St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1882-02-10

| pIlstu as any DouN.
"And he would pray as earnestly as
anybody to be delivered from it, said
his wife.
eyes, if they succeeded in making
him believe he had such a fault. "
laughed Mary "but we two, who love
him best, have never dared to let him
know we saw it, so he could not he
easily convinced
"He's IA good man, Mary, a good
Christian man, honest as the light
''And cross as Il bear, and"
"Mary :"
"Motherw and Mary's eyes twinkled.
Il never knew you to speak so of
your father"
"But | wish had spoken long ago
and I'm going to speak now. Pm go
ing to tell him what think about it all.
Think what IA doleful, forlorn Christ
mas we had :"
"But your father never kept Christ
mas. When he was young the people
of this section thought more of the first
day of the New Year, and doubt if
he ever had ii present i'll his life, and
when your brother used to want to
hang up his stocking, he would tell
him what hard times he had as Il child !;
that he was glad to get enough to eat,
without asking for presents. OF course,
even when | had saved up few six
pcnces to buy the child a gift, such II
remark took the pleasure out of it ; so
as he grew older we said nothing about
it to his father, but | used to manage
to slip Il new handkerchief, or neck
tie, or Il pair of mittens into his drawer"
eyes, | understand it, mother, for
even now, if he looks at me when |
have on Il new dress, feel suddenly
guilty and as if the old one ought to
have served another year"
"Well, he has great many cares,
child, and he cannot help being angry
whenever he is in debt. He's growing
old, daughter, and we mustn't mind
his ways. Tonight he was specially
anxious to get off early and everything
went wrong. You know he is never
late to church," added the loyal wife,
anxious to say all possible good.
''All that may be true, mother, and
out in the world he bears things like Il
man and a Christian. Fve no doubt
he will give as good testimony to the
mercies of the past year as anyone i'll
the meeting tonight, but he will fret
just as quickly if the breakfast is two
minutes late tomorrow morning. |
don't want this kind of religion, moth
er. A faith that won't help man keep
his temper isn't worth having" And
the girls face flushed with the energy
of her words.
"Stop, stop, my child You don't
know what you are saying Your
brother Harry said that before he went
away. Don't let me hear it from an
other child. There's no fault in the
faith. There's no fault in the precious
Christmas Gift, sent us from God. If
we take so sparingly and use so blind
ly that we miss the blessedness that is
every Christians heritage, the fault is
not in the Giver or i'll the Gift. Your
fathers faith is your mothers, Mary,
and she tells YOU it has been her only
strength and comfort and delight. Iou
will come to know it some time, fol
yourself, and | believe my boy, if he
lives, will come to know it too"
Seeing her mothers agitation, the
girl said no more, but gently led hel
on to talk of the brother who left home
ut the age of sixteen, and had never
been heard from since. At the time OF
his departure, Mary, now on the verge
of womanhOOd, was four years of age
and all through her childhood and
youth her imagination had played
around her faint memories of him.
catching eagerly ut whatever her moth
er could tell. Her father never spoke
of him, except to upbraid his deSertiOI
of his parents and his duty. What
ever had been his offence the deacon
had not forgiven, but Mary knew how
the mothers heart yearned and watch
ed and waited for her boy, and she
: understood what secret spring of SOr-
row was draining her mothers strength
He had left them on the last night oi
the year, and as the years one after
another crept onward Mary always felt
the feverish, faint hope in her mother,
heart, and this night of all nights she
did not like to leave her alone. But III
the evening wore on, and the mother
; and daughter sat i'll the freight talk
ing over all the story of her boy
young life, Mrs. Frost grew restless
She arose and went to the window, anC
looking up and down the white road
f over which bent the boughs of nakeC
trees, and away across the snowy fields
she seemed to ask the earth, whicl
somewhere hid his grave or felt hi
footstep, and the stars that must have
seen his wanderings, for tidings of he
boy As she s.ooI there the clock il
the church tower struck eleven.
I "There's only one hour more in thi
| year, Mary" she said turning to he
. daugher, who sat gazing into the fad
ing fire, "Only one hour in this year
: He will not come tonight, and eve
| since he went away have watche,
p the old year out, waiting for him. II
- went away while we were at the mid
, night service. Your father insisted
upon his going with us, but there wer
some hard words between them tha
day, and for the first time he Openl
E rebelled. He would not go, and whe
p | knew it | wanted to stay with him
r but feared it looked like sanctionin
). his disObedience. SO | went, and al
through the dying hours of the yea
my heart was with my child. Go
= only knows how the moments dragged
=, how discOrdant seemed the praise.
e how impossible to freight the prayer
II with my heartache. At last, ag;lins
your fathers wishes, | crept out an
| came home. YOu were safely aslee
4 in your little crib, and | had said t
| Harry, as | went ont, Take good car
n of your little sister"
"a strange fear had taken possessio
e of me that he meant to go ava,
|, Once, when angry, he had threatene
}, to go, and his father answered, 'Yo
}, will be glad enough to come back I
me for your bread = and | could NJ
d forget that the thought of going ha
g once crossed his mind. This recolle,
r tiOn and this fear made me bid hil
d watch over you. He was very fond {
e you, and tried as walked home t
e believe that he would not leave yO
al Rr1t I ,rapt from, rno,, 70 roo,