The Cheyenne daily leader. [volume] (Cheyenne, Wyo.) 1870-1884, 1882-05-23
THE pEACON'S VOW.

AlC dLNl uC2illl. 1ut uOClOT gave Iutul I'LL
lie reason to hope hat the feeble spar,S
which was Pickering, and nearly ready to
expire, could be again rekindled. For days
and weeks all that love and skill and ten
der nursing could do had been done, to
win back health to the fever-stricken girl ;
but so far it seemed in vain. Her mother
n brothers were t~ireless in their watch
ing and devotion, and an arrest, in the last
few days, had been laid ON everything ex-
cept the most necessary work, while they
waited, in hat solemn hush which is less
of hope than of despair, for what the next
hour might bring to pass. House, fields,
business, life were all oyerhung and cloud
ed by the mystery which always hovers
about the bedsides of the departing, even
when the prospect is bright with trust in
Him who says 81 am He that liveth and
was dead, and behold l am alive forever
more"
Agnes was the Deacon's darling. Stern
and grim to others, he had invariably been
gentle and indulgent TO her. In her baby
hood it had been his delight to have her
nestle against her fathers broad breast and
play with his long beard, or fall asleep in
his arms As a child, her seat at the table
had been next to his, and her place in the
pew by his side. AS she grew into fair
~womanhood, she had become his companion
and friend and almost his second self. Now
that his eyes were beginning to fail and his
| ears to grow deaf-infirmities of advance
ing age which he resented, yet was COM
PEELED TO acknowledge was Agnes who
read to him, and talked to him, in her clear
voice, never loud, but distinct and pure in
its utterance, so that every syllable was like
n silver coin for finish. The Deacon loved
his daughter as he loved no one else in the
world. Even her mother knew that her
own was the second place in her husbands
heart. Yet she was contented for hers
was q sweet and easily resigned nature,
and, she, too, idolized her Agnes.
Did he love her best? He supposed so (;
md still there was a doubt of It in the
minds of his friend. Deacon Cameron had
another idol, and that was money. He hug
ged it closely and wOrshipped it slavishly.
1t cost him bitter pain to part with ii, UNI
less 1t were in some way which he knew
would return it in kind and increased.
Honest, just, defrauding none, he was
scrimping and niggardly i'll expenditure for
his family nor could he bring himself to
part with an acre of ground, nor the price
of a portion of his crops, to aid the poor,
to assist the church, or to further mission
work. His children had been stinted in
their education, deprived of opportunities
and privileges for which they longed, and
forced to live narrow, contracted lives uD
der the old roof, where ragged many
storm o. passion that only God aud mother
knew any thing about.
1t was a winters morning, but soft and
mild rs spring, will blue skies, undimmed
by n cloud, and gentle south winds stirring
the leafess branches. The physician had
told the father that there was little proba-
billy that Agnes could recover, and that
the issue would ere long be decided. With
pale face and haggard eyes, he left the
house, and wandered on past his ample
barns, through the great apple orchard and
the vineyard, and over the wide meadows,
that were his pride. The mans soul was
desolate. He felt as though a hurricane
had gone over him, sweeping him bare of
what the good years had given. The cry
of his heart was "Lord, take the rest!
Take all, but leave me Agnes" For the
first time in his experience his wealth was
n matter of utter indifference to him. He
walked on, looking strangely older than
ever before, and the bowed head, shrunken
stature, and tottering feet were curiously
unlike the self-assertive, arrogant man,
whose very gait was usually the uncon-
scious expression ola will that would have
its way, encounter what opposition it might.
There was n great spreading oak which
stood on the edge of his land, s~hadowing
equally his farm and that of his nearest
nelRnDOT, 11aIIlOu murray. Il Nlulihgo
were the opposites of the Camerons. Gay,
light-hearted, spending money lavishly,
sending the boys of to college and the girls
to city schools, buying books, music and
pictures, filling the house with guests at
midsummer and in the holidays, Deacon
Cameron could not help having private
doubts as to the Christianity of the Muir
rays. Though Harmon Murray was n lib
eral subscriber to every good cause, and a
regular attendant on the services of the
church, he was, in the deacon's prcjudiced
eyes, a heather man and n publican. 1t
had been an ~aGgravation of his grief that
the gloom in his house was shared This
neighbours. Especially had he chafed and
struggled against the knowledge that one
member of the family that was so antago-
nistic to his own cared for Agnes with n
love deeper than that of kindred. The Dea-
con, though n strong man, was selfish. He
would AVE looked with aversion on any
man who night have desired to win the
affection of his child; for he meant to
keep her as his own particular treasure if
he could. But that Edgar Murray should
aspire to her hand, and that, even timidly
and afar off, Agnes should venture to re-
gard him rs her future lord, had awakened
in him n resistance as violent as it was
stubborn. Till now he had been terccly
/ angry NHGn lllCt vi lOul lllltS "a hhN INC
young man had presented himself TO in
quire for Agnes or to bring her fruit or
flowers. He had been indignant at his wife,
because she had accepted Mrs. Murray's
help in caring for the sick one; nor could
he forgive her ignoring his displeasure and
sending TO the Murrays for aid in this
emergency.
But now he was in extremity. He stag
gered to a seat beneath the oak, the very
seat where Edgar and Agnes had been &C
cusloraed to rest after their occasional
saunterings together by the creek or along
the empowered lanes, and his gray head
went down upon his hands. His whole
heart was concentrated in II vehement.
worthless prayer, which was fain to beat
against the Almighty's throne. No feeling
of Gods paternity entered his mind at that
intense moment. No remembrance of
Christ as the great High Priest, who pleads
for the children of men with q brothers
tender comprehension of their wants. Nc
thought of the Holy Spirit, with its sacred
influences, came to him, rs, shaken, tenn
pest-tossed, and almost hcart-broken, he
cried to God, the Strong One, who could
hear him, if He would. The God of the
Deacon's imagination was n despot, but {
despot who could be gracious. An Ortho'
dox Congregational deacon, believing il
and accepting all the doctrines of his
church as he understood them, he prayed
as n Saxon might have prayed TO Thor, rs
n Roman to Jupiter or q Hindoo to Nishnu
that his child might be spared. Sinking
to his knees, in the agony Of his still un.
voiced supplication, the cry of his sou.
bIoke forth into speech:
Lord! give me back my Agnes, my
darling, the one precious thing OF my life
Let her not die, l beseech thee! Lord
listen. Thou hast ten thousand times ter