St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1882-02-03

Nv sOllt WAY Slut ItHCt.
nudged the post with his elbow, as
though having just committed to it
some gravely confidential or facetiOus
remark.
There was one person whom Sans
weaknesses and derelictions failed to
inspire with appreciative mirth. In
the neighbOrhoOd of Sans house on
the mountain there were two other
homes. One was possessed by Isaac
Travers with his beligerent wife and
numerous small children in the other
Mary Ellsworth dwelt alone with her
mother.
Years ago, Sam and Mary had gone
down hand in hand to the school kept
in the little hamlet at the foot of the
mountain. Mary still keeps the green
covered ''speller" i'll which she and
Sam studied their lessons together.
And they were at the head of the class
| always, the mountain boy and girl
always at the head of the class, and al
ways first and most imperiOus in play Z;
Mary small, brOwn-eyed, sharp -witted,
and Sam handsome and tall, with his
cherubic curls and saucy red lips.
Then Sans parents died, and he
went over to help John Ellsworth in
his mill, and the work prospered I'M
der his strong blithe hand. And as
the days passed by, Sam and Mary
shrank coyly away from the affection
ate intimacy of their childhood, and
ended by falling as deeply in love with
each other as though they had now for
the first time exchanged glances across
the rapturous bounds of manhood and
| IA
tender root in the past, sent out bright
branches of hope for the future, and
was as strong as life with them both.
Mary would have borne anything for
Sam and Sam, who was of quick
and impetuOus nature. found his equi-
librium in the sweet firmness of Mary
character, and adOred her for the low
ing sarcasm with which she rebulled
his pet faults-such bright and capti-
waiting faults as SANS were then.
Sam and Mary were engaged when
the war broke out; and the two men
of John Ellsworths household went
away, and the two women waited i'll
their solitary home on the mountain,
cheered by letters at first afterward
their only hope lay i'll some chance re-
turning figure along the road that
came winding up from the villages be-
low. John Ellsworth never came back
along that dear familiar road and
when Sam returned one day, weak
ague- shaken, demented, but still fond
ly, foolishly faithful, Mary, called OF
God to endure this greater SORROW than
any death could bring, spent the soil
tude of one black night in terrible re-
bellion, and when the morning dawned
laid her broken heart at the foot of the
cross, and rose with a calm ~ lCW
for evermOre."
Sam went back wonderingly to Oc-
cupy the long deserted home of hi,
childhood but it was Mary's hanC
that brought him bread and meat, tha
made his bed and swept his floor, anc
furnished his home with every comfort
Sam knew that it was all changed
somehow. The tongue once so win
ningly sarcastic was now ever toe
thoughtfully kind, the once laughing
eyes too deeply compassionate. He
sOrrowed over it with the vague sor
row of a child. But he trusted Mary
She knew she would set it all right il
time. The light, the hope, the prom
Use of his youth, so helplessly, SO mys
teriously lost-they were all kept wait
ing for him somewhere in Mary's grea
dark eyes.
r But when Sam came tOttering up til,
hill on his return home, he had brough
with him IA parcel the contents of whicl
he had not revealed to any eye.
contained his wedding clothes, new
and sleek, of the finest black broad
cloth. In the pathetic loneliness of hi
home he acquired a habit of fondlin!
these, of glOating over them, even o
trying them on before the glass; an'
then, as he stood in his best mood
with his bOnny hair carefully curled
one never saw so sweet and weak
face. Sam longed yet ever hesitateC
to appear before Mary in these habili
ments. That strange trouble on hi
mind deferred him. He was never 81
shy, never so simple, so conscious O
his lost estate, as when in "Miss Ma
, rvs" presence never withal 81
strangely happy and content. ON
evening, as he sat before her, the wed
> filled all his thought.
T-I never cared for any girl bu
you, Mary" he exclaimed abruptly
WIFI Il SpiIh Vi ullt plu lIt Ill HIS tS ts
, d never could"
"No, SAM" Mary answered, gently
p II don't believe you ever could"
! "You-you promised to marry III
, once" said Sam, that brief fire chang
i ing, for another instant, to IA look c
solemn wonder and reproach.
\ a deathly pallOr crept over Mary
face. Then she came close to Sam, an
: laid her hand on his, and looked int
q his eyes with all the beautiful tender
2 ness and pity of her deeply tried sou
81 shall always be true to you, Sam,
she said. "There are some things W
4 can't understand. We must be patien
\ But hat-what we hoped for once
/ nOw-in this world-that, dear San
h must never be ~
eyes, Mary" Sam answered, sweet
, ly Obedient, thrilled through all
through by the touch of her dear han'
"ttat must never be-" And he repeat
n ed the words simply all the way HON,
. "That must never be-" 1t was "a
: right, somehow. "Mary knew" BI
he folded the wedding clothes and pu
them away that night as one WI
= should never need to take them dow
= again.
II After this the ruined life clung sti
e closer to that strong and patient on
e and the little services which Sam W;
It accustomed to perform for Mary, whe
not suffering with the ague, or follow
It ing after the fond hallucinatiOn of h
e 'pension"- fetching of wood an
e the drawing of water-these lost to h
5, poor adoring mind every base and I'M
1t NAL quality, and were like the Offerin
is of devOtee laid tremblingly at ii
If feet of an angel.
d And the time passed all too swift
II for the work of Mary's hand. Besid,