The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1882-02-04

bent shoulders with it's rings of close curling
light hair, was of Byronic cast, or that his eyes,
when not flmy from the effects of ague or rum,
were of such perfect and heavenly blue as is
seldom seen even in the undimmed orbs OF
children. Sam was their Punch, their by-word,
their theatre oomique; they would have paid
twice the price of his lordly though prudent
negotiations at the counter rather than miss the
zest afforded by his semi-weekly appearance.
With a touch of real pity too perhaps, for their
old comrade they cajoled with him in bis forlorn
hope. encouraged in him at all times the freest
expression of his sentiments fattered him, and
RECALLED him. And often, alas! the feet which
had come shuffling down the mountain awk-
wardly enough and loosely enough, retraced
their steps in a still more desultory and uncer-
tain manner, and chance passers-by have told
how Sam, pausing at length by some way-side
fence frequently 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 dereictions failed to inspire with appre-
ciative mirth. In the neighbOrhood of Sans
house on the mountain there were two other
homes One was possessed by Isaac Travers
with his belligerent 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" in which she and
Sam studied their lessons together. And they
were at the head of the class always, the noun
tain boy and girl-always at the head of the
class, and always first and most imperious in
play; 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 under his strong blithe hand. And as
the days passed by, Sam and Mary shrank coyly
away from the affectionate 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 gances across the rapturous
bounds of manhood and madenhood. Their
love- having such 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 ola quick and impetuous nature, found
his equilibrium in the sweet firmness of Mary s
character, and adored her for the loving sarcasm
with which she rebuked his pet faults-sueh
bright and captivating 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
in their solitary home on the mountain, cheered
by letters at first; aterward their only hope lay
in some chance returning figure along the road
! A. fbo
John Ellsworth never came back along that dear
familiar road and when Sam returned one day,
weak, ague-shaken, demented, but still fondly,
foolishly faithful, Mary, called of God to endure
this greater sorrow than any death could bring,
spent the solitude of one black night in terrible
rebellion and when the morning dawned, laid
her broken heart at the foot of the cross, and
rose with a calm I miU-for evermore"
Sam went back wonderingly to occupy the
long-deserted home of his childhood; but it was
Mary's hand that brought him bread and meat
that made his bed, and swept his floor, and fur
nished his poor home with every comfort.
Sam knew that it was all changed somehow
The tongue once so winningly sarcastic was now
ever too thoughtfully kind, the once laughing
eyes too deeply compassionate. He sorrowed
| over IL WIFI the vague SOfTOW O1 cnllQ. But
he trusted Mary. She knew; she would set it
all right in time. The light the hope, the
promise of his youth so helplessly, so mystic
riously lost-they were all kept waiting for him
somewhere in Mary's great dark eyes.
But when Sam came lettering up the hill ON
his return home, he had brought with him a
parcel the contents of which he had not re-
vealed to any eye. 1t contained his wedding
clothes, new and sleek, of the finest black broad
cloth. In the pathetic loneliness of his home he
acquired habit of fondling these of gloating
over them, even of trying them on before the
! glass; and then, as he stood in his best mood
with his bonny hair carefully curled, one never
saw so sweet and weak a face Sam longed yet
ever hesitated to appear before Mary in these
splendid habiliments. That strange trouble on
his mind deferred him. He was never so shy
so simple so conscious of his lost estate, as when
in miss Marys" presence-never withal so
strangely happy and content One evening, as
he sat before her, the wedding garments he had
left at home filled all his thought. t.
"I-I never cared for any girl but you, Mary,
he exclaimed abruptly, with a spark of the old
fire in his eyes. "I-I never could"
"No, SAM" Mary answered, gently,"I don't
believe you ever could"
You-you promised to marry me once" said
SAM that brief fire changing, for another instant
to a look of solemn wonder and reproach