St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1882-03-31


''It's all very well for you to talk
that way, Deacon" said the other, de-
spondingly; but, then, you don't
know how hard it is for one to get up
after he's down"
"NO u said the deacon, in curious
ly interrogatOry tone.
NO" the other replied, growing
warmer as he spoke ''and, then, yOu
myself have, either, and you've never
had to go through what | have-thrOwn
out to shift for myself, for my mother
died when | was child, and my IA
ther-"
"Your father ?" said the deacon in
quiringly, as the other stopped alb
ruptly.
''Do not speak of him :" he said We
hemently, as he arose and walked to
and fro. ats little enough | have
to thank him for. Like father, like
SOM that's what have to remember
him by, for I've heard nothing else
about him since | can remember. He
was bad enough, ! suppose. | never
saw him, and | don't know; may be,
after all, he wasn't rs bad as | was
told" he added, in a softer tone.
The deacon followed his nervous
movements with a curious gaze, not Il
little surprised at his vehemence.
''Fm not one to judge you too severe
ly, young man." said he, as the other
reseated himself. WHAT'S your name?"
"Amos Sethwell,n the other replied,
and raising his eyes, saw the deacOn's
fixed upon him attentively. And it
may have been mere fancy on his part,
but as the titful campfire tlared up
brightly for Il moment, he thought Il
curious spasm contracted the right line
of the deacOn'S mouth. 1t was only
for an instant, for the deacon quickly
averted his eyes and turned them upon
the peaks above cleaning softly i'll the
light of the rising moon.
A long silence ensued. The young
man gazed despondently i'll the fire,
the deacon absently at the cleaning
peaks-so absently that it was plain he
saw them not. Far beyond their
snowy domes his thoughts had wander
ed back to his native town, and a par
ty of wild young men. And, though
it had been long ago, it seemed but
yesterday as he saw them dlsperse,
and followed the footsteps of one re-
tered the empty house, and saw him
take up IL little note lying open on the
table which told him that his wife,
driven to despair by his dissOlute
WAYS, had left his home forever, and
that henceforth their ways lay sepa-
rate, for never did she wish his un-
born child brought under his evil intiu-
ence.
Perhaps it had needed some shock
sharp and sudden like this, to check
the downward course of his life and
rouse his better instincts. He was not
one, however, to steer middle COURSE
he must be one thing or the other
and, as he shook the Gust of his native
village from his feet, so also he cast
away the shackles of his ill-spent life
and became instead Il cold, silent man
shut up in his shell of stern self-reli-
ance. And so he had remained
through many weary year of wander
ing to and fro, until he was now {
lonely and mOrose old man.
Perhaps the sight of this younger
: man, already started on the down
ward path where he had been before
: perhaps something more than all these
stirred the well of loving kindness hid
den so deep in the deacOn's rugged
breast that no sign of it ever reached
= his impossible face. For, when he II
length spoke, it was in Il tone very diff
t ferent from his usual harsh one.
"AmOs, 90 into the tent and lie dOwl
on my blankets. | will join you pres
, emily"
'Deacon,n said the other, slowly, Il
he arose. Il didn't expect any sucl
: kindness from you, of all men. l
thank YOU" and breaking off IN
b, hurried into the tent.
Long after the campfire had burne'
D to ashes, the deacon still sat beside
with his head in his hands and his eye
= fixed on nothing. The gray burrO one
e or twice nibbled softly at his sleeve
I but, eliciting no attention, grazed slow
5 ly off. Then upon his reverie brok
the hurried breathing of the sleeper i
;, the tent. Glancing in, he saw him lyin
L on the bare ground with one arm un
der his head and his face half cOvere
t by one slim hand. Moved by sudde
: impulse, the deacon arose, raised tn
sleeping head and placed his pillo'
e under it, and covered him with
: blanket with touch so gentle that h
II never stirred in his deep repOse.
d 1t was late when the tired sleept
n felt hand upon his shoulder the neg
d morning, and, starting up, saw til
r: deacon bent over him.
ri 81 see you have rested well. Conn
'e now, and have some breakfast" /
said, in kindly voice.
n IL, 1a1
deacon again addressed him, .speakir
err slowly as if in pursuance of some pr
I'd conceived purpose.
re "Amos, mine is and has been a lon
ut ly life for many a year. 1t is han
N life, also ; but such as it is will as
'e you to share it with me-"
| "Do you really mean TO give me
Iy show, deacon ?' asked the other, Wi
le Frightening face.
IN Il do,n said the deacon, simpl
Here's my hand upon it," and, exten,
ne ing his hand, he held the slim one
the young man in an earnest grasp.
in From that day forward the twa
h, worked together on the rugged hillsid
o, The deacon never alluded to the eau
I'll of their meeting, but, day by day, 5
,u the force of an example of patient, pc
u, severlng labor-an example the 9th
ry was not slow to follow. The deacon sa
tn this with silent satisfaction, and not,
also how the healthful exercise in t
7" bracing mountain air filled out the he
:" lows in the younger face, and eras
ce its marks of dissipation.
Gradually the two were drawn I
nd gether by strong bond of affection
all the stronger, perhaps, from its qui
by undemonstrativenes for the you
re man became imbued with the sile
as ways of the solitary old man, and u
ed consciously fell into them himself.