wild ways again, and
at last it came like thunder bolt-Roc
was suspended and had run away to
foreign parts. Well, I pass over that,
sir; tried not to be too hard on the
boy; Then Selwyn came home. He had
graduated well, but he had a cough. He
didn't complain, but he was thin and
pale, an soon mother and I saw that
the son we had meant to rely on was an
invalid upon our hands. The thought
stIuck me dumb. But mother was all
energy. We travelled here with him,
we travelled there. We saw all the noted
doctors East and West. We borrowed
more money on the old place. and we
never paid any back. had made one
or two payments at first, but they were
but a drop In the bucket. At last we
brought Selwyn home to die."
"Don't Daniel" said the mother soft
ly.
"He wants to hear the rest. There's
only little more, but it's no better
Annie was like Selwyn-good and pa
tient; delicate like, too. We didn't
mind it at first, but her cheeks grew
thin, an too red laugh she had from
childhood grew harder, an though the
best doctors we could get came early and
late, it was only year after Selwyn
died before we laid Annie down among
the SHOWS. Thank ye, sir, for your pity.
Mother an have shed most of our
tears"
Mr.. Faxon put his cambria handker.
chief back into his pocket.
"Your other son, Roscoe, Mr.. Derby
did he ever come homer"
"Never. It's nigh on to eight years
since we have seen Roc. He knew he
disappointed US; but that was nothin',
was it mother?"
81 never think of it," said Mrs. Der.
by, shaking her head. "Perhaps-I
don't knOw-we took the wrong course
with Roc. He was restless and active.
He was wild, but he was lovin'-"
Her voice broke.
"Mr. Derby" said Mr.. Faxon, "I find
1 know something of your story already.
Your son, Roscoe Derby, who ran away
at nineteen years of age, is probably liv-
ing and it may come in my way to OBJ
tain some information of him for you."
The old people had risen from their
seats, and he went on quickly:
meanwhile, be at no inconvenience
regarding your stay here in your old
home. Your right to occupy it is un-
questioned In my mind, and let me say
| mill drvpirn Hfofi ouh hn
required to go hence. There is the mort
gage. .n-he placed some papers on the
table-'the Derby place is your own."
He rose, putting them gently back as
they pressed toward him, trying to ex-
press their gratitude.
"No-nO thanks! Believe me, you
owe me nothing-nothing.
He took his hat. The old man, who
was voiceless, wrung his hand. Mr..
Faxon turned to Mrs. Derby, and taxi
ing her soft, wrinkled fingers in his
strong palm, bent low and kissed them.
Then he turned to the door, but in mo-
ment he had come back.
"Mother-father he said. cannot
60, for know you have forgiven mel"
And the next instant the strong man
was kneeling with his head on his moth
er's knee.
"After long years, mother" said he,
as she stroked his temples with fond fin
gers.
II am but twenty-eight years old, hut
sorrow for my early faults have brought
some gray hairs about my head"
"And you are not Mr.. Faxon, after all,
Roc?" said the father, with puzzled
smile.
Eyes, am, dear father, Five years
ago had the fortune to gain the good
will of one of the wealthiest American
shipping merchants then in London
He gave me good position, and de-
cided to return home with him, and
served faithfully in his employ until
lust before his death, when, having
formed an engagement with his only
daughter, he gave his consent to our
marriage with the proviso that I would
take his name, and carry on bis interests
exactly as they had been. To this cons
sented, for in spite of my settled habits
and ideas, / felt an alien and alone, but,
mother, / have good wife and the best
of sons-a little fellow two years old.
named Derby. Does that please?"
All, indeed! What loving old woman
is not pleased with her grandchild p
Soon the house was graced by the pre-
sence of Violet FaxOn and the loving
boy, whom grandfather could not praise
enough, and grandmother could not
fondle enough; yet it was sweeter, per-
maps, to Roscoe Faxon, to hear his
mothers voice whisper:
"I like your wife, and, do you kncw,
I think she is very like Annie?"