The Middlebury register and Addison County journal. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1883-1885, 1883-04-13

between us the p~00rnOuSe. Hadn't
l seen my mothers pale face grow
paler every year, till three years before
the first day of winter, she placed in
my arms the little baby for whose life
she gaze her own! | accepted the
trust as an oder sisters portion, and
henceforth life be ,ame to me IN Jre
than ever a duty. The only character
that gave any originality to my child
hood was the Indian oma Meb, who
strolled into my native town without
giving any account of the way she
came, and who after a while disap-
peared mysteriously. But she taught
me the war-whoop of her tribe, and l
had never forgotten it. There had
been times when it had been my
~safety-valve.
That night l held Tot Ion ger than
usual lingering over the undressing.
Come what might. l had always given
the child her half-bour every night. 1t
was her time; | brushed her blonde
curls and sang softly to her. Before
| retired father came stumbling into
my room and placed twenty dollars in
my hand. l wanted to thank him, bat
somehow 1 couldn't speak words
stuck in my throat" so, these last
days.
81 's'pose you won't hev to pay from
the depot to Richard R%emington's
house, though l should ruther pay my
way in a spectacle manner, than to be
beholden to such a Teller as Mary Ann
Bromley describes. Mary Ann Brom-
ley was alters a high flier, in my
opinion, an l du hope she won't get
you into trouble with her highty
ways"
He turned to go out, and 1 opened
the door for him. l think L never APP
preciated the sterling integrity of my
fathers character us l did at that
minuse. One thing that he had said
revealed the true motives of his life.
He was an old man-old and broken
before his years, bowed down, with
their accumulated weight; his hands
were rough with toll, his manners
were not formed after Chesterfield: he
was not always sure of his English, but
thank God, my father was an honest
man. "To pay his way had been the
rule of his life.
We arrived in New York on time, l
and Mrs. Noah's trunk, my best black
alpaca and my made-over broadcloth
cloak. All l have to say about the
circumstance is, briefly, if l was not
equal to the occasion, Marian Reming-
ton vas. | found her as utterly unlike
what | remembered of her as one
woman could possibly be unlike an
other, and yet there was the same
warm heart behind it all. If ever
mortal made crooked paths straight
and rough places plain, she did. Every
thing was delightful to me but the
prince" and toward him l did not
relent.
81 nm surprised at you, Marian" 1
said, mot to see the evil in that man.
If l know anything, 1 know he is not
to he trusted"
Marian only laughed. "Your judg-
ment is at fault, my dear. He has
been with us a year, and have never
had occasion to doubt his honesty; and
for his dinners, you must confess they
are faultless." They certainly were.
My birthday sun rose without a
cloud; March was evidently makingup
his mind to settle down to steady,
quiet work. With the old yellow
paper, containing the instructions of
my great-aunt Bates-who, by the
way, | had never seen-Marian and |
made u way without any trouble to
the place designated. "A more anti
quated spot could not be found in New
York." said Marian, as she lifted the
heavy brass knocker. 81 wonder it
has not fallen or pushed aside, ages
agone."
Judge of my surprise when, all pre-
liminaries having been arranged, |
was made the recipient of a square
tin box whatever it might contain it
had no weight to speak of, there was
no jingling. no rafting, no moving
from one side to another. 1t was as
empty as air, and light as a feather.
There was no key to unlock it, no
word accompanying it. On our way
home Marian ordered the "exile' to
stop at Mr.. R~emington's office, and
there in the midst OF a profound still
ness. save for the s~queaking Of the
rusty hinges as they yielded to Mr..
Remington's "open S same guiltless
of wrappings or adornment of any
kind, we solemnly drew forth a brown
stocking bag-we turned it inside and
out. held it up to the light of day,
opened it this way and that-thert
was nothing else-not even as much
as a ball of yarn or a skein of thrumbs.
Then we went home, Marian and /.
We did not laugh much, we certainly
did not cry; the whole thing seemed
so like the freak of imbe ii ty it was
pitiable, but l was glad that l nor
any of my family had ever built any
air castles over my legacy, that we had
never stopped in our busy whirl to
give it a thought. When got to my
room l opened my horse-hair trunk
and deposited it, tin box and
all. safe in the bottom.
1t was a thud in my room tha'
awoke me. l cannot describe 1t by
any other word. 1t was not a foot