Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1884-04-08
In the Window.
s1'll keep the light in the window, Sandy,
till WON oov1o h. al

In the Window.
sTll keep the light in the window, Sandy.
| till you come back"
"Never mind, MOTHER" said the boy,
standing at the door in an uncertain, slOuch-
ing kind Of way, ''1-I might be late.''
"lt's dark along the lane, :" said the moth
er, land bit of candle-light would be ILL
spared if you got a tumble by it. I'll keep
the candle burning till ye come back
She was hard featured Scotch woman,
healthy and active, though no longer young,
and, as she talked, she worked on, ironing
the linen she washed and starched, and
heaping it, like snow-drift, in great
basket beside her. Four other children
were in the room, gills and boys, too young
to do much for themselves, but Sandy was
eighteen, tall, handsome fellow, with ripe
lips and cheeks, and dancing eyes. eff
Sandy only would have been little
steadier, " the mother often sighed; but to
be STEADY" was not Sandy's forte. OF,
aver and always to the riverside. where
other lounging boys watched the boats come
in at the ferry, or plunged stones into the
water for the village pet, the great New
founursnd ssWhiskers, by name, to
Ii
thought, if the boys had all been good; but
evenings, at the store, they were worse; and
the decent washerwoman shivered as she
listened to her boys home coming step at
nights, lest some day he should copy Squire
Peeler's boys, and drink too much. Squire
Peeler's boys were her terror, though they
were the sons of the richest man in the
neighborhood. But now, as Sandy stood
in the door, SO tall, and fair, and bonny, the
mothers heart grew light. "Hed be sure
to settle down and help her with the BARNS,
some day." she said. No doubt of that; he
was but bit-boy now; and she ironed on
until her work was done, and then put the
candle in the window to light the boy along
the lonely lane at his me-coming. The
candle burnt itself away and sunk into the
socket, and the very wick smoldered out,
leaving only smell and smoke behind it, and
still lit no Sandy across the threshold of his
humble home, for that night Sandy ran
away.
The life at home was too hard for him.
The restraints of his mothers watchful eye
rked him. To do his own will, to have his
own way, Sandy left his home behind him,
but he had grace enough to remember, with
"a pang, these words:
s'I'll keep the light burning till ye come
back, Sandy"
Some vague hope of being rich and doing
great things for those at home, was in his
mind, or he believed so; but selfish desire
to escape the drudgery and the restraint
gave the actual impulse to his steps. He
shipped as sailor the next day, and began
in earnest wild ard reckless sailors life.
It suited him. Now and then, when the
storm was at its height, and far in the dis
tance the lamps of some tall lighthouse
shone like great red eye, the tiny flicker
Of that window-sheltered candle would dawn
upon his memory, and he would hear his
ing until ye come back. Sandy" Now and
then, amid the yarns and songs of the fore
castle merry making, he heard the grooming
of the tunes she used to sing over her work
old Scottish ballads, or perhaps some
hymns handed down from the time when
the old Cevenanters worshiped God and de-
fed man among the purple heather. They
never lured him home to help her, though.
The years rolled on, and even this one
sting of conscience ceased its paining. In
those days there were no such beings as
sober sailors, nor captains of temperance
principles. Hard drinkers were most old
salts, and most young ones. Sandy drank
with the rest. He grew broad and Stout
His cs.tek was bronzed, his light hair chang
ed its tint, his voice grew deep and coarse.
He was in no way good man, but he was
a good sailor. As the years passed he came
to be an officer-6rst-mate of the Agamem-
non. His pockets were full enough for all
his purposes The sea was better than land
to him, and when on shore he led that kind
of boisterous life that drives the thought of
'smother" from mems very souls. He had
friends, at least he thought so, men who
knew him when his pay jingled in his
pockets. He was not niggardly-nay, once
he had emptied his remaining dollars into
beggar's hand. Sandy was bravest OF the
brave; but he had never been generous
enough nor brave enough to go back to the
eastward seaport, where his mother had left
never, never.
Five years were gone, and ten and fifteen
and twenty. A man nearly forty years of
age stood in Sandy Cameron s shoes-a man
who led the widest life under the moon
ashore; man to whom fiery brandy was as
water to a child; a man who remembered
God only in his oaths; when the Agamenl-
non came after long and stormy voyage
just wlthln sight OF the coast-withln sight
Of its lighthouse, at least, for in the dark
ness OF a stormy night nothing else was visi-
Bile. Battered with storms already, bruised
Dy the waves, Wounoed Dy rocks, still tue
Agamemnon fought her way homeward; by
the morrow eve sound earth wonld be
Deneatn tne rector the wave-weary mariners
for once, at least all ionged for it, even
wild Sandy cameron. lie was glad. he
watcned tne covering lamps Win Joy ana
swore tnat tney were peasant sights. BE-
lore ne siePc ne $1,000 long wnlie leaning
over tne .anrali, smoklng' ana thinking, II
ne ever thougnI. IL was an evli lingering
1or tne Agamemnoh; spark from the
cigar nelo ~ unsIeauy nano, regarded py
Eyes not Dl'g!.er ;.e lor lecene afaugnts OF
Dranuy, niauo i's way so"enow, who-Dorne
or oenon,porne, lhIo Gne piaces wnere tne
cargo u tle vesSel u nao peen stoceu away
% anu ~ 'ne oeau @ .! nigne lhey Oh tne MD
WATCH saw slea,ins tnlough the pianKs