Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1884-11-14
FATE AND THE FUTURE.


school house, dotted on either side with
white cottages, with fringe of silver
manles that formed sort of arcade, from
the town pump in the valley TO the tail
house where, year In, year out, with tie
execution of Saturday and Sabbath, grim
old Mr.. Nickelby Glasgow held undis-
puted sway over an infantile domain
which recognized but one power superior
70 his. and that the birch rod, which he
welded regardless alike of jacket ana
wearer; yet he was good, well-meanlng
soul. this Mr.. Nickelby Glasgow, take
him before nine o'clock or after four, ana
I trust he rests well in the genial shade OF
the very trees he plundercd TO facilitate
education.
The old school house stands at the head
of the hill yet, and the boushs of the Sill
YER naples interlacc as tenderly as they
did on the day Mary Thorne and walked
I'D the turnpike road for the last time. Let
me see; it must be ten years ago, FOR
was sixteen and she was year younger
I remember that carried her satchel, ana
that she trudged along very close at my
side. | talked very soberly of going away,
and she cried very softly behind Il brown
veil.
"Going away." she repeated after me,
with pitiful attempt at indifference.
"Going away! When and where? ?"
"ro-day, Mary" made answer. "Iou
kuos there is no home for me here since
mother died-mo home for me anywhere
except the one shall make for myself and
you, Mary"
She stopped and leaned against the
lrunkof a maple, and looked at me half
quizzically from the shade Of the brown
veil she seemed to be laughing, but there
were tears in the laugh, and tears were
tricklng down her face.
"But where are you going?" \ pause
between every other word.
81 cannot tell you, but to some place
where there is chance for n poor boy:
and it seems to me that | ought to go Il
long distance from here to find that"
She was still leaning against the tree,
looking up at me.
care you so very poor thcn?" she
queried. | remember | laughed at her
question, aud sho accepted the laugh in
reply, and continued, "Ah, yes, you are,
| know, and it is terrible to be poor, is it
not?"
81 trust you may never know just how
terrible it is," said.
saw her hand fumbling at the pocket
of her dress; by-and-by the hand was
withdrawn, and | saw that the fingers
were pressed tightly over delicate siiken
purse, on whica heI monogram, IN. T."
was quantity embroidered in bright
shade of floss.
.'u ere, Bob, take this" she said, push
ing the purse into my reluctant palm
at isn't much, but it will help you.
Now don't refuse, unless you wish to
make me angry"
did not refuse; perhaps | die wrong
in taking it, but it certainly would have
been greater wrong had L denied her
wish. Feeling, however, L was wrong In
accepting the purse, the only chance |
saw TO retrieve myself lay in making
return of some kind. Ny store of worldly
effects was meagre, but had ring
which in her youth my mother had worn.
1t was quaint device of Etruscan gold,
curiously wrought, and OF marvellous
beauty if not worth. She had given it to
Inc just before she died, as she laid her
hand on my head and bade me be true 10
myself and her.
"Take this, my son." she had said,
"and some day, when you have found
girl sweet and good whom you may love
even better than you do me, give it to her
and tell her of me, and say that in heaven
will Natcl over you both aid wait for
your coming"
Surely / had found the "sweet, good
girl" and slipped the ring from my
finger aud kissed it, then laid it in Mary's
hand.
sIt was mother's,"I said. "Wcar it,
Mary, as the seal of our betrothal; wear
it, aud | know you will always think of
me-"
Then, spite Of her tears and my heavy
heart, we both laughed little, and re-
sumed our walk up the turnpike road.
We spoke never another word until the
top of the hill was reached, and the school
house frOwned upon Us. Then | drew
back, and reaching out my hand, said:
Goodbye, Mary"
| meant TO be very calm, very self-pOs-
sessed tears were for women, thought,
loftily, and repression for men; and |
looked down on her trembling little fig
ure, vaguely outlined against the red
backgronn Of the school house wall,
then / looked down the road-the road
we might never walk again-and thought
of all that had been and might be, aud
my beart seemed TO leap full in my
throat and almost choked me; and then
broke dowa entirBlE, and we were crying
in concert-and, weH; was but sixteen,
and she was younger.
The school house belt Changed omi-
nously, aud rang an unconscious knell to