Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1882-07-28

make it so with my tears il it wasn't 80 far
Of"
The graveyard was beyond the great woods,
several miles away.
As he was about setting Of Mrs. Hardwick
enioined him to be back before dark. That
lonely day was one of restlessness and misery
to her. She sobbed in the doorway long and
bitterly, asking herself vainly, in doubt and
fear, what she should do. She must unbur-
den her heart and tell her husband all, and
bear what censure came Of it, He would not
be very harsh, perhaps, II she could at the
same time give him the coveted tress of hair
That certainly would move him TO tenderness.
He planted the willow sprout and worked
for several hours in dressing and smoothing
the spot about the little grave. He sat long
on an adjoining hillock, pondering in his way
on the mysteries of life and DEATH longing
for but one glimpse of the little golden head
slumbering so near, and trying to picture the
difference her presence would have made, in
all the coming years, in his desolated home.
The sun sank lower and lower, yet he could
not tear himself from the spot and il was not
till the last bird-notes had ended and a sudden
chill crept over him, that he rose to go. He
descended the hillside and entered the great
woods, never noticing black cloud creeping
up from the horizon.
deepening gloom. For the first time in his
life he missed the path. Soon the tallest trees
grew uneasy, and the far rumble of thunder
smote his ear. He struggled on faster. The
air grew chillier. The storm was coming.
Increasing flashes lighted up the black giants
whose knotted arms clasped each other above
his head. He strained every nerve to reach
home ere the fury OF the storm came. He
gained the cleared ground, then the meadow,
and at last saw the faint light in his window,
still far away. The tumultuous clouds SEEM
ed to pause for reinforcements, and then to
rush after him with redoubled fury. But
| home was near.
Mrs. Hardwick, after doing the chores faith
| fully, set out the best supper the cabin afford
ed, and anxiously awaited his coming. Her
misery and dread increased as evening came
on and she saw the rising clouds. 1t had been
the hardest day to bear since Marcy died, and
| her doubts and fears increased tenfold as dark
ness came on. II she had only the most su-
persttious and lugubrious of her neighbors
| with her now, what a relief it would be
Still no footsteps. She threw herself into
a chair, but could not rest. Suddenly, under
an irresistible impulse she seized an axe and
darted out into the tempest. She would have
the hair She would lay it in her husbands
hand, confessing her folly and imploring par
| don for her deceit and for destroying his tree
The binding lightning dazzled her. The
thunder shook the earth But she did not
| quail till she gained the willow. Then for a
moment she shrank. She dared not look to-
ward Marcy's favorite seat in the lower branch
/ es She hesitated but q moment however
| The lightning showed her where to strike, and
her blows fell fast and strong as the steel
neared the trees heart and its hidden treas
/ ure.
Breathless and weary, Mr.. Hardwick reach
| ed his cabin. The door was open; the candle
| still burned there stood the untasted supper;
| his wife was gone. In a moment he was out
in the storm again. He shouted her name.
The blast howled in response, and his voice
died almost on his lips But the same wind
that bore his voice from her bore the sound
| of her axe to him. As he neared the spring
the lightning revealed sight that struck him
dumb-his wife, with pallid face and stream
ing hair, destroying his cherished tree
Springing toward her, he raised his arm in
his excitement to strike her down; but at
that instant binding stunning bolt of fire
descended upon the spot. The tree was shiv-
cred and scattered in fragments, but was blown
from them as it fell. 1t was riven to the very
roots, and the air filled with splinters and bark
and flying leaves. Mr.. Hardwick fell sense
less by the side of his wife ; the wind walled
over them the rain beat ON their upturned
faces the candle in the cabin burned low and
| went out.
Mr.. Hardwick awoke in bewilderment al
last, as from a fearful dream, with Marcy's
name on his lips. Morning was near. The
storm had passed. A calm sunrise came, and
with it signs of life in the stricken woman.
fragment of the tree had struck Mr.. Hard
wick's breast and clung to his jacket. Cling
ing to that, once more on his bosom where il
had rested SO often before, was the golden
tress of hair, unscorched and as bright as
when the sun kissed it last
Can you fergive me? ?" the weak woman
said, as she pressed the hair to her faded lips
I know done wrong. Can you fergive me
fur chopin down your tree? Twas to give
you this hair 1 done it. 1 never had no peac,
sence hid it. Helburger put me up to doit.
"Fergive you? Yes" And he almost kiss
ed her as he said it, but seemed to think bet
ter Of so unusual a proceeding and contenteC
himself with laying his hand gently on he
shoulder. "You didn't kill the willer; 'twa
the lightning 'Twould "a struck ii all thu
same. Twas God done it. I'll never say NJ
more agin your superstitious foolishness.
saved suthin that the world couldn't buy
lock o. Marcys hair. There's more in it thai
thought for. &C CHauncey Hickor IN AuguS
LiPpincotts