Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1882-03-24


have borne anything for Sam; and Sam, who
was of quick and impeluous nature, found
his equilibrium in the sweet firmness of
Mary's character, and adored her for the low
ing sarcasm with which she rebuked his pet
faults-such bright and captivating faults as
Sans were then.
Sam and Mary we're engaged when the war
broke out and the two men of John Ellis
worth's household went away, and the two
women waited in their solitary home on the
mountain, cheered by letters at first after
ward their only hope lay in some chance re-
turning figure along the road that came wind
ing up from the villages below. John Ellis
worth never came back along that dear ia
miliar road and when Sam returned one
day, weak ague-shaken, demented, but still
fondly, foolshly faithful, Mary called of
God to endure this greater sorro than any
death could bring spent the solitude of one
black night in terrible rebellion and, when
the morning dawned, laid her broken heart at
the foot of the cross and rose with calm II
will-for evermore."
Sam went back wonderingly to occupy the
long-deserted home of his childhood but it
was Mary's hand that brought him bread and
meat, that made his bed, and swept his floor
and furnished his poor home with every com
fort.
Sam knew that it was all changed somehow
The tongue, once so winninRly sarcastic, was
now ever too thoughtfully kind, the once
laughing eyes too deeply compassionate. He
sorrowed over it with the vague sorrow of
child. But he trusted Mary. She knew she
would set it all right in time. The light, the
hope, the promise of his youth, 80 help
lessly, so mysteriously lost-they were all
kept waiting for him somewhere in Marys
great dark eyes.
But when Sam came tottering up the hill
on his return home, he had brought with him
a parcel the contents of which he had not re-
vealed TO any eye. 1t contained his wedding
clothes. new and sleek, of the finest black
broadcloth. In the pathetic loneliness of his
home he acquired habit of fondling these,
of gloating over them, even of trying them
on before the glass? and then, as he stood in
his best mood, with his bonny hair curled,
one never saw SO sweet and weak face.
Sam longed, yet ever hesitated, to appear be-
fore Mary in these splendid habiliments.
That strange trouble on his mind deferred
him. He was never SO shy, so simple, so con-
sclous of his lost estate, as when in 'Miss
Mary's" presence-never withRl so strangely
happy and content. One evening, as he sat
before her, the wedding garments he had left
at home filled all his thought.
II never cared for any girl but you, Ma
ry" be exclaimed abruptly, with spark of
the old fire in his eyes. II never could"
mo, Sam" Mary answered, gently, II
don't believe you ever could"
"You-promised to marry me once" said
Sam, that brief fire changing, for another
instant to a look of solemn wonder and re-
proach
deathly pallor crept over Mary's face
Then she came close to Sam, and laid her
hand on his, and looked into his eyes with all
the beautiful tenderness and pity of her deep
ly-tried soul
II shall always be true to you, Sam" she
said. 'There are some things we can't un-
derstand We must be patient But that
what we hoped for once-now-in this world
that dear Sam, must never bel"
Eyes, Mary" Sam answered, sweetly ODE
dent, thrilled through and through by the
touch of her dear hand, ''that must never
be-" And he repeated the words simply all
the way home, that must never be-" 1t was
all right, somehow. MARY knew" But he
folded the wedding clothes and put them
away that night as one who should never
need to take them out again.
After this, the ruined life clung still closer
to that strong and patient one, and the little
services which Sam was accustomed to per
form for Mary, when not suffering with the
ague, or following after the fond hallucina.
tion of his ''pension"-the fetching of wood
and drawing of water-these lost to his poor
adoring mind every base and menisl quality,
and were like the offering of devotee laid
tremblingly at the feet of an angel.
And the time passed all too swiftly for the
work of Marys hands. Besides her mnistra-
tiOns to Sam and her mother, her generous
thought for the wretched Travers family, the
name of Mary Ellsworth, for the gracious
help and sympathy which it implied, was
known and loved in all the villages below,
and in times of sickness, or sorrow, or added
care, the journey up the mountain side was
cheap which could procure a day of those
coveted services.
1t was the affliction of unexpected compa-
ny which had overtaken Judge Holcomb's
wifeless home and refractory servants. Mary,
with rare frmness, established there in q day
her universal rule of peace. Among the 9TH
er guests was young actress from New York
the Judges niece, blonde handsome, magni-
fcent. At evening, as Mary stood, before
her return home, waiting an instant in the
hail. so quiet and demure with her dark hair
parted in an old, old fashion, and her sad,
lustrous eyes, and her face breathing that in
effable refinement which the calm endurance
of some hidden and exalted sorrow alone can
give, the dashing young actress advanced up
on her suddenly, and folded her with an i'm
perious gesture in her strong white arms. 81
love YOU" she whispered. II love you des-
perately !"
The Judges own wooing was less impas-
stoned, when, some weeks afterward, he left
his smart horse and buggy at Marys gate,
and entered the house.
ST formed a very fav'rable opinion of you,
Mary" said this grandiose parsonage, "a
good many years ago, and I've never had any
cause to alter that opinion. In fact, come
in here to say that l should like to have you
come down to my house in the capacity of
wife"
There was a grace, perfect self-reliance,
in Mary's old-fashioned manner, which re-
lieved it from any imputation of Stiffness as
she answered, in much the same words that
she had used in addressing Sam some time
before, but with such a different tone in the
ring of her clear voice II thank you, but
that can never be-" And the Judge drove
away, amazed and disappointed, but most of
all sorry for Mary.
Sam was the next caller. He had seen the
smart buggy at Mary's gate. He entered,
timid and hesitatiug, and sat for some time
shifting uneasily about in his chair At length
he said: "I-I never cared for any girl but
you, Mary, II never could" be repeated,
earnestly.
Aud Mary answered, as she had done be-
fore: ''No, Sam, don't believe you ever
could"
Sam drew his sleeve quickly across his eyes.
"You-you amt goin' to leave the noun,
tain, are you, Msry?" he gasped. "You amt
goin' to leave the mountain, Nary"
"Never !" answered Mary, and as before,
her tone quieted and consoled him.
After what seemed a long time, though,
the tears were still standing in Sans blue
eyes;
81 forgot, Mary" he said, meekly. 81
caulo to you're young yet, and hand
some, Maryland ii you had better chance
I don't know what What we should do
without you-but if you had better chance
--you-you mustn't-you know-Mary-"
There he paused. Mary did not smile, but
her heart yearned over Sam as a mothers
might over a child who has tried in vain to
be good, and brave, and unsel6sh. And Sam