The Elk County advocate. [volume] (Ridgway, Pa.) 1868-1883, 1882-09-07
HIS ThUST

When Mr.. Tom Ranger, who de-
scribed himself as a travelling photo
graphic artist, was not on the road, he
lived absolutely alone in an humble
cottage on a wide patch OF land add
joining Thornton Common, high,
wide stretch Of grassy ground, and a
place much resorted TO in the summer.
The village of Thornton, from which
the common took its name, was seven
miles from the nearest country town.
1t was meek little village with an
old-fashioned parsonage, an unpretend-
ing church, school-house, forge and
public house, called the Three jolly
Boys.
TO return to Mr.. Rainger-when he
was not at home he lived on wheels;
that is to say he journeyed round the
country in kind of cart-house. He
Travelled mostly in the winter, finding
through the warm weather no stint of
people in Thornton willing to pay from
a siXpence to shilling to see their
face, reproduced by the artists glass
Besides being an artist, our friend was
a musician. He really played the vio-
lin skillfully, and between fiddling and
photographing he got on quite well.
AT the time of which | am writing
he was middle-aged man, strongly
built and rather short of stature. His
weather-face had on it a look of weari-
ness, and also of resolution. Other
things than the sun and the wind had
had their will with that face. A life's
tragedy had scared it deeper than
ever the elements could. His scant
hair was iron gray. Tom Ranger
was not popular in the village. lie
would sit for hours at the Three jolly
Boys, smoking and speaking to no
one. When he did talk there was
something overbearing and aggressive
IN his manner. He never went to
church, but he might often be seen
coming out of the churchyard, where.
under the grass and flowers, lay what
had once been g the desire of his eyes"
his friend, his companion, his good
angel, his wife.
"It was the loss Of her" said the
landlady of the Three Jolly Boys,
"that turned him sour, rs thunder
turns milk sour"
After five years of happiness her
fresh gay voice, the blue light of her
eyes and the light gold Of her hair and
all the dear caressing ways, she had
gone out Of his life and left him, as
we have seen, a sOured man.
One midsummer's eve, time to be-
come memorable hencefOrth in Mr..
Rangers life, that gentleman sat in
the bar-parlor Of the Three Jolly Bows.
1t was club night, and having for
the benefit of the Jolly BOYS performed
twice on his violin, he put the instru-
ment away, and shouldering his case,
and with his pipe set fast between his
teeth, passed from the mixed fumes of
tobacco and spirits into the clear.
moonlit night. The Jolly Boys We're
hard at it when he left them, but the
sound of their jollity was soon behind
him; the common was about mile
from the village.
1t was a warm, luminous night.
Every leaf and every twig of every
tree was distinctly visible, such
power of moonlight was on everything.
A note faltered through the warm,
compassionate stiffness. Then from
clump Of trees a nightingale began
singing.
There were hot tears in Rangers
eyes as he walked along. 1t seemed
to him as if the moonlight, the warm
air, the singing bird, had some mes
sage from his dead wife-a message
which he could not interpret. All,
with what passion Of worship he
thought of herl
When he reached the cottage, in
stead Of entering it, he passed on to the
common, where moonlight and lnbro-
ken stiffness reigned. Standing there, it
came to him to take out his violin and
to begir paying with all the ex-
preston of which he was capable, and
he had no small measure, "The Last
Rose of Summer" 1t was one of the
airs his wife liked best to hear him
play. Under his hand, which then
seemed to acquire the very master
touch, the music rose and quivered
and foated far away. He wondered