Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1883-01-10
Old Gallison's Frank.

seemed to be making an unusual clatter
that night about the house. 1t cried at the
windows, it went moaning down the en-.
tries, it stormed at the doors. at seems
| like knock. This wind won't let me
think" said the old man, and he rose from
his knees. He went to the window and
looked out. 1t was a stormy night. The
wind, however, seemed TO be sbashed by the
sight of that haggard face and retreated
across the bare, wild marshes to rage and
roar elsewhere.
"'Tis bad night. l wonder where
Frank" then Old Gallison stopped
Frank was forbidden subject in the old
mans thoughts. Think, though, be would
and he had begun to wonder where Frank
might be that night, on the wild land or the
wilder sea. He shut the door upon all
further thought as soon as he was aware OF
the subject that had come to be guest Of
his meditations.
Frank Gallison was the last of the old
farmers children. All the rest had died
The mother, too, was dead. The farmhouse
was an ample one enlarged from time to
time as the family might demand. But as
death came in, and one after another OF
those occupants had been borne out, the
farmer had closed the rooms they occupied
| llt thC1 uODI anu bntu btCuEtu IL ny u
stout black hook. "Mothers room " was
first vacated, and then the funereal hook was
dropped into its staple. The Oldest daugh-
ter Jane and the oldest son Samuel both
died one winter, and then there were three
doors closed and hooked. At last, only
Frank and his father, besides housekeeper,
lived in this old house of shadows. Frank
was lad whose character was utterly at
variance with that of the house. He was
as sunny as 1t was gloomy, and he went
about whistling and singing, as if unac-
countably bob-o-link had strayed into the
house and cut up some very odd, abrupt,
musical capers. Old Galison loved Frank.
He said that ga piece of all the rest could
be found in Franks looks. He told his
only neighbor, Joel Berry, that Frank was a
"compound."
"Neighbor," said the farmer, "my Frank
has piece of all the rest in him. He has
his mothers big, snappin' brown eyes,
Sans curly hair, James pink-and-white
| skin, WHY'S broad shoulders, Jim's way of
jokin' and Tilda's way of smilin'. You
| remember :"
80 yes, you are right. 1t was jest so."
"a compound, Joel, a compound is my
Frank"
This compound" took an interesting
step one day.
Farmer Gallison dearly loved an old cider
barrel down in his dusky cellar, especially
when the barrel was full He had taken an ex-
ira mug one day, tart and strong. The stuff
was stirring up his brain into a sensitive,
combative state, when Frank entered the
house. His father asked where he had been.
Frank gave careless reply which nettled
the cider drinker. Repeating his inquiry to
Frank, he used language which maddened
the boy and he became saucy in turn. The
quarrel went so far that there was separa-
tion. Out Of the house in the scowling twi-
light Frank rushed, his fathers angry wishes
flying after him like farewell discharge of
fre-headed arrows.
al won't go back" shouted Frank.
"Who wants you Z" said the farmer.
Half an hour after, looking out of the
windows that fronted the sea, hearing the
| wind and the breakers, Old Collisions heart
softened and he heartily wished he had never
said some things He took the light and
went through the entries to see if every
thing might be right through the night
With his hand he shielded the candle from
the strong, chilly drafts, and tramped
heavily over the floor. He passed one of
the hooked doors. The little black badge
of sorrow seemed more funereal than ever
The thought of his sorrows, his loneliness,
and then of his boys disrespect and deser-
tion stirred deep displeasure within him.
He went to the shed, still carefully pro-
tecting the light against the now stronger
drafts, and carried back the nail box and
few pieces of wood. Then he nailed the
boards right across the closed door of Franks
room.
Cheerful sight, was it not, that series Of
black hooks, and the door that was boarded
up2
Old Gallison could not say his prayers
that night, and he could not sleep.
Frank had been absent three years now,
and the farmer could not yet say the old
prayer taught him in boyhood, the blessed
sour Father" When he reached the line,
/" Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive
those who trespass against u.s." he stopped
like ship caught on sand-bar.
1t was hard work saying his prayers, es-
pecially that night our story opens. He
made second attempt, and from his lips
went up childhood's old, beautiful cry,
"Our Father" "Forgive us" the old
man hesitated. He thought of Frank. All
the good angels that had been rising out of
his heart and climbing heavenward on the
rounds of that ladder of prayer had now dis
appeared. They had gone somewhere, for
only evil angels were coming out Of the old
mans heart.
81 can't say it," he murmured.
How the wind did roar then How it
came tramping up from the sea, driving
toward the house, whistling about the win
dows, moaning in the long-deserted entries.
at need not make such fuss tonight"
said Old Gallison.
"Why, it is knockin', | believed The
noises died away, and then suddenly came
a loud thump at the door.
"That is not the wind" said the farmer.
He rose, went into the entry, and, opening
the outside door, peered into the darkness.
"Why, Kitty Is this you here2 Come
in, come in
With a sincere gesture of welcome, he
threw wide open the door, and let the young
woman in. She closed the door behind her
and followed Old Gallison into the dimly-
lighted kitchen. Kitty Berry's figure was
rather tall and stately, and its grace could
not be hidden by the poor, clumsy garments
she wore. A faded blue shawl was wrapped
about her head, but the eyes that looked
out from the wrappings of the shawl were
not at all faded. They were blue as the
waves and as animated in their play. The
animation was not at all frivolous; it was
too earnest.
When the farmer had seated himself, she
suddenly stepped forward, knelt at his side,
aud laid her hand upon his.
Father l' she said
She never called him "Old Gallson," his
customary title among the people. There
was no real reason why she should say
" Father People did indeed say that she
and Frank were fond of one another at
school and social occasions, and she might
one day rightfuly call Gsllison "father,"
but then two young people that are neigh
bors can hardly help sliding on the same
sled or picking berries from the same bush
or going home together from husking- bees.
Father !" she said again in a voice soft
and musical as harp at the window. Per-
haps she said father" out Of pity for him
in his lonely life. She never said it before
Frank went away.
at is bad night to be out, Kitty"
She answered nothing, only looked at him
tenderly, pleadingly.
Sand you must be very cold, Kitty"
Still she said nothing, only continued the
look that was prayer.
"Your hand is cold, Kitty. You must
not get sick. We should all miss you so
much"
She saw her opportunity.
do you miss anybody 2" she quietly,
tenderly asked.