Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1885-01-07

"And Susie? You will keep my Sc
cret. You will not disturb Snsie's hap.
piness?"
81 will not trouble Susie's happiness
I said.
Yet an hour later I was writing to
Susie, and delayed our departure from
Cincinnati until an answer came. 1t
was the answer I expected from the ten
der, loving heart. but I said nothing of
it to John.
Caring tenderly for his comfort, I
took him on his way homeward. 1t
was evening when we reached the rail
way depot of our own town, and, as we
had been long cramped in the car seats,
proposed to walk home.
"Is it not too far?" John asked, ct
thought the asylum was q long way
from here"
ooh, the whole place is changed from
the little village you leftw I answered.
~We have great town here now. and
your asylum is not very far from here"
He let me lead him then willingly
enough, and we were not long in reach
ing Susie's home. She was alone in
the cheerful sitting-room as we entered.
but obeyed my motion for silence as |
placed John in great armchair, after
removing his hat and coat. He looked
wretchedly old and worn, and his
clothes were shabby, yet Susie's soft
eyes, misty with tears had only love in
their expression as she waited permission
to speak.
"John," I said to him, eff I had found
you in pleasant home, happy and
prosperous, and had known that Su-
sic was poor, sick and blind, would it
have been kindly act for me to hide
her misfortune from you, and passing
by your home, to have placed her in
the care of charitable strangers?"
Erred, you would never have done
thatl" he said, much agitated.
"Neverp 7 answered. "You are right.
But you, John, ask me to take from
Susie the happiness of knowing faith
er's love, the sweet duty of caring for a
fathers affection"
"No, no, Fred, only ask you to put
no burden upon her young life, to
throw no cloud over her happiness.
am old and feeble; I shall trouble no
one long"
"And when you die, you would de-
prive your only child of the satisfaction
of ministering to your wants-take from
her her fathers dying blessing"
He turned his sightless eyes toward
me, his whole face working convulsive-
~.
"Where is she Fred? You would
not talk SO if you did not know my
child still loves her father"
Il am here, father" Susie said; and I
stole softly away as John clasped his
child in his arms. Albert was in the
dining-room with Johnnie, and I was
chatting still with him when I heard
John calling:
Fred! Fredl"
[ hurried to the room to find him
struggling to rise, Susie vainly trying
to calm him.
81 want my childl" he cried deir-
iously; "you promised me my child"
I saw at glance that the agitation of
the evening had brought back the wan
dering mind of which he had told me.
Albert and I relieved Susie, who left us
quickly.
Some finer instinct than we possessed
guided her for she returned with john
ME and whispered him to be very good
and kiss grandpapa. She put him in
her fathers arms. Tn second his ex-
element was gone, and he fondled the
curly head, while Johnnie obediently
pressed his lips upon the withered
cheek. So in little time they fell
asleep, Johnnie nestled in the feeble
arms, and the withered face dropping
upon the golden curls. We watched
them silently till We saw shadow pass
over Johns face, and change settle
there that comes but once in life.
Gently Albert lifted the sleeping
child and carried him to the nursery,
where Susie and [ sat beside the arm
chair.
"Uncle Fred" she whispered, 'Albert
will go for doctor. But may I waken
him. Let him speak to me once more"
Even as she spoke John opened his
eyes. All the wild look was gone from
them as he CROPPED moment till Susie
put her hands in his. Then a heavenly
smile came upon the wasted lips, and he
said softly, tenderly:
"Susie, my own little child, Susie"
And with the name on his lips Johns
spirit went to seek an eternal asylum IN
which there will be no more poverty,
pain or blindness.