News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1882-08-24

The faint voice died away-the eyes
again were closed.
Alice stoed an instant like one struck
dumb.
She hadnever noticed the resemblance
before; but now she could trace the
firm lines of the old Squire's counte-
nance in that pale, pinched face.
"Sleeping still? That is a good
sign," said her mother, coming in, ready
to resume her place for the night.
Alice hesitated a moment.
Never before had she acted by or for
herself in any matter of moment.
But the sound of voices might arouse
the slumberer.
Her father and Tom had gone on a
household errand to the village; there
was no one else to consult.
Finally she drew on her waterproof,
drew its hood over her head, and sped
across the valley to Squire Seaton's
house.
Squire Seaton looked up from his
book, and his usual pallor increased to
a CHASTITY hue as he listened to the
breathless girl.
"My sonny boy-my Philip at your
fathers house? And dying, you fear ?
Asking for me Coming TO me? Wait,
child; I'll go with you, of course-Il
go to my poor boy But-the room is
turning round-I think 1 must be going
blind |"
Alice sprang to his side. The gray
head fell on her shoulder. Tenderly
she smoothed the silvery hair away
from the high forehead and bathed the
pale face with the cold water which the
frightened servant brought. The old
man revived to find her ministering to
him thus.
1t was almost like father and daughter
that they took their way across the val
ley together, he leaning on her arm and
listening greedily to all that she could
tell him of his long-absent, long-mourned
son.
SIT is my fathers voicel I hear his
step | I shall get well, if he will only
forgive me !" said the invalid, greatly
to Mrs. Derwent's surprise, s the
house-door softly opened to a strangers
touch.
He struggled up from his pillows, re-
sisting her attempt to sooth him.
"Father. I am sorry-fcrgive me |"
he said, in a frmer voice, as Alice en-
tered, followed by the aged man.
And then Squire Seaton came feebly
but swiftly into the room and held his
son to his heart, sobbing aloud with
gratitude and JOY, while Alice drew her
bewildered mother into the kitchen and
told her of her expedition to the house
of the lonely millionaire.
Joy seldom kills, and there is a re-
viyifying power in love and happiness
combined far beyond the skill of all
earthly physicians or the virtue of all
earthly drugs.
So it happened that as the spring
months deepened into summer Philip
Seaton, strong and well once more,
stood beside bonny Alice under the
porch one evening to see the six o'clock
express flash by.
"In Boston, when I was utterly reck-
less and utterly penniless, too, a letter
from my father reached me-" he said in
e lew tone. "It was SO kind, so sad,
that it seemed to turn me from my evil
course in a moment. Just as I was I set
off to return to my father, like the
prodigal son. And God led me here y
There was a long silence; the sun
sank out of sight behind the noun
tains; the first chill of evening was in
the air.
SIN my anger / swore that I would
never enter the door of my fathers
home" the young man went on. "But
L may now enter, purified, repentant,
forgiven, if only the good angel of my
new life will go with ms. Will she,
Alicel"
He took her hand.
"But your father !" stammered Alice.
"I am not worthy of your love in any
way /; but my father begs you to be his
daughter, Alice. Say yesr"
And so the greatest fortune of her
life-the brightest happiness of both
their Hves-came in that evening tram.