Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1882-03-24
NO. IL.

One night from the alternate chills and fe-
vers which shook his frame, Sam fell ast. op.
Instead of his, lone, dark room, the road
winding from the mountain to the village
rose before his eyes. That road usually 80
tortuous md long, was straight, and bathed
in light He traver5ed it. At the end pal
ace gate, and at the gate white-winged an
gel stood, his pension in her shining hand.
Sam gazed. Above those peaceful wings was
Mary's face She smiled as she had smiled
upon him long ago. He woke, aud slept no
more that night
With the morning he put on his wedding
clothes. No doubt or hesitation possessed
him now. There was terrible exultation in
his eyes. This time he did not stop, as was
his wont, ut Miss Mary's house. The road
down the mountain side was tortuous and
long. There was no palace gute at the end
no pension. Those who watched Sans face
in this last instance Of his ever-recurring dis
appointment, say that look came over it
which had never been there before. He rest
ed on the counter and drowsed, and almost
tainted, but he would not drink. This pro-
voked unbounded astonishment Sans dy-
ing flesh craved the cup with an awful thirst,
but Mary's eyes were stronger, and Mary's
eyes seemed to be upon him, and he would
not drink.
1T would choke me, boys" he tried to say
turning weakly away.
He manifested desire to make his will.
1t was a rare occasion at the Bloomington
grocery.
"Its all to go to Mary" he exclaimed, ex-
ctedly, ''penson, back pay and ALL" The
last flame of the fever was Pickering and
wasting in his eyes. He rested and dozed
| again. At noon he started for home at four
o'clock he had traversed only half of the lone
ly winter road at the foot of the mountain
| it was sunset-he staggered and fell down.
We shrink from the records of fates so sad
We need not fear. One greater than we, and
more compassionate by far, comforts the
death of His lambs when they fall in the des-
olate places. The pain in Sans body ceas-
ed. Across his mind fitted a brief trouble.
81 wish Mary could know" he said, 'that
l wouldn't touch it-for her sake" And la
ter aud more solemnly 81 wish Mary could
| know-that l seem Dow-to understand 1
| seem-now-to see"
An old story tells of the prodigal who wan
dered, and who came back to his fathers
house; of the purpose, running through all
the weakness and sin, of the wonder and suf-
fering of our human lives, to make us hungry
and to bring us home So over Sans vast
ing face there crept first the infinite, unbear-
able hunger of the soul, and then the quiet
look of one whom God leads home; and the
blue eyes, piercing now beyond the light of
sun or moon, met unshrinkingly the shad-
ows of the deepening night and unshrink-
ingly the clear gaze of the solemn stars.
And Mary knew. When they brought Sam
home to her in his wedding garments, she
looked upon his face, and she knew that the
bridegroom had indeed come back clothed
| and joyful, to the bride; the lost spirit to the
strength and beauty of its first estate And
she kissed the dead lips in that last act of per-
feet love and conservation, and knelt and
thanked God.
A few days after Sans death, Ned Hem
| ing say entered Mary's house, either from Gu
riosity or worthier motives, with a stammer-
ed apology, and the Words "Of course it
amt O. no account, but thought ye might
like to keep it," handed Mary the will in
which Sam had devised to her his pension.
As he did this, the mirthful grocer cast down
his eyes and blushed to the roots of his hair.
Mary took the little parchment, read it quiet
] ly, and just the shadow of a smile played
about the beautiful tenderness of her lips
Then she turned to the grocer, and uncon-
sciously transfxed him with her clear,
thoughtful, half-inattentive gaze.
81 think Sam owed you something" she
said.
"Oh, no, no." stammered the grocer.
That's all right. The boys will see to that 1"
Il should prefer to have you give me the
| DAiii A1ai holu hhu BILL tIduSuAtu ny lHht
courteously compelling gaze, the abashed and
reluctant grocer complied.
Mary keeps the will in which Sam gave her
his pension, with lock of hair that was al
ways golden and boyish, and the green-cov-
cred spelling book. Sometimes in the pauses
of her toll, she can smile her tender smile
over these; she can weep blessed tears over
them.
But if any one should say that hers had
been famished heart-famished for all the
joyful possibilities, the wifehood, the mother
hood that might have been-the thought
would pale before the tranquil glory of her
eyes. There has come to the life of this lone
watcher on the mountain fullness such as
few may know. The autumn winds that
speak with their low wall of death to the
dwellers in the valley land below, bring to
her clearer sense sweet messages of home.