Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1884-12-27

IT, ana was redullS WoIoS sic ieie suAo
would be true-words of endearment SO
sweet and dear to hear.
Father, God has been very good to me, =
said June that evening, as she sat by the
little fireplace. and leaned her head on her
fathers broad shoulder.
CAV. ay. lassie He's good to us all, y
said Master Linstice, stroking the soft
golden hair, and thinking how like her
mother in some things little June was, for
she was little June to him still.
Can you always feel God is good? June
asked, after pause.
Yes, child, always, said Master Lin
| stice, without hesitation.
Even-even when He took mother
away"
Even then I was sure, lass, He was do
ing right"
II could not feel that if He took Eric
| from me, father said June.
Why think of it, lass? 1t amt likely"
said the master who never wasted his
strength of mind in bearing troubles in ad-
vance.
No, hope not" said June brightly,
and then she soon went up to her lit
tie white-room, hung around with photo
| graphs of the famous pictures Eric was TO
show her some day and she was soon
asleep.
Next day June went to meet the old post
man, who looked at her knowingly, and
vet he had to confess he had no letter for
| her.
The next day it was the same. June
imagined all kinds of things, and thought
he must be ill-that perhaps the ship had
gone down. She knew that the coast of
Jersey was dangerous, and that vessels had
| been lost in the passing thither from Eng
| land, and she walked every day TO man
who got daily paper to scan the columns
| in dread of seeing the report of some acct
| dent. None, however, met her eye, and no
letter came One day, in the list of deaths,
she caught the name Durefoy 1t was
strange name; some of their ancestors had
| been French and poor June's heart sank
as she looked at it. and rose again when
she saw it was the death of Eric's father.
! He had died in Jersey week after Eric
| had left
Poor June She wrote to Jersey but
no answer came, and then her letters were
returned from the Dead Letter Office.
| So on the days died away, and Master
Linstice, as he greeted his daughter on
| Christmas morning, saw how white her
| cheek was, how dark were the rings round
! her eyes. Still, she tried to look bright,
and there were tokens of her thought for
! her father in the slippers she had worked
! for him. and the biz silk handkerchief she
had marked in fanciful little monogram.
| She resolutely tried to put her own bitter
sorrow in the background, and fought hard
to work, day after day, the same as usual.
Often and often she told herself that she
could bear it better if it were a more def
mite trial. If, for instance, she knew why
Eric had left her thus; but the suspense,
the waiting, the anxiety. All, none but
those who have passed through q trial of
: =, L.; 4 is-
wears and frets out the very heart-strings of
| life; how it shadows over the brightest
| days, and dims the clearest horizon. Still,
June never lost faith in HIM. She rose
every morning hoping for letter, and feel
| ing ight-hearted at the thought that that
day might end her suspense. She would
grow quite nervous about the post hour,
| and be counting the minutes TO the time.
| She told herself she was not expecting
that Eric was waiting for some good rca-
| son; but when the post passed and no let
| ter came, she knew how much she had
counted on it.
But L" hope deferred maketh the heart
sick" and as June knelt by her fathers
side on Christmas Day, it was with a very
| sad heart. The night before, the lovely
! chimes had fallen on her ear just as of old;
| as she used TO hear them, as a child, they
I had rung on. Peace on earth, good will
to men, " they seemed to say, and sweet
words they were to the sorrowful girl. Yes,
/ though earthly joy was gone, there was &
! joy III the blessed old Christmas story that
t nothing could take away.
| Spring came and with it no new life to
| June. The sorrow of Eric's treatment Of
| her-his neglect-she never got over. She
never lost trust in him, but still she fretted
/ so that it Just wore her away. One day
/ Master Linstice took her to London to see
/ "a famous doctor
| The old countryman, with his rough
! coat and hardy features, in such marked
/ contrast 10 the little white girl at his side,
! sat in the big dreary room, round which
] were leather-coyered chairs, and they tried
vainly to interest themselves in the papers
! on the table. Then June went in, and saw
/ the great man, who was kind and gentle to
| her, and then asked to see her father alone.
What do you think of my girl, ell, sir2"
/ asked Master Linstice, his voice sounding
/ harsh and loud in the large consulting
( room.
/ The great man paused. Used as he was
/ to scenes of Sadness he had not had the
/ heart to tell Jane the truth, nor had she
| asked it. and now it was harder still to
{ tell it to this old man. whose lips quivered,
and whose love for his child was not to be
hidden.
I Shes not very bad, eh, sir repeated
/ Master Linstice.
Take her home my good man. You
| will take care of her, know: but there's
no hope. She may live through the sum
mer, but"
/ Master Linsfice stood for moment, hear
/ ing no more of what the doctor said as he
| spoke on learnedly of technical terms, and
/ Latin names, none of which reached his
hearer. Still, his old courtly manner did
not desert him, and Master Linstice bowed
, silently to the doctor, and went back to
where June sat quietly watching the pass
ers-by i'll the gloomy street feeling an older
man by many years
June asked no questions. She knew the
| truth, though the doctor fancied she did
| not. Life cannot be ebbing slowly away
and the owner of it not know it. and June
felt it in every pulse and breath, that this
was the last year she had upon this earth
She had every care, and all the love and
affection her father could show her. Ashe
kissed her, tenderly as a woman, many
| bitter thought came TO him of angry re
sentiment against the man who had caused
this. June had no idea of it. She did'not
know now her father felt and she did not
inquire,
Only one summer evening, just at the
end of August, as she lay spent with the
eXertion Of having talked to one Of her
Sunday school children, who came every
day to see her, she said to her father:
" If ever .jou see him-I forgive
Her father made no reply but in his
heart he felt he could not forgive Eric.