Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1883-12-25
Oh, how my ears have been

only to keep back some harsher utterance.
sin! it is the abomination of abomina-
lions. Ii you could dance like a Christian,
as David did, to hymn tunes; but your dane
ing is very different thing. and this desc
Grafton of the Sabbath is just of piece with
your usual conduct. We are commanded
that the stranger within our gates shall also
keep the Sabbath day holy; but you act like
heathen," and Miss Hannah, with an indig-
| nant and self-righteous movement, left the
room at one door, as Louise, with face
white and as indignant, turned to her own
apartment. A few moments later she had
donned hat and cloak. and with her graceful
step little more naughty than usual, was
| hulrying away toward the strip of forest on
the edge of the village.
Away from the house, the bitter, impul-
sive tears rained suddenly down her cheek
g She is so hard, SO unjust, and have earn
estly tried to win her over. What have I
done that from the first she should judge me
| SO cruelty; and she is Christian. Were it
not for him she would make me distrust them
| all.n
The winds blew high and cold, but still she
| walked on, not needing nor noting their fury.
The Loneliness and craving for home, the rest
| lessness. bad eliminated and been intensified
by Miss Hannah's harshness, and she felt for
the time that the grievance was much more
serious than under otter circumstances she
would have considered it. Hannah had re-
turned to the parlor, closed the piano, and
| arranged the music with the face of a martyr,
and an hour later, when her brother left his
study, had not yet Soothed her insulted feel
ings.
Joseph. it seems to me you have grown
wonderfully blind and deaf; you, minister
of the gospel, to allow absolute, wanton sin
under Your own roof and to keep silent But
l, Hannah Wexford, can't stand it, and I
have told her son
Similar scenes had occurred before, so
without very much surprise, he asked, ''What
is wrong now, Hannah?'
Enough is wrong; but this afternoon she
was playing some of those worldly tunes, and
L just came in and gave her a piece of my
| mind about it.
Hannah, that was very wrong; the music
was doubtless something with which YOU are
not familiar, but she would not have played
other than sacred music on the Sabbath.
Why should you judge her SO harshly: why
not trust her to do right until you know to
the contrary; what has become of your
Christian charity, Hannah? Remember the
LEU OlOtuOlly lOfe COuUluuS.
eyes, remember" with a sharp look at
him; Il remember, but think you can supply
the brotherly love for US both; don't make a
fool of yourself, Joseph" He turned white,
but did not reply to her exasperating speech.
''Where is Miss Chatterton nowg
ooh, she founced off somewhere; went on
Sunday ramble, I suppose. All, Joseph, Il
| would deliver thee from the strange woman,
from, tho ca, hot til
her tongue Harm will come of it, Joseph;
! remember, said it.'
An angry light for one moment famed up
in his usually gentle face, but by the power
of that spirit that ruled his life he closed
tightly the quiyering lips and would not
; answer this parting shot. He went into the
hall, closing the door softly after him, put
! on his great coat and hat, and with slight
sense of Uneasiness, went out into the gather
ing twilight.
"Where can she have gone-poor child
Hannah's tongue can wound-aye, il can
| wound" First he turned toward the village,
but no. she would not have gone there: per-
haps to the forest"
The wind was blowing like a hurricane
| now, and the short winter afternoon losing
| itself in the cold, gloomy twilight The trees
long branches and showering their few leaves
left like conscious creatures under some sud
den woe; and the dry twigs and larger limbs
were swapping and falling to the ground as
with helpless despair.
1t was becoming dangerous, for branches
heavy enough to fell one were being hurled
| from aloft as the old Titan wind broke them
| in his cruel grasp. But still he hurried on, a
cir of brood ;a&r 9
| ing his heart. He began, however, to hope
she was safely housed somewhere, when, sud
denly, in the faint light, he caught sight of a
| bit of scarlet drapery near by, on the left of
| the path. He sprang to her side, for she was
quite motionless, and when near enough saw
her face, white and ashy, and the tears slowly
| coursing down her cheeks.
"What is it, what is its Are you hurts
Come home quickly. This is a fearful night
| for you to be out" But with a quick motion,
covering her face with her hand, she sobbed
| aloud, but did not speak.
me, pray you"
| She looked down with a pitiful gesture,
| sobbing: 'My ankle-I cannot move"
''My poor, poor child; how did this hap
pen!'
at was all my own fault" she gasped, 81
was angry and careless, and walked, walked,
until quite exhausted; then, crossing this
/ rocky place rapidly, [ slipped on a round
| stone and fell, spraining my ankle. I'm
| ashamed to seem such a coward about the
pain, but it isn't only that-rm all IN
| nerved.'
Even while she spoke he had knelt upon
! the ground and dexterously bound his hand
! kerchief about the ankle, asking tenderlv:
| Is it very painful? l am SO grieved for you
| have been doubly wounded. May ask your
! forgiveness for the pain caused by another
do not remember it" There was a tone of
earnest entreaty in his voice as he added:
| ''Come, let me take you home; you must lean
against my arm and try to bear all your
! weight upon it-so-we must walk as care
| fully as possible"
| 1t was not great distance, and he bore
almost her entire weight; before they reached
! the house he said again, very gently: ''Tell
me that you will forgive herr
81 would do anything that you asked she
answered. "You have been very, very kind
and doubtless I am trial to her, but 1 never
quite realized it until now"
With her slight form resting against his
arm, her fearful face lifted SO trustingly to his.
he did not feel the cold night wind-he did
not remember that it blew, except that al
infinite desire to shelter her, to hold her safe
! from pain, from harm or storm, filed and